Bryan went to court this week without getting thrown in jail or being held in contempt(ster). Here’s his account of spending time with that little rascal, civic duty. To check out past posts look at the Premature Exasperations Archive.
The Fuhrer of Juror Furor
By Bryan
I once had a youth group leader called Dr. 80’s. Looking back this had everything to do with his thorough use of denim clothing and less to do with him having a Ph.D in the decade. He also once made the most salient declaration of my youth.
“I can tell you one thing, I ain’t goin’ down for statch again!”
Not only did it point to a crime to avoid (statutory rape), but also that one must learn from their mistakes. Yes, a mix of creep and a plea for self-preservation in one statement.
It was with this in mind that I attended jury duty this week. A dizzying amount of uncertainties envelop a potential juror and in my confusion I relied on the memory of one man.
WWD80’sD. The good doctor seemed like a man who had been on both sides of the juror’s box. I figured that, although he had a suspect Ph.D and no mention of a juris doctorate, I could draw on his memory to benefit my experience.
First order of business was sitting outside a room to wait. Dr. 80’s would abide.
Second order of business was entering the room to wait in a larger room. Dr. 80’s would grudgingly abide in the back of the room. And advantageously use his reflective shades to undress the Polish talent in the front row, who would soon be dismissed for not knowing enough English.
When the surly court rep told the room that those who thought they met the requirements for dismissal should stand, about half the people immediately stood. She then commented,
“I don’t know why you are all standing when I haven’t even told you the requirements!”
An unspoken “touche” pervaded the room. Dr. 80’s would have been sleeping through this and dreaming of Lee Dungarees and Espirt on taut teens.
Apparently there’s a curious symbiotic relationship between courts and movies in the civil court of Kings County, New York (more on this later). As standard procedure, an informational video was shown to get the room revved up for civil service. The mood improved like a Kaddish pep rally. At first I thought the video was a morality play shown to help sway us toward guilty decisions and make the city more money. Then I thought it was a horror film because Ed Bradley was hosting it from beyond the grave!
Then I realized it was a propaganda film for civic altruism. For all his foibles, Dr. 80’s had an 80’s altruistic streak which included handing out free coke and helping people stretch their quads. Also he would have perked up for this part since it interspersed interview clips from the 1980s regarding the merits of jury duty. In his honor, I tried to work up excitement, but I think the court rep knew I was faking it. She told me to stop looking so happy.
As she listlessly read our names and room assignments, I realized Dr. 80’s would have a theory about her; That someone was in the back room running a racket of 80’s proportions whereby her brain’s dopamine was sucked out and taken via a Delorean to Michael J. Fox in 1985.
Third order of business was to wait in a court room in the juror’s box. The room was plastered with legal themed movie posters, like Philadelphia and The Client. I guess movies get people excited for the law and the law gives movies plot lines, and the thin line between reality and fantasy snaps like Norbit’s thong.
Dr. 80’s would’ve preferred Fletch and Can’t Stop the Music posters.
Finally, I was grilled over the next two days by five different lawyers as to whether I could be impartial. They all asked the same thing in five different ways. They kept invoking the blind justice symbol and even went as far as to draw what the scales of justice look like. In one of the lawyer’s drawings Dr. 80’s would have said that the scales looked more like one of the Golden Girl’s hanging flapjacks.
So I said this and got dismissed. Sure I could’ve used the standard dismissal actions like saying, “I’m racist” or stabbing a fellow juror with a fork or admitting, “I can do this but I have to be back home by 6 or my blind wife will be very upset…she’s literally a mole and she will literally root under the floorboards and tear that shit up in under an hour, but I love her and that’s all that matters.”
Dr. 80’s would’ve wanted to keep it on his terms, in his decade, and always pervy. In court the only justice I hope I meted out was the justice I did to Dr. 80’s ways. I think I served it well.
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