Jury Doody

If you have a choice between shoveling horse manure and serving on a jury, go with the manure mucking every time, nolo contendere. The two jobs pay about the same, and being a juror involves more stalling and more waste; it’s by far the tougher duty. At least with manure disposal, you can see you’ve improved matters and done the right thing. I feel compelled, pro bono, to raise a sustained objection to the “criminal” treatment of juries, and I hereby summon you to judge for yourself the merits of my case.

Jury duty under our current system of juris-imprudence is like being under the scrutiny of TSA agents for a week. You can be incarcerated just for joking around. So a “humorist” is persona non grata. As a juror you’re basically under arrest until the judge pardons you. You don’t eat, sleep, or go home unless the judge says so. Nor, though a jury is ipso facto “peers,” are you allowed willy nilly to go to the bathroom.

“Objection, Your Honor. The lame vulgar pun on “peers” clearly constitutes “joking around.”

“Sustained. Strike that last sentence from the record, and all of you are hereby ordered to disregard it.”

I’ve served on two juries, and both times had splitting headaches but no access to pain relief. On my first jury I was told I couldn’t take notes. Then during deliberation, when we asked for a trial transcript so we could review the testimony, we were told no. On TV, juries always get a transcript and videotapes and whatever else they ask for. But real-life jurying is nothing like TV.

On TV, trials are always high-stakes, suspenseful murder cases with surprising revelations. The second jury I “sat on,” gluteus maximus, heard, ad infinitum, the case of a defendant who had been previously convicted of shoplifting a single pair of socks, valued, I’m guessing, at no more than $2. The case was an appeal, but not an appealing case. That’s right—two trials for one pair of socks. The defendant had picked up a pack of three pair of socks connected by a monofilament, then had bitten through the monofilament and put on one pair of the socks in the store before paying. His savvy lawyer argued that his client was not an intentional shoplifter, only an idiot.

Once we jurors were in the jury room, one woman immediately began expressing her fear of reprisals from the defendant if we voted to uphold his conviction. He didn’t strike me as much of a threat, but clearly this woman was very afraid. Sigourney Weaver in Alien didn’t act any more terrified. In the first two votes, she cast the lone “not guilty” vote. She explained, “I don’t want him coming after me.” For an hour we worked to calm her and encourage her, and on the third written vote, though still saying how scared she was, she made the “guilty” verdict unanimous.

After we returned to the courtroom and delivered our verdict, the judge thanked us for our service and, to my great relief, dismissed us. Half of us were literally out the door when the defendant’s attorney asked to poll the jury. He asked us to verbally state our verdict vote, which went smoothly until he asked Sigourney and she went all non compos mentis on us and said, “I’m not sure.” Our hearts sank, and the judge ordered us back to the jury room. We had been un-dismissed.

After the judge learned our vote had been written, he instructed us to dig through the trash to recover the slips of paper and then to pick out our vote based on the handwriting. Back in the courtroom, we were each asked, “Is this the vote you wrote down?” and when we all answered “yes,” we were once again dismissed and this time sprinted for the door.

I’ve often wondered if our vicious sock thief ever did in fact pursue a vendetta against the terrified member of our posse comitatus. Come to think of it, I’m not sure he hasn’t been targeting me for retribution. Over the years I’ve been unable to account for several pairs of allegedly “lost” socks.

Nota bene: what matters most on a jury is not what you don’t do; what matters most is what you do do. And if the evidence is incomplete, do not be deterred. Consider the facts carefully and anal-yze them. Go with your gut. I hope you never receive a jury summons, but if you do, then know what to expect. Take a shovel—because if you’re on a jury, my friend, then I’m afraid you’re going to be up to your neck in some serious, deep duty.

(Want to try more of my alleged humor? Want to judge its appeal? If so, click HERE.)