My Jury Duty Escapades

Doing my civic duty over the years

Perspective

I just completed another jury duty cycle; I checked in each day, but was never called in. I wanted to serve even though my wife told me at every turn how to wiggle out. SB County called me to report a couple of years ago, but the courts were over-eager to reopen after covid, but covid had other ideas; I ignored that summons and by Tuesday the courts relented and I was done with that jury duty cycle.

Why was I so keen to serve?

I am not proud of the previous times I was called to appear. My first time I was seated in the first crop of candidate jurors, but jury duty was something you worked hard to get out of, so I played dumb during the interview and was eventually let go. Not proud of that cycle and as the years flew by I was eager to do the right thing next time. But that’s not how things worked out either.

Orange County Court

This will count as my second attempt to serve; I cleaned up and reported on time. It’s random I’m sure, I was selected and seated in the jury box, the first group of maybe one hundred possible jurors seated in the courtroom.

The judge describes the process

He was quite the congenial fellow, the judge was a wit and made serving seem worthy, a way to contribute to our democratic society.
He used one analogy I can recall, that being a car driving scenario, something he expected we would all be familiar with; he posed it as a question: Is it illegal to change lanes while driving through an intersection, assuming there’s a lane to change into?

He smiled broadly during the ensuing dramatic pause – “No it’s not illegal! But is it a smart thing to do?”

No, we all nod in unison. And maybe all I can remember from that ditty is that just because some act isn’t smart that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s illegal.

Meanwhile I’m sure I wasn’t the only one whose mind was wandering – what is this case? Will this be a salacious murder trial? Something that the media will report on daily, maybe on TV?

But we’d have to wait while the Assistant District Attorney conducted her interviews, one juror at a time. She was sharply dressed and behaved professionally, just like we’ve all seen on television.

My turn

There were 3 times this querying individual juror candidates occurred; maybe I was straight during the first round of inquiry, but soon the defendant and her attorneys entered the courtroom. That’s when we learn the defendant is facing a marijuana charge, not a sensational criminal case. I’ve got a good view of this grandmotherly character; she’s well into her fifties at least. She looks part American Indian – is she an indigenous drug dealer? I’m immediately sympathetic; she looks like she has mouths to feed at home. This person is no cartel criminal, yes I’ve let my imagination run wild. Is this case solely a way for this striving ADA to gain a quick conviction and advance her career? Was I too quickly coming to conclusions? I was. So I was mentally and emotionally ready to object…

Another round of questioning

More penetrating questions follow as the ADA works the jury a second time. When she settles on me I start raising my objections. “This looks like a waste of this courts time, this marijuana case.” I still don’t know any details, but that doesn’t stop me from raising my concerns.

The judge has seen it all, you can imagine, he handles me in stride, “Would you listen to the case as the facts are presented and follow my instructions as to how to decide the case?”

He’s the judge after all, in his robes, sitting on high and he’s handling me quite benignly. I meekly nod my head, “Yes, your honor.”

Take a break

Next, the process adjourns – everyone needs a break and as I reflect back on this moment I see the judge heading to his chambers confident he settled a petty insurrection within this jury pool. But that would not be how things evolved.

Our marching orders for the break: no talking to your fellow jurists and absolutely no discussing the case. But by now I’m recognized by everyone who’s ever smoked a joint, so it only takes a minute before a woman juror approaches to share simpatico – she doesn’t like the idea of sending this grandmother to jail either.

At this point I could’ve climbed up onto a chair and started inciting a riot; instead I quietly walked off to be by myself for the next 10 minutes. I still wasn’t happy with what looked to be an unfair prosecution over marijuana. I probably wasn’t the only juror thinking that someday soon weed would be legalized, at least decriminalized. The Bailiff calls us back and I’m sitting in the jury box for whatever comes next.

I make my stand

During this intervening time I’ve found a bit of courage, so as I find myself in the hot seat, the first juror to commence the third round of interviews, I’m ready for a scrap. To the ADA, “No I won’t change my mind and no, respectfully, I still feel this is a waste of this court’s time.”

I’m not the first paper tiger she’s ever encountered either, “Really? If I were to select you for this jury you wouldn’t listen objectively and follow the judge’s instructions?”

What a setup! My reptilian brain latches onto her remark. I respond in my theatrical voice,

“No I won’t and on my way home I’m going to stop to buy a lottery ticket, because I’ve got a better chance of winning the lottery than making this jury.”

As has happened to me more than once in my standup oratory, there’s an immediate single chuckle from someone in the audience. Then one second later the entire jury pool, all one hundred of them are laughing their asses off. I’ve made my point and disrupted the courtroom.

Once the room settles I’m dismissed. Have I poisoned this jury pool? Only the judge knows. I have nothing more to say, so I sit. I’m not sure as I’m the first person to be discharged, but I assume that now I can stand and depart, so I get up and work my way out of the jury box, into the aisle. I have to pass by the ADA who is standing two rows deep into the courtroom. I say nothing as I walk past, but I turn my head to look at her, just in time to see her flinch as I walk past, as if I was about to make a threatening gesture towards her, which of course I had no intention of doing.

It would be quite some time before I would understand what she was really intending with that flinch. Today I see it as her signaling a threat to the bailiff, offering him an excuse to assault me for making a perceived threat to the ADA. But he wasn’t looking; he didn’t see her flinch. I didn’t see the bailiff on my way up the aisle and out of the courtroom, but I picture him smiling, too, after all how many times does he get to see great comedy at the expense of the ADA? I like to think he was daydreaming of the lottery ticket he’d stop to buy on his way home.

On my way out

You never know, there could be traffic on the way home, so I make a pit stop in the lobby restroom. I collect my thoughts then on my way out I’m surprised – other jurors have been discharged, faster than I thought. Did the judge dismiss everyone in the jury pool? A handful are lingering in the lobby – I pause to listen.

“I have kids at home, I can’t be sitting here dealing with a stupid weed case.”

“My brother’s about to finish a 2-year sentence for possession with intent to sell – he had half a baggie in the trunk. This shit’s fucked up!”

“I’m a researcher at UC Irvine, we’re studying the potential therapeutic use of some of these Class I felony items – I can’t serve on this jury.”

Then I see the Bailiff approach – he steps directly towards me. He’s all business, “The judge wants to see you in his chambers…”

Epilog

I’ve often remembered this story, my unfulfilled attempt at jury duty a few decades ago. Today I still feel a duty to serve and when the next summons appears I’ll be eager to comply. Will I ever get seated on some juicy murder-for-hire case? Who’s to say, all I do know is that these many years later marijuana has been decriminalized, so hopefully whatever the issue that is prosecuted I won’t be grandstanding during the jury selection process.