So, sometime in the midst of holiday hustle and bustle, I got a notice for jury duty. *sigh* OK. I’ve been called several times over the years, and usually let go, although at some point in the late ’90’s I ended up as an alternate on a robbery case. We got all the way to deliberation (only a couple of days of trial), and they let me go.
Charles was on grand jury twice. The first time he was the foreman, and he loved it. (and they loved him – he ran a tight ship and the attorneys thought he was the bee’s knees, as he certainly was) The second time, he was not the foreman and hated it because the other guy wasn’t doing it right, heh.
So, the day after New Year’s Day, I was to wait until 5:00 pm, then check the website or call in to see if I was needed. Answer – no, not on Monday, but keep checking. And I almost forgot to check on Monday afternoon, but remembered and, oh shit, Tuesday morning, I have to report in at Kew Gardens. (as opposed to Long Island City, where I had to report the last time) Poopy kaka, I had to cancel two doctor’s appointments at the last minute.
Tuesday morning, I made sure to eat breakfast before I left the house, as the court area of Kew Gardens is notorious for lack of decent food options. Then headed out – KG is only two express stops from my home station, so doesn’t take that long to go. The only time I’ve been there is for court stuff – the last time was when we got our marriage license (from the QUEENS MARRIAGE BUREAU, heh heh heh).
Past the marriage license place, around to the side for the jury holding pen, through security, and they took my knitting. I was so pissed. Knitting is the perfect activity for jury duty, where you’re just sitting around, never knowing when you’ll be called. So I was stuck with my Kindle and my phone, sigh.
After the whole initial processing (filling out forms, introductory videos), we sat around and then they called a whole bunch of people up (but not me). Amusing/’use this in your work’ moment… there were probably four different people who would come up to the mike and talk to the room, but the guy with the worst diction and projection was the one calling people up. And getting snippy because people weren’t answering, but they weren’t answering because he was talking softly and mispronouncing names, and by the time they figured it out and said ‘here’, he was talking over them to lecture us about responding promptly. Lather, rinse, repeat. Anyway, the first bunch all lined up and got led out the door.
I forget whether our lunch break happened before or after, but at some point, they called up a whole bunch more people and this time I was in the mix. They led us to the courthouse across the street. (The building is very interesting, built in 1961, and calls attention to itself architecturally in a way that that era of architecture does, and we haven’t seen a lot of since.)
They then led us to this side lobby I remembered from jury duty 25 years ago. It’s on the east end of the building, very narrow in one dimension, but very wide (the entire side of the building) in the other, with floor-to-ceiling windows The windows look out on the freeway, a little park and (across the street) a cemetery, and it’s actually a nice place to hang out while you’re waiting to be called to do something… except in the morning, when the sun is coming up, the sun is right there in the windows, blasting away with absolutely no way to block it (no shades) and it makes the lobby very hot.
Eventually they called us all in to start voir dire. Oh, look, this might be the same courtroom where I was an alternate 25 or so year ago! A big IN GOD WE TRUST over the judge’s bench, hmm. so there were about 80 of us, but they selected a first 20 to be interviewed. There were 17 jury chairs, and as people were called and identified, they were seated up there – but I was called as well and I was like #19, so ended up in the first row of the audience. They talked to us about what the trial would be like, what our responsibilities were and so forth. Oh, also, because of reasons, the trial would only be held on Mondays, Wednesdays and Thursdays, and was projected to last through mid-February.
They handed out a questionnaire of about 20 basic questions, like what neighborhood do you live in, do you live in a house or apt., are you married, do you work, what do you do, and do you or your friends/loved ones either have been victims of a crime or been in trouble with the law, that sort of thing. They worked their way down the line, having each person read their way through the questionnaire, and got about halfway down before it was time to break for the day.
Back the next day (Wednesday). We were told to report to the hot lobby, and then were gathered up and brought back to where we’d been. They continued the interviews, including me. “Hi, my name is Eric Peterson, I live in Jackson Heights in a co-op apartment that I own, I’ve been there for 30 years, I’m a widower…” etc. etc. The only crime I brought up was that C and I had a break-in to our apartment about a year after we moved in. They didn’t get much, and we ended up putting a jimmy guard around the door frame and that was that for that. Some of the interviewers were clearly trying to get out of jury duty (“my family was robbed by [a person of ethnicity] and I don’t think I could give a [ethnicity] a fair trial”) and others were not going to get on either, like the retired detective.
Finally, they cleared all 80 of us out so they could talk about us first 20. Then they brought us back, and announced (from the 20) five jurors. And I was juror #5! Sigh, OK. I figured I’d be a good candidate, and I actually wanted to do it, other than the pain-in-the-ass factor. So they instructed the 5 of us to go away and come back on Monday, and then (I presume) kept going with the next bunch of 20. I picked up my knitting (which I’d forgotten to do on Tuesday) and went to the mall for lunch. Then emailed my boss etc. to say, oh hey, I’m out 3 days a week for the next 5 weeks or so.
We’d been told to come back the next Monday to the 3rd floor, not the 1st floor lobby like before. On the east wing, our friendly court reporter Chris told us. Also, Chris had shown us the side entrance that you could go through as a juror to avoid the security line. (You still had to go through security. Me, every damn time, “I have a pacemaker…” “Oh, OK, step around the machine and I’ll wand you.” Which is not as fun as it sounds.) So I did that and then went up to 3 on the elevator, but I was on the wrong end of the building and you couldn’t cross over. I did, however, discover the only men’s room on that side of the building I had access to, good to know.
Back down to one, across the length of the building to the east end, elevator up to 3, which turned out to be another lobby on the east end with exactly the same floor-to-ceiling windows/unrelenting sun problem as the first floor. There weren’t many of us, and when Chris came to gather us up and take us to the jury room, there were only 10 of us. Turned out that they had not finished voir dire the previous week, so the 10 of us sat in the jury room doing absolutely nothing all day, pretty much. We did find out who each other was – one very chatty middle-aged black lady who insisted on keeping the conversation going regardless, a guy from the Dominican Republic who ended up chatting (of course) with the lady from Haiti, an older South Asian man who didn’t seem to know that you have to wear your mask over your nose, assorted others, mostly nice (or at least quiet). Oh, yes, masks. I don’t usually mask, but so many people I know have gotten the flu over the last few weeks, and being trapped in a small conference room with a bunch of strangers for hours on end? Yes, I’m masking. And I hate it, but I hate the flu more.
Finally at the end of the day, they brought a bunch of other people in, and then we got led out to the courtroom and they swore us in for real and we were ready to go (for Wednesday), 12 jurors and 5 alternates.
To be continued… as much as I can tell. I can’t really talk about the trial itself until it’s over, but totally will then.
The Toast Point Page 