As with everything else in my life my jury duty was #1 - less dramatic than I would have hoped, #2 - full of idiots and #3 - relatively insane.
To start off, it seemed like everyone I sat next to had gas; either stomach gas or intestinal gas or just a plain old case of fartamongstus. Most of them, by the way, were women so Gloria Steinhem can kiss my flatulent ass!
The first day really blew. That was quickly matched and exceeded by the second day, which also blew. But on the third day there was a distinct turnaround - it not only blew, it sucked too. Okay, I'm exaggerating, although the first day was mostly comprised of sitting around waiting to be talked down to by jury supervisor Karen Baker, a 40+ year old bleached blonde hottie who reveled in her sole power of being able to say "so-and-so didn't show up for jury duty / please castrate accordingly".
On the first day of real jurating I was promptly not picked for a panel regarding a criminal case. The case involved a young black/hispanic hybrid male who was accused of general bedlam. My un-selection must have distressed the prosecution, because I wore my cowboy hat and everyone knows all cowboys are racists (that's why I married a Jew, right!). At first I, like everyone else,
hated the defense attorny with a great and delicious hatred. He was picky, he asked difficult questions that all seemed to be the same questions with slight variations in flavor, and he simply refused to tie his tie correctly (AND his suit wasn't ironed). Soon, however, I began to love him...but this was still before the hot gay monkey sex that followed. I realized he was actually doing his job and my respect ensued....er, respectfully. But the cream della cream pie finally climaxed when he disclosed to me privately (NOW's the gay sex part) that he was actually a public defender making exactly 12 cents per hour. He fought like a demon and one was compelled to respect him for it. I asked him for his business card, but that being an exorbitant expense for a public servant he simply wrote his cell phone number on my penis instead.
I wasn't selected for his panel.
My penis still hurts from ink poisoning.
I was selected from the jury pool for a panel of twelve the very next day. This was a civil case involving the Original Little Old Lady from Climax Springs, Missouri - which almost made her a neighbor. Evidently she and her husband were entering (or exiting, depending on which lying lawyer you put your faith and life savings in) a Wal-Mart in Clinton, Missouri when she fell. The defense (Wal-Mart) claimed she stumbled over her own two feet. The plaintiff, Original Little Old Lady represented by a lawyer named County who had freaky eyebrows and literally no neck, claimed she stumbled over a grout-filled groove in the vestibule's concrete floor. As a juror, it is my firm believe based upon the evidence that she was actually shot from the grassy knoll, but no one believed me.
There were the usual arguments and witnesses: a llama testified that Bob Geldoff was indeed an alien, and a can of Campbell's tomato soup testified that Madonna actually operated an anal probe on behalf of the Kenyan government. But what surprised me was that the attorny's involved actually did their job. There were no backroom deals (although I myself signed up for the back
door deal with my D.A. buddy) and the lawyers actually argued. I'd never seen that before: lawyers
working, so I'm still a little stunned. But they worked hard, and as I always feel when any competing parties work hard I wished that everybody could have won. But everyone did not win. Losers, as befitting the moniker, lost and the winners won. Go figure. The law is funny that way.
But the best part of the whole trial was the judge: His Honor Vernon Scoville III (with hearing aid). Vern, as I came to know him, was a former state representative. What's even better is that he was currently enrolled in coursework to become a nurse, no kidding. Scoville spoke v-e-r-y d-e-l-i-b-e-r-a-t-e-l-y a-n-d d-i-s-t-i-n-c-t-i-v-e-l-y and couldn't quite keep the shepherd's disdain for the foolish sheep out of his voice when addressing the jury, but - and I want to be quite clear on this - I have NEVER EVER stepped into a court of law and been treated with the respect and dignity and regard for my Citizenship as an American as I have been this past week. The behavior of all was exemplary and I am most grateful. Even the deputy guards at the metal detector reached a point where they disregarded the anal cavity search and let me pass through relatively unmolested, more's the pity. They were all courteous and hospitable and quite nice to the point where I actually agree now with those in the American government who feel they should kill anyone in the world who doesn't want to be an American. It truly is the greatest judicial system in the world, the late Johnnie Cochran notwithstanding.
It is not, however, a free ride. I was nominated jury foreman - a position befitting a man who cruised through college stoned to the bone and whose career energies are sorely tested by a 9 hour per week job at Fox 4 News. I guess there is something ingrained in Americans that makes them trust and rely on a cowboy, gay or not. During deliberating we stayed on track, stopping only for pizza and 18 smoke breaks in our unrelenting pursuit of justice. We found for the defendant, Wal-Mart, with a vote of 9-3 (only a vote of 9 is required in civil cases so there was little danger of a hung jury, especially considering my girth). And we all felt bad for the Original Little Old Lady. She'd fallen and broken her hip and we knew she was in pain. She was 79 and cried on the stand. She'd never been in a courtroom in her life and had spent considerable funds hiring a bogus engineer and her neckless lawyer. But her medical expenses were already paid by insurance and being old is all about being in pain anyway, so money realy doesn't help. Besides, she just
fell. There was no negligence on the part of Wal-Mart, except for the stark lack of girl-on-girl porn in their magazine section. And while we all felt tearful for the Original Little Old Lady and wanted to send her home with a bag of money, we were unanimous in our agreement that said money should NOT be absconded from Wal-Mart for negligence that didn't occur and a floor that no one else had a problem with.
Hell, the old brawd was probably just drunk anyway.
Now for a personal note. Judge Vern made several mistakes in the course of the trial, not the least of which was answering a
phone call during cross-examination (think I'm kidding! This IS Missouri, after all). During the closing arguments the jury were all given printed copies of the jury instructions. The last two pages were missing from my copy, and I regretfully stood up and mentioned this fact to the court. In his most condescending tone the good judge informed me that what was actually missing was the juror's verdict form which I wouldn't need until later and that no other jury had the form either. I smiled politely, apologized to his honor and the court and sat down...knowing full well that instructions #9 and #10 were indeed missing from my copy because I spent a good portion of the closing argument period looking of the shoulder of another juror. He was right, I was wrong. I emphasized this point by leaving my shortened copy of the jury instructions on the deliberating table with the bold words written across the top:
INSTRUCTIONS #9 AND #10 ARE MISSING!!! (heh-heh-heh, I love being an asshole).
The other real mistake old Vern made was actually acutely embarrassing for him, and (of course) again involved myself. The jury retired, ate two government pizzas, took 103 smoke breaks, talked about the latest episode of "Lost" and then condemned the poor Original Little Old Lady to a lifetime of attorny's fees with our verdict. As jury foreskin I let everyone look at the form. We agreed on how to fill it out. Then we filled it out. The first paragraph of the form assigned fault to each party. We felt and decided 9-3 that no one was at fault. The second paragraph,
only to be completed it any fault was decided upon, was the financial part where we listed an actual monetary amount (heretofore referred to as "extortion") to be paid by so-and-so party. This part was to be left blank if no fault was indicated, as clearly spelled out in the form.
With all aplomb I and my fellow jur-bils entered the courtroom. The judge asked if we had reached a verdict. "We have, your honor." The judge then directed his law clerk to receive the paperwork from me, which I delivered somberly. The judge reviewed the paperwork and declared to the entire court that the form was not in good order and that the jury must again retire to
re-read the instructions and render again the verdict in its proper form. Again, I smiled, apolgized to the court and to the judge and retired back the debilitating room with my fellow jurors. Less than two minutes later the clerk popped back in and summoned us again into the courtroom. The judge then made the most insincere apology known to jurisprudence and delcared the verdict in good form. I didn't smile this time. And that was the end of the case.
Except for the fact that one of our fellow jurors was dismissed for offering a sandwich to the plaintiff...a very nice if incredibly stupid thing to do.
