A Day... FOR JUSTICE!

Back in August, I was scheduled for jury duty. I was all prepared to do my civil service when something came up and they rescheduled me for November.

Well, Wednesday night around 1am, I dialed into the Select-A-Juror-Life-Ruiner-Lotto-Matic 5000® and found out I did indeed have to appear the next morning.

What follows is a true story. The names have been changed to protect the innocent. These are... The Little Details.

• Simple math (and I am friends with no math other than the simple variety) reveals that 1:45am to 5:45am is four hours of sleep. PLENTY of rest before deciding the fate of that accused murderer or serial arsonist.
• I don't need ANY sleep to decide the fate of Phil Spector... GUILTY, GUILTY, GUILTY! Unfortunately his trial has already started.
• Even if it hadn't, I suspect I might be disqualified from hearing his case. Which is too bad, because he is GUILTY!
• Look at it this way: juror bias makes for a short trial.
• I am the 3-In-One Oil that lubricates the Wheels of Justice.
• "It's 6:50am and welcome to the LA Rush Hour. Today's drive will feature a variety of speeds from zero to 72, along with a delightful assortment of sights, smells and inexplicable driver behavior. The forecast for today is cool and hazy, with a particularly arresting shade of burnt orange overhead thanks to our ongoing Apocalypse. Our estimated arrival time is unable to be estimated, but we will be sure to give you updates on all the latest car fires, crashes, and lane closures throughout your trip. If you have any questions or comments about today's rush hour, please direct them to the nearest commuter on a cell phone. For your convenience, you'll find them located EVERYWHERE. Enjoy your drive and thank you again for choosing Los Angeles."
• Despite traffic, you arrive five minutes early. Probably because you skipped breakfast.
• Well, you didn't skip it so much as you decided to forgo it in lieu of checking your email.
• That and your kitchen still looks like that scene from The Sixth Sense. -If, one morning, the dead people decided to make themselves some pancakes.
• The jury summons says "Free parking is located at the Walt Disney Concert Hall." Note that the words "nearby" and "convenient" do not appear anywhere in that sentence.
• Your first duty as a potential juror: find the courthouse. This is how they weed out the really stupid ones.
• When they say "airport security measures are in place" at the courthouse, it means that:
  1. They will confiscate your Leatherman Micra, and
  2. The metal detector is set to sense the fillings in your teeth.
• Unlike airport security, you don't have to take off your shoes or surrender that 20-ounce bottle of water. Apparently at the LA County Criminal Court, THE TERRORISTS HAVE ALREADY WON.
• Or maybe they don't buy into fear-mongering bullshit.
• Oops, someone's pet peeve got off its leash again. Call the pound.
• LA geographically divides itself along racial lines into little tribal clusters. Those lines get twisted into one psychedelic color-by-numbers painting in the jury pool of the LA County Criminal Court.
• Despite the impressive racial and cultural diversity, everyone wears the same grim mask of boredom and annoyance.
• Promptly at 7:45, the Big Lady with the Big Hair and the Big Voice arrives to give us our instructions. First order of business: form two lines. The BLBHBV informs us that these two lines are completely arbitrary and serve no purpose other than to form two lines.
• Welcome to jury duty: we will render you like cattle and you will render us justice.
• The instinctual act of Hollywood butt-sniffing sets in and a quick survey of the jury pool reveals I am, in fact, the most famous person in the room. *sniff*
• Hey, I got tied up in coaxial cable during Monday Night Football - who else can make that claim!?
• Actually, keep that list to yourself. What you do in your basement is your own business.
• Step One in the orientation process is to get rid of everyone who doesn't want to be there. Surprisingly, this is only 10% of the room.
• Why would you show up to jury duty just to tell them that you don't want to show up for jury duty?
• My only explanation: 1 in 10 jurors panics when confronted with the arcane phone tree of the Select-A-Juror-Life-Ruiner-Lotto-Matic 5000®.
• Step Two in the orientation process: One of the actual judges shows up to give a brief but warm speech about your duty as a citizen and the rewarding experience of deciding a criminal trial. He also conveys a deep empathy for us by saying that he knows none of us want to be there and we all have other things to do. He then demonstrates that empathy by thanking us, and leaving to go do something else.
• Check that Starmeter rating for the room: someone just showed up late and it's Chad Brokaw, the guy from the Alltel commercials. He has his own campaign! -Jerk.
• To be fair, I have a campaign too, but it mostly involves rat-men and drug-running mind flayers. In fact, I have TWO campaigns. The other one involves giant snakes and vampires.
• Yeah, I know what you're thinking. Chad Brokaw? -TOTALLY jealous. Well, we can't ALL be Dungeon Masters.
• Boy, am I setting myself up to get quoted out of context.
• Step Three in the process is to explain that California has a "One Day/One Trial" term of service. Basically, they have a more advanced cybernetic brain called the Mega-Instant-Depressa-Juror 9000® that pulls names from the jury pool when a case is put to trial. The people selected probably end up hearing that case (unless of course, they are pre-disposed to pronounce the defendant guilty by reason of being a sick misogynistic freak with gunpowder and blood all over his hands) and they serve the full term of that case - one week, one month, whatever. If, however, you make it to the end of the day without your name getting drawn, you are relieved of service for the next year.
• Basically, the teeth-grinding lottery continues throughout the day with everyone holding their breath hoping Henry the Friendly Clerk doesn't call their name. Or calls their name for a really short trial.
• Trial number one: A special case that starts December 4th and will almost certainly go into January.
• At this point, pretty much everyone starts crapping their pants.
• I dodge a bullet as thirty potential jurors trudge out of the room. The tedious process of waiting for the next trial announcement resumes. In the meantime, they show us a video explaining service as a juror.
• Since I don't plan on BEING a juror, I pay no attention to the video. Other than to wonder if the actors were union or non-union.
• Unfortunately, you can't tell by looking. You have to check the barcode on the back of their neck.
• Today's Jurist: Pillar of American Justice (or whatever it was called, like I said, I didn't pay attention) is followed by Downtown LA: Not a COMPLETE Urban Wasteland, a 90-minute video that names every single business within a five-mile radius of the courthouse.
• The sole noteworthy part of the downtown promo piece: LA has a mall. An underground mall.
• This prompts you to spend the next forty minutes coming up with marketing slogans for the underground mall:
  • "Where Socks Appeal Meets Rocks Appeal!"
  • "First To Go When The Big One Hits!"
  • "Like Logan's Run For The 30-Plus Crowd!"
  • "All The Shops Of A Strip Mall, All The Charm Of Hitler's Bunker."
• At eleven o'clock Henry the Friendly Clerk comes on the PA to hand out more doom and gloom. The Alltel guy gets swept up in the devastation. Fame, it seems, has its price.
• Lunchtime finally arrives. A welcome relief since you spent the last 90 minutes cursing your decision to check email instead of putting life-giving nourishment into your weary body. You emerge into the bleary light of day and immediately head for... the LA Mall. You want to know if lives up to the hype.
• Or, rather: DOWN to the hype.
• They have gyros, a drugstore, and a B. Dalton. Not bad. Still, you suspect the B. Dalton has a copy of Mein Kampf stashed somewhere on one of the back shelves.
• They have complete maps of the WWII Allied war plans in the bargain bin out front, that's all I'm sayin'.
• After a filling lunch of lemon chicken, pitas, and rice, you return to the assembly room. You have two jobs: read The Atlantic Monthly, and try to stay awake.
• You might as well try to recite the Gettysburg Address and gargle a mouthful of roofing nails at the same time. These activities are mutually exclusive.
• You snap out of your food coma and realize it's two o'clock. Three more hours and you will have safely fulfilled your civic obligation for a full year... Somehow everyone in the room seems to affect the same discordant blend of anxiety and resignation.
• At 3:30, Henry the Friendly Clerk comes on the PA. "Any potential jurors in the hall, please come to the jury assembly room. Any potential jurors in the hall, please come to the jury assembly room..." Apparently the Mega-Instant-Depressa-Juror 9000® has sealed the fates of a fresh batch of candidates in the holding area.
• Reluctantly, you tuck away your magazine and cellphone. You know you've escaped two cases already and there's no way you're not getting picked for a third.
• "Ladies and gentlemen..." Henry the Friendly Clerk says into the soul-deadening microphone, "The holidays have come early this week and you are relieved for the rest of the day. Your service is fulfilled." The assembly room breaks out in spontaneous applause.
• Karma, it seems, has smiled on you. You decide to return the favor by giving a friend a ride to the airport. After all, it's 3:45. Just in time for... the LA Rush Hour.

-Tom, Insta-Random-Snark-A-Blogger 2600.