Though I accomplished a bunch on my L.A. book during the weekend, had a pretty good show on Sat. and did other things, such as suffer in the heat, the thought of Monday jury duty hung over my head like the sword of dumplings...of whoever wields that giant sword good for head hanging over.
Sat. at about noon, it happened. I got a call from Judy T. of a not-so-famous museum in town. Her message, thanks for the article. Well, I'd placed a community item in her paper, so thought that was what she was thanking me for. Well, nooooooooo, it was about what happened to the famous Jeremy, which has lit up the local media pretty well. Small world.
Small world pt. 2.
Shea got a call relating to the ad I put in the paper from Gail K. who has a place. Well, noooooooooo way, but she's apparently daughter of Loretta B., who is (or was) the respository of much town history. Remains to be seen, but I knew Loretta too.
What does all this have to do with jury duty, you might ask. Here's the story.
The jury summons told me I'd been specially selected by the Bellflower courthouse, that I should call in during the weekend to find out if I'd have to report. I did and I did. Ruined my whole weekend, let me tell you. Sure it was hot and muggy, but I gave thought: what to wear, where to park, should I drink or not. I even made a dry run on Sat., saw that parking was free, but neighborhood parking was also a real possiblity. On the phone, I was told to report at 8:30, which meant a 7 a.m. wakeup, as opposed to...whenever I damned well feel like it...which I like better. Maybe I got a dress code bulletin, maybe I didn't, but I'd claim not, let them prove otherwise.
Took a shower the night before, so I was good and sweaty when I went to bed, which was bad, sheets were like I'd taken them directly from the washing machine. Ms. Megablogger told me to put a towel down, which I did. Worked. I slept. Got up at 7 on my own self. Good breakfast, packed a lunch, two novels by Carl Hiassen, front page of the Times, all set.
Now, what does 8:30 mean exactly? Does it mean 8:45? 8:55? Best not test the rule. Judges inhabit that place, along with lawyers and they have power. Parked in the neighborhood as others who resembled my idea of defendants did the same. Long line in front, told to bypass that, which was good, got shuffled right to the metal detector, past some guys in suits...lawyers waiting while I was whisked in. That part can't be bad.
On the third floor, in room marked for jurors only, or some such, already 40 or so English speaking, non felony citizens waited on about 17 matching reddish maroon couches, lined up like in a theater with no dimmed lights. Games and magazines were stacked, as were pamphlets and today's instructions on a blackboard, like a special of the day.
Woman came out at about a quarter to, saying she'd come back at 9 and show us a DVD. What did I learn from her? Her favorite expression: "this might be your lucky day." Meaning? "Only one court has asked for a jury, but once the defendant sees you, he might change his mind and we'll release you." Meaning exactly what? This is one ugly bunch. Scary? She told us she generally works downtown L.A. where 300 prospective jurors chase 10 courtrooms and often are chosen. Here if they choose you, it's only for five to seven day trial.
She told us of our compensation. Day one, no pay. From then on, it's $15 a day and .34 a mile one-way, even though the commute is two-way. She warned us not to park on the streets, though there were no signs suggesting otherwise. Maybe there was a special no-jury parking rule I wasn't up on.
Two guys, by actual count, were garbed in shorts. She warned "judges don't like that," referring to the dress code. After lunch, be in long pants, not indicating how these guys were supposed to pull that off...or more correctly, on, thus hiding their hairy legs. That part of the dress code I had anticipated as well as not wearing a sleeveless wife-beater t-shirt and probably not even a conservative T. The part that worried me was about sneakers, which I wore. So did the guys in shorts. They weren't dinged for their footware choices.
After the video of past jurors singing the praises of their experience (I suspect paid actors), how they still stay in touch, etc., at about 9:15, she told us to take a 20 minute break. Lord knows I was exhausted form watching a 15 minute video and reading several pages of my book and a detailed news story about California's worst freeways. Just the gridlock killed me. No chance for a nap, though the couches were big enough.
Strolled into a courtroom down the hall, where two male and one female defendant took turns dancing with a judge who either critiqued, warned or actually complemented what sounded to me like pretty lame excuses. The woman, in short shorts and a strange looking baseball shirt of a team I'd never heard of, got the worst treatment, by far.
The judge talked to her about temper control classes, and her public defender had a pretty good list of reasons she couldn't or shouldn't attend. The judge warned her it was something she'd need to deal with in two weeks when she comes back for her trial, hearing or whatever they call it. I wish that jury luck, she seems mean and could possibly get angry.
A guy was there for driving with a suspended license and not being in possession of the license he'd didn't have. If he pled no contest, agreed to get a license and do some other stuff, then he'd get a half price fine. He was given three months to get a license, so he'd get the half prize deal. He was told that any of those offenses could mean jail time and I flashed back on the many times I drove just a few blocks with no license. Jail time? "I've memorized my license number, officer." I was still working how he could carry a license he didn't have when I decided to report back to jury central.
Good thing I did. At about 10, she made the announcement we all anticipated, but we were afraid or too ashamed of our dress code violations to hope for. "This is your lucky day," she once again said. Bet she goes to Vegas and plays the horses a lot. No need for any jurors today. You're all free to leave, but when I read your name, answer in your loudest voice, come in the office, turn your badge, get a slip stating you've served, which you'll need as an excuse in case you get called again in the next year. Picked up my blank green slip....I could fill in just about any date. But do I feel lucky? If I did, then time to go to Vegas or the races.
As I left, she was advising another juror, "even if your boss sees you on the street, you don't have to go back to work today." Right. Tell that to your boss. What would he be doing hanging around on the streets.
If you want action in your jury service, chasing courtrooms or the like, go to L.A. or Long Beach. Otherwise, Bellflower is just fine...thank you very much. But, unlike what the DVD promised, our group will not be staying in touch.
