Chapter One: The Arrival
I take a deep breath just before laying my backpack down on the X-ray machine, and then walk through the metal detector with the excitement of a child on her first day of school. I look around me and am invigorated by the knowledge that at the top of that escalator lies my future.
Jenny Amadeo, Juror.
As soon as I walk through the glass doors into the jury waiting room, a very pleasant woman wearing a smart uniform and her hair pulled back in a high ponytail asks me to pull a number out of an old Christmas cookie tin decorated with images of dancing bears and elegant Christmas ornaments. What does the number mean? I’m on Panel 4. Is that good? Who else is on Panel 4? Why didn’t I get Panel 1?
It just hits me that I am about to begin live blogging my courtroom experience. I look around the room and realize that I’m the only one in here with a laptop. They’re all looking at me like, “Who does she think she is, typing away at her LAP TOP, like she owns this place? I hate her. I hate her so much.”
They all hate me, but I don’t care. I didn’t come here to make friends. I came here to judge people. They all already know that I’m going to be foreperson. I mean, come on! Which one of has the laptop – me or them? That’s what I thought.
This jury holding tank is actually quite nice. There are some healthy houseplants, several little tables (one of which I immediately claim as my own, because as you may recall, I have a laptop, which means I get dibs), two vending machines, a drinking fountain, and very clean bathrooms. I could live here if I wanted to.
Last night I had dinner with Natasha and reminded her that I was going to jury duty the next day. She was concerned.
“What if you get sequestered? Do they let you come back and get your things?”
“No, Nat. I’m pretty sure they just haul you off immediately, and don’t let you speak to anyone in the outside world. Then you have to wear the same clothes for two weeks, so just in case, I’m going to put on six pair of underpants.”
“Did you just say underpants?”
“Yeah, why? What do you call them?”
“I don’t know – underwear?”
“Whatever. I’m wearing six of them. My ass will look huge, but I’ll bet everyone will wish they had thought of that when they see me with clean underp- wear each day. The foreperson has an image to uphold, you know.”
But that got me thinking – what if I do get sequestered? Who will take care of my cats? Where will we be staying? Do you get conjugal visits? Not that I have anyone to get conjugal with, but it’s really going to piss me off if everyone is getting conjugal visits but me.
“Ooh, did you see that handsome man coming out of Juror #6’s room last night? What a dreamboat!”
“Yeah, and Juror #4’s girlfriend made him a cake with a cell phone baked inside it. And then they totally did it!”
Giggle giggle giggle!
Damn, I hate jury cliques so much.
That’s why I’m the lone wolf, sitting at this table by myself, just me and my laptop, typing away. Owwwooooo!
Chapter Two: The Observation
As a future foreperson, it’s my job to try to get a good read on everyone so I can figure out who the troublemakers are going to be. The holdouts. The Mary Mary Quite Contraries. I’ve already got my eye on that woman in the turquoise sleeveless blouse who keeps coughing. A real attention-seeker, that one. Look at me, look at me. I’m sick and yet I still came to court. You know what? We’re all sick, and we all still came to court because it’s the law. Now cover your mouth.
A man sneezes, and immediately three women say, “Bless you.” I’m not exactly sure what this means yet, but I take note of it. You have to take note of these types of things if you want to be a good foreperson.
I’m guessing the average age of this jury pool is 43, but that is skewed by the trio of septuagenarians in the corner.
The vending machine could be better stocked. I have recently developed a mild addiction to Kellogg’s Rice Krispie’s Treats that come in these beautiful metallic blue packages. I wish I had one right now. They have Twizzler’s, though. Maybe I’ll get some in a few minutes. Thankfully, I slipped two peppermint patties into my backpack before heading out of my house. I might want to ration those for later, though. A good juror is always prepared.
Everyone’s reading.
A young man in yellow is wearing a tan yarmulke held on by two shiny silver clips. I have a strong feeling he is Jewish. It’s this type of keen observation that could make or break a case. Devil’s in the details, as they say.
There is an enclosed glass area within the jury waiting room, and one woman sits in there alone. I don’t altogether trust her, yet her unabashed display of antisocial behavior intrigues me. I decide to keep a close watch on her.
A blonde woman in a pink blouse and white pants sporting perfectly manicured nails leans against the counter and, with a bit more attitude than necessary, asks the guard how she can get her $2 back from the vending machine.
“It just ate both my dollar bills. I tried everything to get it to return my money, and those were the only two dollar bills I had.”
For a moment, I think about lending the woman some change, but then I decide that I don’t like the way she walks. The guard calls maintenance. Obviously this woman didn’t read the summons, because it clearly stated, “Bring change for the vending machines.”
Five minutes later, a man taps on the glass door, then waves and points to the woman in the pink shirt. She grins slyly, struts up to the door and opens it halfway, then whispers, “I can’t leave this room!”
The man hands her a cell phone and walks away. This whole scene is very suspicious, and I am glad to see the guard approach the woman in pink to see what the man gave her. The guard reminds the woman that she must turn off her cell phone.
I don’t like that woman in pink at all. She has now dethroned coughing turquoise woman as the biggest troublemaker in this group. I hope she gets sequestered to a Budgetel.
Chapter Three: The Training
We are asked to gather around a television set to watch a short video on what it means to be a juror. I learn that the United States is the only country in the world that guarantees the right to a jury trial for a criminal or civil case. I learn that the Circuit Court of Cook County has served over 5 million people, and tries civil, criminal, and misdemeanor cases. I learn that we, as jurors, determine the outcome of the case. I learn that serving as a juror is both a privilege and a duty. I like the way the judge on the video pronounces “jur-oars.”
I feel very proud right now.
The man in the video tells us that during the jury selection process, we will be required to answer some questions, and while their intent is not to embarrass us, we must answer truthfully at all times. I hadn’t thought about the possibility that anyone might make me answer embarrassing questions. What exactly do they mean? Will they ask when I first got my period? The last time I wet the bed? If I ever shoplifted?
Exactly who’s on trial here? I’ve seen enough of The Practice to know how these slick lawyers always like to turn things around, and point the finger at the other guy.
“Sure my client stole a TV, but Juror #2 once stole four caramel candy bars from the box of candy that her brother was selling for band camp. What’s worse? Stealing from a stranger, or betraying your own flesh and blood?! Defense rests!”
Chapter Four: The Waiting
It’s only 10:30, and I’m already getting sleepy. I’ll never be elected foreperson if these people see me dozing off. Maybe I should go get a Coke. Not a Diet Coke, but a real Coke. I bet that will intimidate some people, but like I said before, this is not about making friends.
An older man in khakis walks back toward the vending machines by himself. Realizing that I must seize the moment, I grab some change and walk back there after him. I’ve already made too many enemies in this jury pool, so I need to find out who my true allies really are.
I stand back a bit as he peruses the vending machine options, and then say, “Nothing grabbing you?”
He is a bit startled, which worries me. Perhaps the woman in pink has already gotten to him. “Huh, wha-? Oh, yeah. I’m sorry, did you want to get something? I’m still deciding.”
I make a mental note of his indecisiveness. Perhaps he’s not the best wingman on this mission. Or perhaps he is the cleverest person in this room, and is trying to downplay his own wicked intelligence. I decide to approach him again later. I don’t want to scare him off just yet, as I think he could be a solid ally.
I’m bored.

Filed under: General on September 12th, 2005