I love jury duty.
Monday I was called, and we were in the beautiful brand-new Wilkie D. Ferguson Jr. Federal Courthouse in downtown Miami.
I got there at 7:40, for an 8:00 am start time. By 9:00 they gave us instructions, but I was not called into a courtroom until 10:30.
While I waited, I re-read the first six issues of Promethea, and turned a couple new friends on to her brilliant translation of such deep arcane wisdom.
Then I got called, along with about 40 others, to the twelfth floor.
I tried to answer the questions in a way that I would make a good candidate. The judge wanted us to spill our guts and reveal our hobbies and stuff. It was fun. The best part? There was a wicked-sarcastic woman in charge of the jury selection and she was hilarious. To me, at least. Some people didn't care for her style, but I laughed a lot in silent as she herded us around. And get this...
She had a beautiful red-and-white Pointer right there in the judge's chambers, and the dog actually sat in the courtroom behind the desk with the court reporter for a while. That was a trip.
The case was a simple drug case, and if I would have gotten picked it would have been the fourth time I have served as a juror. Unfortunately, they chose 14 other people.
Twenty years ago I sat on a case where an older woman was suing the City of West Miami, saying that there was a hole in the sidewalk that caused her injuries. I was the foreperson on that jury, and the woman had previously sued stores, restaurants, and hospitals. She could have walked around the hole, which was not even on the sidewalk. We decided that she did not deserve any monetary settlement, but one Cuban gentleman said he could not go home to his family if we gave her nothing. So we gave her 5% of her initial doctor’s visit. A total of twenty dollars. Ouch.
Six years later, I sat in the jury box to reach a verdict on a Miami Vice styled drug bust. The cops had 20 kilos of cocaine in an airplane at the airport that they had intercepted when it landed from Columbia. The defendant agreed to buy it, and we heard the phone calls. The cops got him to agree to give them his car to put the drugs in the trunk. They installed a kill switch on his engine with a remote control and loaded the cocaine in the trunk. They gave him his car at rush hour and had a tow truck right behind him to repossess the vehicle and its illicit content as soon as they shut off the engine. It was before cell phones and he had to leave the goods to use a pay phone while they towed the drugs away to safety. Ouch again.
The third was murder, in 1999. Stabbed 63 times. As tragic as it was, the defendant was a comedy of errors. He loaded 8 bags of bloody mess in his car. He got a can of gasoline. He drove behind some bushes by a golf course. He unloaded the bags and soaked them with gas.
He patted his pockets... no lighter. Double ouch.
He went to a nearby gas station and asked for a pack of matches. He started the fire about 50 yards from a busy street. The fire department arrived 20 minutes later. They stopped the flames and noticed some paperwork... his electric bill, his credit card statement, etc. Triple ouch.
So, I am hoping to sit on another jury this week. It is a fascinating way to study humanity. It makes me feel bigger, being part of our magnificent justice system. It also gives me a great excuse to read comic books.
I have to call every evening after 5:30 for two weeks to see if I get another chance. Keep your fingers crossed.