This past week, I was impaneled with 11 other individuals to render an impartial verdict in a criminal homicide case.
Like most folks, a summons for jury duty is akin to a traffic violation; getting out of it requires an act of God, or proof of death. Endless humor with clever repertoire on the internet will keep you laughing for hours about people who try to get out of it. I joined fifty other people in a cramped room, wearing the equivalent of “I’m a Juror” button so courthouse security can ensure you find your way to the right place and keep you from slipping out the back door. We waited the requisite hours for the usual legal wrangling of compiling juror lists, asking questions like are you generally inclined to believe testimony of authorities or civilians, calls to the bench … crossing legs because bladders had objections overruled. I became juror number six.