Jury Duty

One of the most important civic duties we have to fulfill is jury duty. Let's face it, crimes will be committed, there will be a trial, and innocent people will go to prison. It's one of the few inalienable rights we can still count on.

Whenever I'm called for jury duty I take it very seriously. I'm deciding the fate of another human being, and I'm not getting paid for it. I need to be unbiased, unwavering, and unemployed. I already have all of these traits which makes me the ideal juror. It enables me to look the accused dead in the eye and say, "Maybe you did it, maybe you didn't, either way you're going to fry." But that's when the judge threatens to remove me as a juror. I apologize for being too honest and ask if they'll be serving breakfast any time soon, or if it'll be served with the defendant's last meal. Then the judge threatens to dismiss me again, but how am I supposed to know when breakfast gets served? It wasn't even in the brochure.

Once the trial gets started I make sure to listen intently to my growling stomach. Then I politely ask the juror next to me if they have any crackers. They don't seem to hear me so I repeat the question over and over until they yell, "No!" I just laugh because they must not have had breakfast either. Then I pull a Big Mac out of my bag because I'm not waiting.

As the prosecution wraps up her opening statement, she finishes by asking us to find the defendant guilty on all counts, to which I respond, "I will" as a pickle falls out of my mouth. That's when the judge gives me a final warning. I apologize again. I sincerely forgot you're not supposed to make a mess during opening statements.

Now it's the defending attorney's turn for an opening. I quickly finish off my Big Mac so I can pay close attention to the notes my neighbor is taking. As I'm copying his notes, occasionally asking if he can move his hand, he eventually gets frustrated and tells me to take my own notes. But why should everyone have to? I immediately know we don't have a team player on our hands. Then I start getting suspicious that he actually does have crackers. I start laughing to myself as I think that he's the one who should be on trial, then I go rifling through his bag to find those crackers. He gets angry and screams, "Why are you going through my bag?! I'm sitting right here!!" I say, "Sorry, point taken. Will you be getting up any time soon?" Then he puts me in a headlock and says, "I'm sorry. I don't think I made myself clear. Stay out of my bag. Period!" I just rub his back and tell him it's ok. Communication can be a real bear, but at least he's working on it.

Once both sides have presented their case, it's time for the jurors to deliberate. This portion is important. I can't let myself be swayed by intimidation, bullying, or evidence. I'm my own man. I can make my own decisions and I don't need facts clouding my judgement. Most of the "evidence" was probably staged anyway. So when one of the jurors states they think he's guilty because of the fingerprints, eye witnesses, surveillance footage, DNA evidence, and confession, I stick to my guns. I say, "I thought he was guilty at first too just based on his shoes, but when he was on the stand I started to feel like he didn't do it based on how he said, "I didn't do it." That was really powerful to me." Then the other jurors say something like, "He didn't even testify! That was his uncle!" But splitting hairs isn't how you reach verdicts. Then I try to steer the conversation back to his shoes, because there's no way those things were comfortable.

As minutes turn into hours, and hours turn into days, and there's still no sign of breakfast, we all start worrying that we'll never reach a consensus. We have 11 for guilty, and 1 for not guilty. We're so close. If it wasn't for the 11 guilty we'd be done by now. I just remind everyone that this is all part of the process. We're serving justice here, not breakfast. Then, to break the tension, I ask the other jurors if they're sure they know anything about the law, because it kind of seems like they might not. They get irritated and begin cursing, pulling their hair, and throwing their chairs at me. And I get it, sitting for too long can make you crazy, and it's not healthy either. But we don't need to take it out on the furniture. Then, to find some common ground I suggest we ask for standing desks. They yell, "This isn't funny!", but I assure them I'm not joking. That only seems to make them more angry, though, so I ask if they do in fact want to hear a joke. Then they start screaming incoherently because they don't want to.

After what feels like an eternity, we finally make some headway. It was a grueling and hard fought battle, but through perseverance I finally convince the court to give us a muffin. As they're being distributed I tell them they can skip juror number three, because he has crackers. Then I look at him like, "I got your back."

Now that we're all refueled, I have this overwhelming sense of determination. We're going to get this thing done and I don't care how many muffins it takes or how many times we need to stand up. By the way the rest of the jurors are huddled on the opposite side of the room, glaring at me, I can tell they feel the same way. "That's the spirit!", I say, and then I tug on my hair a little to show solidarity. Then, just as we're about to get started, they all go absolutely ballistic and dive over the table at me. As they punch, claw, and gouge, I think, "What the heck did they put in those muffins?!" Then I do a little clawing myself.

Just as I think we're getting somewhere, security comes and breaks up our brainstorming session. Apparently they don't like our unorthodox method of deliberation. One of the jurors says, "No, we just don't like you!" And I totally get it. We're not here to make friends, even if some of us are now.

When we're all released from jury duty I feel a tremendous sense of pride. We literally fought tooth and nail over this case. And sure, maybe we didn't reach a verdict or figure out what was up with the defendant's shoes. But what we did do was something even more special. We spent 36 weeks together, and we had breakfast. It may not be the American dream, but it's close.