On March 18, I had one day of jury duty. My struggles over editing a long piece I have been working on since January made me remember that day.
We had to fill out a questionnaire so the lawyers could attempt to size us up before they either held us there or dismissed us. One of the questions asked about our occupation. I wrote, "Self-employed writer of fiction and poetry." I haven't made any money yet, but it is what I do twenty plus hours a week. I definitely cannot call myself a homemaker (I hate that word) since my house is in a constant state of disarray because I spend all my time writing instead of cleaning.
The defense lawyer's face lit up when he read my paper. Oh, you are a writer? he asked. Let me paint the picture for you before I go on. This guy seemed absolutely incompetent. He fumbled with his papers, had very ridiculous poofey hair, talked very slowly with extreme pauses between words, looked like he should have long ago retired, and had up until now tried to beat the answer to the same question out of every person. The question was something like this: If you don't believe the stories of any of the witnesses - on both sides - and the state doesn't make it's case, what do you do? How do you vote? Amazingly, no one gave him a straight answer as if they were trying to mess with him.
I was possibly the twentieth person he interviewed. Instead of asking the question, he asked something different. He paraphrased something Mark Twain once wrote about writing. I had no idea what he was asking and thought he was trying to trip me up with the Matlock thing he had going on. It was something about fiction and reality and which was more difficult. My answer: I don't understand the question. I really didn't know what he was getting at. My neighbor, who was also selected as a juror, tried to clue me in later. Apparently, he was seriously interested on my views on reality versus fiction and which was more difficult. He looked very disappointed with my answer.
Then he asked the question he had asked everyone else. I knew the answer from the thousands of hours I have dedicated to old episodes of Law and Order. My answer: Innocent! That gave him a big smile, and I was in. I realize a lot of people try to get out. I thought it would be interesting. And they promised it would probably be only one day.
I was happy I pleased him. He seemed like a very nice grandpa-type person. As I mentioned in part one, I really do connect with old people. But after the rambling on about Mark Twain, I was very worried for his client.
The lawyer's words came to me as I tried to finish wrapping up the edits on my first novel that's not kiddie lit. I am pretty much done except for the last chapter. The last chapter is very difficult. I wish I were happy with it, but I'm not. I love the ending, but not the way I wrote it. I am tired and just can't do it now. The last chapter will have to wait until I can give it a lot of time and energy.
Now that I get what the lawyer was trying to ask I have to answer that usually fiction is much easier for me than the realities of life. I have complete control over what happens in any story I write. I just can't control whether you will like it - but that's true for reality too.
Showing posts with label jury duty. Show all posts
Showing posts with label jury duty. Show all posts
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Jury Duty - Part One
I did end up being selected to be on the jury for a trial that started around 9:30 AM and ended at 4:21 PM. We were supposed to be there at 8:00 AM. I was late. I parked in the handicapped parking for the wrong building and very rudely walked through the grass in front of the guy that I thought was the judge but was just the judge's helper. I rushed to take the last seat. And there we waited. And waited. And waited some more until it was 8:55:22. Yes, they had a clock pointing at us counting down the seconds - kind of cruel, I think.
For the fifty-five minutes and twenty-two seconds I did not write, although I had a composition book and a pen stashed in my purse. Instead, I observed, which is what we are supposed to be doing as writers anyway, right?
I listened to conversations and noted the demographics of the group - all white, two Hispanic. Mostly old or middle-aged people, and only three young people, two of which desperately tried to get out of it by answering normal questions with ludicrous answers because one obviously was hung over and needed to go back to bed; the other needed to go to work or lose a day's pay.
The question asked was something like, "Do you believe the police should interfere in domestic violence disputes in the home." Their answer was that the police have no business interfering if the door is closed no matter how much one person is beating up the other. I do not believe anyone would agree with that. When questioned more, the obviously hung over young lady held her mouth agape, too tired to keep her mouth closed perhaps, and answered "Yuh" like she was a pissed off fourteen year old talking back to her mom. When asked what she did for work, she said she was a model. She most certainly did not look like a model. She was skinny and pasty pale. Her attitude made her seem very ugly. I want to make her a character in a story. Something bad will happen to her in the story - I'm not sure what yet. Maybe alien creatures that are only provoked to eat humans if that particular nasty tone of "Yuh" is said out loud three times in succession. Three sets of teeth will devour her. Something like that.
The other guy was obviously saying anything to get him out of it. He finally came out with it that he was finally called in to a construction job that day and really needed the money. So be it; they sent him home. I thought that was a nice thing to do.
I did have the opportunity to make everyone laugh in the courtroom and bring some levity to the domestic violence, restraint, and criminal damage trial. One of the lawyers asked if anyone in the room had ever had a negative experience with a police officer. I was under oath. I raised my hand. When called upon, I confessed that my ex-husband was a cop and that was definitely a negative experience. Roars of laughter filled the courtroom.
I was lucky that one of my neighbors was also there and was selected to be on the jury. That made breaks and deliberations much better. The jurors were very interesting. I liked them all very much and wish the thing had gone on longer. There were two older women that were very likable.
One sat next to me. She wore pretty earrings that matched her fuzzy pink/purple hue of a sweater that complemented her skin tone and white hair. She was super nice and told us stories about the time she worked as a home aid helper type of person, sitting with elderly people in their home so they wouldn't be alone. She was so cute. At breaks she and the other grandmother-type-person offered to help me get drinks since I had a cane. I should have been helping them. They were so sweet. During deliberation, the one in pink/purple, whose name I regrettably didn't get, got easily confused by the legal terminology and along with the other elderly people asked the middle-agers in the room to slow it down a bit. Respectfully, we did.
I realized I really do like older people and I definitely fit right in with that crowd with my aches and pains and walking stick. My attire didn't match, but I'm not sure anyone noticed. I wore a t-shirt with Peanuts characters on it, sandals (that are actually extremely high-priced orthopedic sandals disguised as regular ones), jeans, and not a speck of make-up. I don't think they minded. I enjoy slowing things down and listening to their heart-felt stories. I think they liked it that my neighbor and I listened to what they had to say. Maybe I will go down to one of the nursing centers nearby and offer to volunteer. Maybe I can read to them or just sit and talk.
Tomorrow, I will share the remarkable trial - horrifying in so many ways although we found the guy to be not guilty three times over. Actually the other jurors and the people working at the courthouse were equally interesting. Maybe this will be three parts. Unless no one reads it or something else fills my mind in the meantime.
For the fifty-five minutes and twenty-two seconds I did not write, although I had a composition book and a pen stashed in my purse. Instead, I observed, which is what we are supposed to be doing as writers anyway, right?
I listened to conversations and noted the demographics of the group - all white, two Hispanic. Mostly old or middle-aged people, and only three young people, two of which desperately tried to get out of it by answering normal questions with ludicrous answers because one obviously was hung over and needed to go back to bed; the other needed to go to work or lose a day's pay.
The question asked was something like, "Do you believe the police should interfere in domestic violence disputes in the home." Their answer was that the police have no business interfering if the door is closed no matter how much one person is beating up the other. I do not believe anyone would agree with that. When questioned more, the obviously hung over young lady held her mouth agape, too tired to keep her mouth closed perhaps, and answered "Yuh" like she was a pissed off fourteen year old talking back to her mom. When asked what she did for work, she said she was a model. She most certainly did not look like a model. She was skinny and pasty pale. Her attitude made her seem very ugly. I want to make her a character in a story. Something bad will happen to her in the story - I'm not sure what yet. Maybe alien creatures that are only provoked to eat humans if that particular nasty tone of "Yuh" is said out loud three times in succession. Three sets of teeth will devour her. Something like that.
The other guy was obviously saying anything to get him out of it. He finally came out with it that he was finally called in to a construction job that day and really needed the money. So be it; they sent him home. I thought that was a nice thing to do.
I did have the opportunity to make everyone laugh in the courtroom and bring some levity to the domestic violence, restraint, and criminal damage trial. One of the lawyers asked if anyone in the room had ever had a negative experience with a police officer. I was under oath. I raised my hand. When called upon, I confessed that my ex-husband was a cop and that was definitely a negative experience. Roars of laughter filled the courtroom.
I was lucky that one of my neighbors was also there and was selected to be on the jury. That made breaks and deliberations much better. The jurors were very interesting. I liked them all very much and wish the thing had gone on longer. There were two older women that were very likable.
One sat next to me. She wore pretty earrings that matched her fuzzy pink/purple hue of a sweater that complemented her skin tone and white hair. She was super nice and told us stories about the time she worked as a home aid helper type of person, sitting with elderly people in their home so they wouldn't be alone. She was so cute. At breaks she and the other grandmother-type-person offered to help me get drinks since I had a cane. I should have been helping them. They were so sweet. During deliberation, the one in pink/purple, whose name I regrettably didn't get, got easily confused by the legal terminology and along with the other elderly people asked the middle-agers in the room to slow it down a bit. Respectfully, we did.
I realized I really do like older people and I definitely fit right in with that crowd with my aches and pains and walking stick. My attire didn't match, but I'm not sure anyone noticed. I wore a t-shirt with Peanuts characters on it, sandals (that are actually extremely high-priced orthopedic sandals disguised as regular ones), jeans, and not a speck of make-up. I don't think they minded. I enjoy slowing things down and listening to their heart-felt stories. I think they liked it that my neighbor and I listened to what they had to say. Maybe I will go down to one of the nursing centers nearby and offer to volunteer. Maybe I can read to them or just sit and talk.
Tomorrow, I will share the remarkable trial - horrifying in so many ways although we found the guy to be not guilty three times over. Actually the other jurors and the people working at the courthouse were equally interesting. Maybe this will be three parts. Unless no one reads it or something else fills my mind in the meantime.
Friday, March 18, 2011
Jury Duty Today...
I have to report for jury duty today. I know people usually moan and don't want to go, but I kind of do. I am only dreading walking on the tile floor, which will no doubt inflame the enlarged nerve in my foot that has been plaguing me for the past year and a half. This is my third time being called for jury duty, but not at the same court. I have always been dismissed right away.
When I was twenty or maybe twenty-one, I got called to jury duty. If I remember correctly, it was a civil trial. I was in college and worked part time at a bank and had complete disdain for my boss. I really wanted to serve the entire two weeks and take a break from work. I don't remember worrying about missing class, so it must have been during the summer. Within two minutes of asking me questions, they said, "You are dismissed." They must not have liked the look of me or maybe thought because I was so young that I would argue a lot and keep everyone there past dinner time. Or maybe I didn't look like I had lived long enough to empathize or understand what the law suit was about. Maybe so. I really didn't want to go to work. I was very disappointed.
The second time I was called for jury duty, I was 32 years old and full pregnant with my second child. He was a giant, and I am not. I was at the part of my pregnancy where I had to pee every fifteen minutes. I told that to the judge. He said that was no excuse. After about five minutes of talking to other people, it occurred to him what I was trying to get at without saying it directly: the trial will stop every fifteen minutes so the pregnant lady can waddle to the bathroom or alternately pee her pants. He came back to me and said something like, "You, pregnant lady - are you saying we will have to give you bathroom breaks every fifteen?" I said yes and he begged me to leave now. The funny thing is that they would have dismissed me anyway. It was a murder trial, my husband was a cop in the same county, and I already knew the guy did it. I was happy to be dismissed - I had to pee.
I suspect today that I will get the boot straight up once again. I look judgmental. I am getting old and, like my sister, I am sort of too tired in my face to smile much. I look angry when my face is tired. I'm tired today. I suspect it will be a DUI trial based on the questionnaire. If I don't get rejected from the look on my face, I expect I will get thrown out from one of my answers. Do you drink alcohol: NO.
I used to drink quite a lot. I have no use for it now except that cold beer bottles are the perfect physical therapy for my foot - I am supposed to roll a can or bottle under my foot for a few minutes a day. A cold Bud Light is perfect for the job. We call it my physical therapy beer. When I'm done with it, I put it back in the fridge to get cold for tomorrow.
My daughter told me that her high school health teacher asked them to raise their hand if their parents had alcohol in the house. She was the only one that didn't. She didn't feel awkward about it, just proud and happy that we have no use for it. I am proud and happy that she doesn't either. When she shared this with me, I told her, "Well, we do have the physical therapy beer. But that doesn't count." She agreed.
What I remember about jury duty, besides getting ejected minutes after the first question was asked of me, is the wait. Today I can wait. I can sit and wait. I have a long story in my mind that I could potentially write in four to eight hours. If they make me wait long enough, I could write the whole thing.
When I was twenty or maybe twenty-one, I got called to jury duty. If I remember correctly, it was a civil trial. I was in college and worked part time at a bank and had complete disdain for my boss. I really wanted to serve the entire two weeks and take a break from work. I don't remember worrying about missing class, so it must have been during the summer. Within two minutes of asking me questions, they said, "You are dismissed." They must not have liked the look of me or maybe thought because I was so young that I would argue a lot and keep everyone there past dinner time. Or maybe I didn't look like I had lived long enough to empathize or understand what the law suit was about. Maybe so. I really didn't want to go to work. I was very disappointed.
The second time I was called for jury duty, I was 32 years old and full pregnant with my second child. He was a giant, and I am not. I was at the part of my pregnancy where I had to pee every fifteen minutes. I told that to the judge. He said that was no excuse. After about five minutes of talking to other people, it occurred to him what I was trying to get at without saying it directly: the trial will stop every fifteen minutes so the pregnant lady can waddle to the bathroom or alternately pee her pants. He came back to me and said something like, "You, pregnant lady - are you saying we will have to give you bathroom breaks every fifteen?" I said yes and he begged me to leave now. The funny thing is that they would have dismissed me anyway. It was a murder trial, my husband was a cop in the same county, and I already knew the guy did it. I was happy to be dismissed - I had to pee.
I suspect today that I will get the boot straight up once again. I look judgmental. I am getting old and, like my sister, I am sort of too tired in my face to smile much. I look angry when my face is tired. I'm tired today. I suspect it will be a DUI trial based on the questionnaire. If I don't get rejected from the look on my face, I expect I will get thrown out from one of my answers. Do you drink alcohol: NO.
I used to drink quite a lot. I have no use for it now except that cold beer bottles are the perfect physical therapy for my foot - I am supposed to roll a can or bottle under my foot for a few minutes a day. A cold Bud Light is perfect for the job. We call it my physical therapy beer. When I'm done with it, I put it back in the fridge to get cold for tomorrow.
My daughter told me that her high school health teacher asked them to raise their hand if their parents had alcohol in the house. She was the only one that didn't. She didn't feel awkward about it, just proud and happy that we have no use for it. I am proud and happy that she doesn't either. When she shared this with me, I told her, "Well, we do have the physical therapy beer. But that doesn't count." She agreed.
What I remember about jury duty, besides getting ejected minutes after the first question was asked of me, is the wait. Today I can wait. I can sit and wait. I have a long story in my mind that I could potentially write in four to eight hours. If they make me wait long enough, I could write the whole thing.
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