Jury Duty

For a few hours two months ago, I was not Jarrod Moore. Instead, I was referred to as "Mr. 312." I wish I could say this was because I was sent with the CIA on a super-secret underground mission to infiltrate the backwoods in some guerilla territory, battle a horrific beast with the ability to change its opacity, a laser on its shoulder, and a tendency to self-destruct when in danger, only to be told, after rescuing the girl, that the princess is in another castle. Sorry, Mario. I also wish I could say it was because an entire area code was devoted to me after achieving an important goal which would merit such an honor. But sadly, I never fought the Predator, and I think assuming the name of an area code is a little far-fetched. Instead, my temporary name change occurred during and due to a long, boring test of mental stamina: Jury Duty.

Let's rewind a bit. I arrived at the courthouse in Santa Ana at 7:30 in the morning, thinking this was going to be a short experience, and that receiving the affidavit was merely a stroke of bad luck, being only one person amongst all of Orange County. I exited the parking garage assigned to jurors, and noticed a fuckload of people walking toward the courthouse, so, I naturally followed them, thinking they must be lawyers, defendants, court reporters, stenographers, pedestrians, and shit. When I actually made it in to the courthouse, after the "airport-style" security screening, where I found out for sure that I hadn't forgotten to remove the machete I normally conceal under my scrotum, I realized that ALL of these people were headed to the "Jury Assembly Room."

I made it into the room, said "holy shit," got my Jury Duty Badge Super Holder Display Thingie (for this was still prior to my numerical name reassignment) and sat down, looking at all of the people who were smart enough to bring a few books, Game Boys, newspapers, homework, etc. There were 500 people in the room, and it was dead silent. So quiet that you could almost hear the screaming undoubtedly going on in everyone's' heads. After a grand introduction to the day's session by a judge, and then a lady who really loved to smack loudly into the microphone after each sentence (which made the screaming in MY head grow louder), we were informed of the pastimes the facility had to offer like the cafe, the patio, the quiet rooms, pretty much everything but one of those inflatable bouncer things (apparently, the courthouse in Santa Ana is the only place in Southern California lacking a bouncer). Essentially, from that moment on, we were all free to mill about, stare each other down, buy shitty hospital food at airport prices, sit on the patio, sit in the assembly room, sit on the floor, rip our own hair out, learn how to play the minimalist games on our cell phones, and pretty much have a great time, until they made an announcement for the jury pool to re-assemble in the assembly room. The first time we were called in, it was announced that the trial could take up to 16 days, and that everyone who was paid for that long should come up and sign in for it. I said "Fuck that" and went back outside. Then, as I finally surpassed Level 3 on Magic Hexa, we were called back in.

The lady said it was for a trial for which the jury selection had already been in progress, but needed more "contenders" for the jury box. Something told me that I was gonna get called on this one, and right as I had figured out Magic Hexa. Sure enough, I was one of about 20 people (out of 500) called for the first round of "Sit on your ass and drool for hours" of the day. Right when my name was called, I slammed my hand on the table where I was sitting, screamed "HERE...damnit!" and the people at my table laughed at me and bid me sarcastic farewells.

Thus ended part one.

I arrived at the actual courtroom on one of the top floors sometime before 10 o'clock, was delegated my numerical reference, and sat down inside next to some overly-talkative douchebag with a Mohawk. I had learned that this was actually the THIRD fucking day of jury selection for this trial, and some of the people from the first day were still there, so I had a bad feeling already.

The case was a simple DUI charge, where the defendant had chosen to act as his own attorney.

The way they select the jury is, obviously, by calling each person up one-by-one until both the defense and the prosecution have not only agreed on a suitable "jury super-group," but apparently they were looking to achieve something on the level of Damn Yankees, which almost instilled some sick form of competitiveness in me. After one was dismissed, another was called, by number, in his or her place, and I could only think of "The Price is Right" the whole time. "JUROR 124, COME ON DOWN! YOU'RE THE NEXT CONTESTANT ON 'WHO'S BORED ENOUGH TO SMACK THEIR OWN BALLS OFF JUST TO MAKE SURE THEY CAN STILL FEEL THE LOWER HALF OF THEIR BODY'!!!!"

The fun part was treating it like a reality show, silently booing and hissing the people that I personally wanted ejected from the jury box, and rooting for the ones I thought should make it. The not-so-fun part was enduring the assbag next to me comments and sorry attempts to make me laugh, or even show any form of emotional presence. The only example I can remember: One gentleman informed the judge he had raised 10 children, and the guy next to me says "Damn! Fuckin' stud! Haha!" and looked at me, grinning. I felt the whole room groan.

Finally, after hours and hours of thinning out the jury pool of about 75, I was called up just when I thought I wouldn't be. It was 4:45 p.m. I had to think fast if I was going to be out of there by 5 like I wanted. So I recalled all of the sustained "objections" thrown at the defendant when he posed his questions improperly, and hatched a plan as I sat down in Juror Box 7.

The judge asked me his questions. "Where in the county do you live?" "Anaheim." "Are you married?" "No." "Children?" "No." "Occupation?" "Forklift operator." "Do you believe in the Presumption of Innocence or the Presumption of Guilt?" "Innocence" "Do you support the right to act as your own defense?" "Yes." "Do you support the defendant's choice to do so?" This was where it had to happen. I almost pussed out, but thankfully, I found my masculinity; it had crawled up from my groin to my stomach, apparently. "No." "Can you explain?"

"First off, I'd like to say that I do support the American system of justice, it has been in place for a long time and I can't think of a better system. But, at the same time, I'd like to say that I also acknowledge its flaws." Yeah. That got his attention. "How do you mean?" "There have been many times in the past where a defendant is convicted and put away for the misdoings of another, only later to be proven innocent after serving time." The judge just sort of looked at me with a stern expression. He looked sort of like George W., and I was almost expecting him to laugh and shout "SUBLIMINABLE!" but he didn't. Instead, he just let me continue: "What this has to do with your question; I think the defendant is a bright man, but, at the same time, I don't believe he is lessoned enough by the books to perform effectively in the courtroom. He has already asked many questions that have been successfully objected. Later on in the trial, he may make a climactic point that could change the course of the trial, but it could be stricken from the record just because he didn't approach it properly. This results in my having a sympathetic bias towards the defendant."

Verbatim.

The judge just looked at me and nodded, then passed on the questioning to the defendant. He immediately began to defend himself, like what I had just said was an insult, but his rebuttal was ironically objected by the prosecutor, and he subsequently gave up on me and passed questioning to the prosecutor. She asked "Do you feel the prosecution has an unfair advantage?" I said "Yes."

"The people would like to thank and excuse Juror Number 7."

Suckers. I took that "Thanks" as more of a "Congratulations," left the room, and made sure to not make eye contact with the Mohawk Master when I left, but I remember hoping he got selected.

Since that day, I've been hooked on Magic Hexa.