Jury Duty
See that face? That’s an expression you may recognize. The one that says how did I wind up on the jury?
A little back story — I’ve had a lot going on lately. The She Rocks Awards, a SONA reception at my home, a weekend in Jacksonville for the Roscolusa Festival. Those of you who play out regularly might not stress but one time I went to a gig, opened my guitar case and realized I forget to put my guitar inside. I’m just not as sharp as I once was. I need to slow down.
Next week I’m off to NY and then the Ivor Novello Awards in the London and then The Liverpool Magical Mystery Tour because, well — the Beatles. After a month of non-stop activity and more coming up I was looking forward to a window of dull moments — some calm between 2 exciting storms. I’d leisurely pack for business and pleasure, get my hair did, clean out the fridge. You know. Sure, I also had jury duty but no sweat. They never pick me. Everyone’s always angling to get out of it. Me included.
I checked in every night, as we do — didn’t have to go on Monday or Tuesday or Wednesday or Thursday. But then I was called on Friday. Damn! Ok… don’t panic. If they don’t impanel me by end of day, I’m done!
The jury pool of about 50 got the 411 from the judge: it’s a murder trial and would last approximately 7 court days. I did the math. That would extend into a third week! I can’t be on this jury! I’ve got a ticket to fly!
I’ve heard that if you allude to some kind of bias, you’ll be excused but I couldn’t do it. It felt wrong. I did slouch however and pretend to nod off once or twice. By the end of the day the jury had still not been selected. We were directed to return on Monday. Uh oh. This is getting too close for comfort.
On Monday everyone that had expressed bias (or seemed too eager to be on the jury) was excused. Grrrr. We were musical-chaired around a bit. I was the last to be directed into the jury box (for what I thought would be more questioning) but then the judge sent everyone else home. No way! Come back! 😳
I was on the jury.
OMG. Should I have said I hated cops? That someone close to me was murdered? I’m not that girl.
I had a gig that night. Sound check at 4:30. I was never gonna make it. I told the clerk. She told me to go back to my seat and be quiet. 😳 Seriously, you’re powerless. No customer service. You think Facebook is bad?
The trial started. Opening statements. The cop, a witness, the medical examiner. CSI! I was having trouble focusing though. Kept thinking about missing my gig, my flight, Shucked The Musical on Broadway, The Ivors, The Magical Mystery Tour, and the possibility of having to rebuild my entire journey. I hightailed outa there end of day and got to my gig late. One day down. But I was freaking. Couldn’t eat. Couldn’t sleep.
I consulted my friend Nina, a criminal defense attorney. She said most murder trials last a lot longer than 7 court days. I was fucked. She asked me why I didn’t say anything before they impaneled me? Cuz I’m an idiot. Because I thought the Universe wouldn’t let me down if I did the right thing.
She told me to write the judge a note. A REALLY NICE NOTE. And attach travel documents. I wrote the note. I still couldn’t eat. Way to drop 5 pounds.
Tuesday the court was dark. So another day was lost.
Wednesday morning I went downtown an hour early with my NICE note. The sign on the court room door said “Jurors must wait in the hall.” I ignored it. The bailiff gave me the evil eye. I implored her to show my NICE note to the judge. And then I waited in the hall. A stressful hour later the clerk emerged to tell me the trial wouldn’t go past Friday. How do they know? Who cares. I was so relieved and thankful and HUNGRY!
AND as soon as she gave me that news my anxiety vanished. I was filled with a sense of purpose. Now I can concentrate. Now I can do my civic duty. Inside the box I was fascinated and engaged. I paid acute attention. Took notes. Wondered why the prosecutor wore such form fitting, butt-shaping suits. And heels. I mean fuck-me heels. Every day! I’ll have to ask Nina. I wonder if Nina wears them too.
Went home on Wednesday and couldn’t stop eating. I also couldn’t wait to go back on Thursday.
We heard from the defendant himself. How creepy to be sitting so close to a human that might have killed another human in cold blood.
On Friday The People gave closing arguments. Hmm. She kinda changed my mind. Then the defense gave closing arguments. Hmm. He changed it back. This wasn’t so cut and dry but it’s no time to be Switzerland. I was eager to get into the deliberation room with my fellow jurists whose names I didn’t even know…to whom I hadn’t spoken a word all week. Now we’d be a team. We’d help each make sense of it all.
Now, one thing I haven’t mentioned is that I was one of the 2 alternate jurors. Imagine my disappointment when the judge informed us that alternates do not attend deliberations. WHAT? No fair! How can they make you sit there all week (sometimes months) and then not allow you be part of the conclusion? Even just to audit! How anticlimactic!
I was bummed. But also relieved not to have to determine a man’s fate. I mean, if I had to I know I’d rise to the occasion. My fellow jurors must have been feeling some awesome responsibility. I was to remain in the building — on call to replace any juror who might default and I was to be present for the verdict.
I waited in the cafeteria for the bailiff to call me back in. I think I took a little nap.
Guilty or not, the defendant was a creep. It’s clear the world would be safer without him on the street. But that’s not enough to send a man to jail. Believable witness. Believable cop except for the one obvious fib he told. Or was he mistaken? Did he misremember? And does that make the guy innocent? Hell, no. But it doesn’t make him guilty either. But all things considered, my gut told me guilty.
It’s complicated. There’s specific criteria about how to render a verdict down to the tiniest minutiae. Pages and pages of instruction read to us by the judge about what constitutes self-defense, “intent” and “reasonable.” Things I never thought about before.
Back in the courtroom the clerk read the verdict — Guilty of murder in the second degree. The family of the deceased wept. I cried too. If it had gone the other way I know I would have wished I could have weighed in. As it turned out the work was done for me. Juror #12 agreed to fill me in on how it all unfolded. I mean, wouldn’t you be curious?
After all my apprehension about serving, I have to say jury duty was one of the most illuminating (2) weeks of my life. I highly recommend it. If life is about opening our eyes to new experiences and learning and growing then the Universe is my friend after all in that it gave me a gift and I’ll still make my flight, Shucked, The Ivors and best of all — The Magical Mystery Tour! Roll up. Now, where did I put my passport?
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