I LIKE TO THINK of myself as a good citizen. I pay my taxes. I don’t litter. I’ve even been known to vote on occasion.
But enough is enough.
If the past few months were a “Rocky and Bullwinkle” cartoon, the title card would read “I, the Juror” or “The Frostbite Falls County Court Database is on the Fritz.”
In early November, I received a jury summons. I was a bit irritated, as this was the second time I had been called in less than two years. (Here’s a segmentation question: Why is it some lucky folks’ names come up over and over for jury service, while others go their entire lives without ever seeing the inside of a courtroom?)
Do You Solemnly Swear… As DIRECT was going to press on the date of my summons, I requested a deferral, giving dates in January and April as my preferred options. As luck would have it, the court graciously rain-checked my appearance to mid-January.
I packed plenty of reading material, thinking the odds were good I’d spend most of the day sitting around, maybe spending an hour or two at best on a preselection panel. But never did I imagine a lawyer would deem me worthy to sit on a jury.
Not that I don’t think my opinions are valid, mind you. But the one and only other time I was picked for a panel, I wasn’t all that desirable because of my career. I’d written about trials (including employment law cases, of which this was one) and worked for a magazine that covered direct marketing (the plaintiff’s occupation had peripheral marketing responsibilities), which made me a less-than-ideal choice in the eyes of the barristers.
So I sauntered into the courtroom, ready to play the career card, the marketing card, the greeting card-whatever would get me out of jury duty and back to work. A girl has to do what a girl has to do.
Little did I know, in this case-a medical malpractice lawsuit-the fact I worked as a reporter and covered marketing mattered little to the attorneys. They were too busy excusing people who worked in the medical profession or had recently been involved in cases themselves.
Bearing Witness As you’ve probably guessed, I was selected, as was, surprisingly, a nurse and an attorney-who never in a million years thought she’d get to serve (especially considering she not only knew the lawyer for the defendant but the judge as well). But the attorney-who as it turned out had tried many cases strikingly similar to the one she would now be a juror on-enjoyed the experience, as it gave her the chance to observe a trial from the other side of the jury box.
She even learned a few jury relations tips she planned on passing along to the judge after the trial. They centered on what becomes one of the most important part of a juror’s day: the break. Namely, if you say a coffee break will be 10 minutes, don’t cut it short at seven. The jury is counting, and they want time to actually drink their darn coffee and visit the restroom if nature calls.
I’m sure future jurors will be very grateful if judges everywhere take this lesson in customer relationship management to heart.
At any rate, I served my time and received my check for a whopping $5 a day.
Processing these puny checks probably costs states a ridiculous amount, even more foolish when you consider the $20 doesn’t even cover lunches for the four days I served. States might want to consider an option allowing jurors to donate their fees to one of a few selected charities or organizations that do good works-animal shelters or Head Start would be two prime examples of suitable candidates.
This would create a great amount of goodwill, and allow county courts to make bulk donations once or twice a year instead of having to handle oodles of checks.
The Verdict So I played the good citizen and did my duty. But as they say (and who are they anyway?), no good deed goes unpunished. Here’s where the database snafu comes in. Less than three weeks later, I received another summons to serve in six weeks, which clearly states one only has to serve every three years.
Not that I didn’t enjoy my imprisonment-I mean, time well spent-in court…but hey, ho, let’s go let some other lucky citizens do their share.
I’ve sent off my letter to the state, asking for an excuse, which I’m sure (I hope) it’ll grant. This is one hotline I do not want to be on.
Now I just need to figure out where on my next tax return I can indicate that I’d like a portion of my taxes to go toward an extensive database cleanup for the county court system.
Network
