I won't pretend I'm the only one of my peers who has fallen victim to the Massachusetts Jury Duty plague that's been going around like a four year cold. So, today, June 9th, when i took my sorry ass to the Suffolk Superior Courthouse, I had a feeling like I was going through some unwanted rite of passage. Yes, many of my friends and classmates have also done the same, so today was my turn. Having already used my one postpone excuse (for studying abroad), there was no more passing Go, no more collecting $200: time to suck it up and be summoned.
I was delightfully reminded of this duty when I received my Juror's Questionnaire paper in the mail this past week. Among the various information fields, there were a couple of disclaimers:
1.) There is no number for you to reach the Jury Commission should you feel unable to perform your civic obligation on your scheduled day. JUST APPEAR. (Read: we don't care if you're puking blood, missing organs, or on Saturn. You get your sorry civilian ass to our courtroom....or else.)
2.) Parking is not provided for you at the courthouse and is extremely limited and obscenely expensive. We suggest public transportation. (Read: we don't know or care how the hell you're going to get here, cause if you bring your piddly car, we're gonna tow your ass and make you pay. Depend on the T, ya lousy bums.)
The day started at 5 AM when my alarm didn't go off and Dad came upstairs to wake me up, with his signature move. This involved grabbing my ankle and shaking me until I showed signs of being awake. My dream of riding on the back of Matthew McConaughey's Vespa throughout Rome suddenly became a nightmare in which the street trembled with an earthquake and I awoke in Cranston, in rainy weather, on jury duty day, without Matthew. I rolled out of bed. Civic obligation my ass. I don't even live in the freaking state of MA.
Making it through the train ride was pretty easy with a fun new book, and after grabbing a little pastry and some much needed coffee in South Station, my day of government duty was looking up. I emerged from the Bowdoin T station with my rain hat, umbrella and a fuzzy map on the summons paper I had received in the mail. I sang the Law and Order song in my head, and strode through the intersection like a flashy lawyer. Then I stepped in a puddle with my flip flops.
I trekked it up Somerset Street, a fairly steep city street, following the ace directions that the Jury Commission provided (a map the size of a stamp which had been printed and re-copied from a 1950's document...the rain drop in the center of it didn't help either). I saw an enormous building that I assumed was the courthouse. Looking for the proper entrance, I glance at the sign over the giant glass doors: "John Adams Courthouse" WTF? I'm not even going to that courthouse....and how the hell many courthouses are even on this street? How can there be THAT many crimes in the state of Massachusetts? Wait, nevermind, I've seen how they drive...point taken. I backtracked down the hill, gingerly stepping around and cursing my idiotic shoe choice until I turned a corner to see some arrows directing jurors. I hadn't seen it from across the street since it was written on a Post-It. Thanks guys. (*thumbs up)
After clearing the metal detectors, I was into the elevator, heading for the second floor. As I emerged at my destination, I was "greeted" by dozens of other happy campers: all eager folks ready to get their civic adventures on. I handed in my questionnaire to three uniformed jury officers and took my seat among the hundred or so people already seated in the swanky juror pool area. Having been told to report at 8 AM sharp, I glanced at the clock. 7:55. Great, I thought, we'll start in five minutes and be out of here by lunch time. 8 came...so did 8:30, 8:45 and 9:00. At 9, a squat, middle aged woman approached the podium. The jurors' already hushed silence became even more hushed. The woman stopped at the podium, looked at the enormous room and took a long blinking pause. We stared back: it was like an awkward date. "Arright." she said, in the craziest Boston accent I ever heard, "We heah at the Suffick Sup-ey-ree-ah Cawt Howse wanna welcome yas tah jury doody." At least her accent was true to the local flavor. She continued the rehearsed speech: that the Court System was happy we were present for our civic obligations and that we were doing a service in keeping America's legal system in the works....which would have been slightly more moving had it not been said in the tone of a busy signal. But I digress. The real treat at the end of the speech was that we got to watch a 17 minute film about our upcoming experience at jury duty. It's funny that when you're in a class, and the person at the podium announces you're about to watch a movie, everybody in the room is thinking the same thing: score. In high school, there's the occasional "Yes!" whispered; in college, people jump up and down and there's an occasional tear of joy. It does not matter if it's a documentary about paint drying: movie= freedom from class, and that always rocks. In this case, my "classmates" were less than thrilled. In fact, there were several slightly audible groans and a bunch of shifting around and loud hissing. Whatever, I thought....at least there's a movie. "Oh yeah...." our fearless leader added as she set up the AV equipment, "this front TV heah's busted....yous guys in da front row bettah move back ah some'in..." The first 8 rows of people hissed louder, and moved back to the other rows just as the feature film got rolling.
Excited 80's synthesizer noises chimed together like the tune from an archaic biology film strip. A large clip art of a scale came to the screen with big yellow letters reading: "Your Day at Jury Duty". The next scene was a judge posing next to the bench. Dressed in her traditional black gowns, she addressed the camera. This is when I lost it. The woman speaking, who I'm sure is an intelligent, morally sound and experienced judge of the law, had a voice like Elmer Fudd. I am not lying: the woman was incapable of saying the letter "r" and instead used "w". This produced a speech that began: "Welcome to yow fiwst day of juwy duty. We at Suffolk Supewiow Cawt want to thank you juwows fow yow sewvice to the cawt system of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts.....you cwazy wabbit." I snorted a laugh. Pull it together, girl! Nobody else in the room noticed this ever-more-obvious speech pattern, or at least they were ALL too mature to ignore it, unlike me. I summoned all my powers to hold in the laughter, biting my lip, covering my mouth....I was hopeless. After a few minutes of what I assume consisted of the basic juror information, Elmer turned it over to two lawyers to continue specific explanations about what our day as jurors would be like. Change the scene to a Jane Fonda look alike in an 80's power suit and a portly version of Orville Redenbacher in a tweed jacket.
Jane: "Welcome jurors! Today you are performing an extremely important civic duty! You are helping to keep our legal system intact."
Orville: "That's right! And now, we're going to outline a few procedures and common things you may encounter during your day of service here at jury duty!"
Jane: "Let's start off with who can be called to jury duty. Jurors come from ALL walks of life: doctors, lawyers, teachers, nurses, hairdressers, truck drivers, carpenters, engineers, dental hygenists, cobblers, chefs, florists, ministers, rabbis, butchers, bakers, candlestick makers, interior decorators, jewelers, partially unemployed bums living in their mothers' basements, seamstresses and corn farmers. (Jane falls on the ground from lack of oxygen.)
Orville, stepping over Jane: "That's right! Now let's discuss the various types of trials that can be heard: civil and criminal...."
The tape rolled on for another excruciating 16 minutes, outlining different procedures and protocol, complete with extras decked out in some hot styles from 1981. The synthesizer came back on, providing an inspirational soundtrack to our legal adventures to come. Except, instead of being inspired, the lights came on to find a group of half-sleeping, half-sneering and all around disgusted jurors looking around for the next indication of what to do. We glanced around as the original officer approached the podium. "Yous guys can take a break til 10..." A break? From what? I sat in a chair for an hour, watched a 17 minute movie, and now I'm going to mill around a courthouse lobby with a bunch of strangers eating government pastry? No way. I looked around as people scattered around excitedly, as if the officer had signed them all up for adult summer camp and the last one to the bus was a rotten egg.
10:00 comes around...so does 10:30, 10:45, and 11:00. I started thinking that the officer's lecture about our "curfew" was just a bluff: BE BACK HERE AT 10 SHARP. Here we were, reading through the free Metro for the 28th time, and it was 11:00....11:15: she ambles forward, calling those in Panel 1. My panel. I rise and follow my jurors to an 8th floor courtroom. This is when jury duty stopped getting boring and started scaring the shit out of me. It was a murder trial, the defendant of which was sitting five feet away from me, unhandcuffed in his chair. The judge spent the next hour and a half going through excruciatingly long witness lists, questions and procedural stuff, all of which I listened to in between cautious sideways glances to the defendant. Next, all the lawyers, the defendant and his interpreter crowded around the bench, where each juror had to approach the pack and justify their answers to the previous questions. I stepped forward for my turn, joining what resembled the weirdest football huddle I have ever seen: picture a 60 year old judge looking down on three middle aged lawyers, a four and a half foot tall translator and a defendant with a frizzy ponytail. Oh yeah, and me in the middle, whispering my answers because apparently the windows cave in if you speak over a hushed tone. In the end, I was excused for my NOT living in Massachusetts: a revolutionary concept that was my original and only problem with being summoned in the first place.
Though, admittedly, it was a waste of a perfectly good sleeping in day, a waste of $12.50 in transportation fees, and a general nuisance sitting around for the sake of people who can't obey the law, it WAS a good glimpse into what really happens in a trial, and more importantly in a courthouse. My day in the MA jury pool showed me the true skill of a gifted juror: being able to sit in one chair for 6 hours, pretending to enjoy an informative film made before you were born, and reading the same newspaper cover to cover, 87 times.
