Before serving on a jury, try to quit smoking. I served on a Superior Court jury last week, and one puffer had a rough time spending hours deliberating behind sealed doors on the third floor.
The smoker also was late one morning and after one lunch. I mentioned that being tardy caused her to be in contempt of court, which would cost her only $500 for each incident.
It got a laugh. Jurors are allowed to laugh, especially before the trial ends. There can be no discussion of evidence whatsoever, so the conversation is very general. Someone complained that at the courthouse cafe, their BLT came with only BL.
Somebody said, “That’s BS.”
In the middle of one lull, a lady told a gentleman that he looked like Billy Bob Thornton. Happy to chime in on any topic, I agreed. The man didn’t know that Billy Bob Thornton and former wife Angelina Jolie used to wear vials of each other’s blood around their necks.
Two men performed silly finger tricks, which I must remember to show my granddaughters. We discussed whether or not we shopped at Wal-Mart or Costco. A blacksmith talked about designing chandeliers for a pizza parlor in his garage workshop.
When we finally heard from the judge, I was surprised about the note-taking process. As a reporter, my life is about taking accurate notes. During the trial, we could only scribble during actual testimony, not when lawyers opened and closed the case, and our paperwork could not leave the jury deliberation room.
We were instructed by the judge to rely on our memories, not pieces of paper.
That’s a tough assignment for people hard-pressed to remember what they had for dinner the night before. The smoker lady said she was having trouble staying awake in the courtroom, but we all agreed to give her an elbow if she drifted off.
Our between-time chatting was done just steps from the courtroom, in a small, stuffy conference room with windows that didn’t open. That was me who passed a small note to the court clerk saying I was sensitive to the scent of mint gum.
She passed the note to the judge, who asked jurors to please refrain from chewing anything smelly. My face was beet-red as she spoke, but really, I can’t stand the stink. To be confined around the conference table with peppermint permeating the air was nauseating.
My fellow jurors respected the request, but were probably annoyed at the order.
It wasn’t the only aggravation.
There was apparently a load of information the jury was not allowed to hear. Just like in the movies, we were ushered in and out of the jury room so lawyers and the judge could speak without us hearing.
One juror asked whether we got extra mileage for our trips back and forth to the conference room.
Not being allowed to hear everything that went on in the courtroom really bugged me. Give me all the facts, ma’am. We were allowed to write down a question for the plaintiff and defendant after they testified. When one of my questions was read by the judge, I felt like Perry Mason.
After the civil case concluded, we were sealed behind two doors leading to the deliberation room. We had to use a buzzer to summon the court clerk, and we could not leave the room for any reason.
We chose a school administrator as our foreman. We broke down the pros and cons of the case on a wipe-off board, then went home at 4:45 that afternoon.
The next morning at 9, we resumed deliberations. We knew if we went until lunch, we got a free meal.
Our mission was to agree, by a margin of at least 10 to 2, on two issues. In a civil case, the jury does not have to be unanimous. On both matters, I was in the minority. If we’d had to reach a consensus, we’d still be there.
Though I couldn’t agree with the majority, I felt respected. Everyone listened to one another. How many times do your loved ones, neighbors or co-workers not give a rip about your point of view?
On a jury, the plaintiff and defendant care, really care, about a juror’s opinion. I felt important and valued. Much more than merely obliging to sit on a jury, I was empanelled to make a major decision about two people’s lives and pocketbooks.
All points were shared and well received, but my contrary opinions were emphasized before our meal. The court clerk announced that she would order teriyaki.
“Who wants beef?” she said.
Mine was the only hand in the air.
“Who wants chicken?”
Ten hands went up. Someone ordered veggies.
I was the only beef, which drew a round of friendly chuckles.
All agreed that it’s fine to stick to your guns – or your lunch order – while you do your civic duty.
Columnist Kristi O’Harran: 425-339-3451 or oharran@heraldnet.com.
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