Here Comes the Juror

Friday, September 22, 2006

Page 15

AT THE SIDEBAR (Column)

Here Comes the Juror

By J’AMY PACHECO

There are three things I dread finding in my mailbox: post-holiday credit card bills, anything having to do with taxes, and a jury summons.

With apologies to any judges, lawyers, court staff or even litigants who might take offense at my remarks, I admit I hate being summoned for jury duty. Oh, I know it’s my civic duty and all that, but I’d be lying if I said I look forward to it.

It’s not the people – they’re nice, and always seem happy to see us prospective jurors when we show up. It’s just that it’s so…um…not fun.

I’ve been pretty lucky in recent years. I’ve only been summoned a few times, and most of those times, was released almost immediately. I did serve as a jury foreperson once, and found the experience interesting. However, I confess the words, “The court wishes to thank and excuse Mrs. Pacheco,” are music to my ears.

I had hoped to hear those words last week when I showed up for my day in court. I figured the Russian Mafia must have been going on trial that day, because the check-in line stretched halfway to Needles. There were so many of us in the jury room that the chairs were filled long before the end of the line was processed.

After watching a couple videos that explained jury service, we watched the vintage television show, Bonanza. It was kind of hard to follow from my post against the side wall, but I either saw Ben Cartwright’s wife die, or a Swedish immigrant give birth to a horse. Either way, it was tragic.

Eventually we were split into three groups, and I was designated an “E.” Unfortunately, juries don’t get sent out alphabetically, so while groups “D” and “F” went to their courtrooms on important jury business, us “Es” watched back-to-back episodes of the Andy Griffith Show.

Although I’d hoped to be set free, the “E” group was called to a courtroom just before lunch. This is where things started to get interesting. You’d be amazed at the excuses people come up with in an attempt to shirk jury service – everything from getting tile installed to having to drive a neighbor’s cat to its bimonthly holistic dental cleansing. Or something like that.

Questioning of individual prospective jurors followed. This is called voir dire, and is pronounced either voor dyer or vwa deer, depending on which lawyer got the highest grade in French class in school. In any case, it’s the time when the judge and the lawyers ask questions of people they’ve never met, like, “Have you ever been the victim of a crime? How much money do you make? Are you related to any convicted felons?”

At this point, prospective jurors started dropping like flies. I’m not sure what got most of them released, but I know it had something to do with a secret room just behind the bailiff.

I know this because it seemed like every other juror expressed a desire to consult privately with the judge, and every one of them disappeared through the doorway that led to that little room. Of course, a private conversation with a judge just ain’t gonna happen, so every time a prospective juror pointed to the secret door, two lawyers and a guy carrying his court reporting equipment had to go, too. And almost every time, the prospective juror came out, picked up a pink piece of paper and bid us au revoir. (I’ll leave the pronunciation of that one up to you. Or your lawyer.)

The secret room visits continued after lunch, and lasted well into the afternoon. It was at this point I discovered the jury selection process in the case before the court had been going on since the previous Wednesday. This fact caused me a great deal of worry — and made me wonder if they had little sandwiches behind that door.

I was still in the audience when, late in the afternoon, a jury was accepted by both sides and sworn in. I thought my head would explode when one of the sworn jurors raised his hand and pointed at the secret room. When he came out, he took his pink paper and left — and the process started again. I think he might have been chewing.

There were six of us left when it came time to fill the alternate slots. I couldn’t believe it when my number was called.

But the fates smiled upon me, because the two people before me met with the approval of the lawyers, and I was at last set free. And while I’m not looking forward to being called again, I think if I am, I’m going to ask for a private chat with the judge, the lawyers and the guy with the machine.

I’m hoping I’ll get at least a little sandwich for my trouble…