Jury Duty
I was summoned to do my civic duty and be one of 500+ people waiting in an auditorium for my name to be called. I went prepared – computer, cellphone, paperback novel, reading glasses, Larabars, almonds, dried pineapple, 2 water bottles. It may have been awhile since I was last called, but my memory isn't that short – intimidating quiet, titanium benches, candy machines, meat-locker temperature, interminable amount of time. Yeah, I remember.
In the past, when the prosecutor found out I was a psychotherapist and had worked in prisons, I got culled. This time no one asked those questions during voir dire. (Hmmmm. Maybe I'll finally get to serve on a jury.) The prosecutor was a young, pretty woman, very energetic and direct. The attorney for the defense had a cannula in his nose, which was delivering oxygen from the tank strapped to his wheelchair. He wheezed and had chest seizures every so often. He repeated statements frequently. I began to feel really sorry for the defendant.
When it was time for the defense attorney to speak to us, he explained his breathing condition and asked for our patience. I saw some heads nodding affirmatively. I started feeling lurchy. Sure enough, he went on to ask our forgiveness in advance, in case he "crossed the line and didn't follow procedure" (yes, he used that phrase). He rambled on a bit more in that same vein.
Internally, I had a battle going on. Can I keep myself from gagging? Or do I bluntly tell him I expect him to do his job; and that if he isn't up to it, please do the defendant a favor and find someone who will? Not very psychotherapeutic, but I was tired, not feeling well and it was still dang early in the morning (not a charitable time of day for me). Part of my concern was whether or not they could jail me or fine me for impudence in the courtroom.
Since I wasn't in the mood to master my reaction, I decided to keep my mouth shut. Surely others were not fooled by his bid for sympathy votes.
I wasn't chosen, I think he could smell my disgust.
In the end, Harris County sent me a check for $6.00, which was 50cents more than my cut-rate, special- jury-parking-ticket.
Sounds like you’re cooking up a resentment there, sister. I’ve been called for jury duty something like five times in less than three years. Each time is an opportunity to notice my various reactions and responses to the events. I always figure I’m there to learn about justice and language, two of my favorite topics. And I almost always leave grumbling about how lawyering is the dirtiest thing we do to language and to the people we are sharing it with. I wonder what your RAS will serve up from this experience?
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