Warning: This post is fairly long, and without benefit of lots of links, images, videos, bullet points or any other means to break up the text. Just preparing you for the story of my day in court.
Court. Right. So, I had jury duty today. Unlike the other dozens of times that I got the card and the court folks never got to my number, this time I had to go. I filed into a room with about 100 other people. I was Juror 7, seated between an Armstrong cop and an oldish bodybuilder.
The lady in charge told us that we were being considered for two civil cases and a mélange of criminal cases. Oh goody!
Background: I used to cover the cop and court beat for the station I worked for and I LOVED IT. I must have been weaned to a diet of “Perry Mason.” I commune with Judge Mathis every chance I get.
I think it is because I’m nosy. You’ve got some issues? I want to hear all about them.
That’s why I became a reporter in the first place.
Civil Case No. 1
Anyway, the first case was a car accident — a rear-ender with extenuating circumstances. The plaintiff and defendant (and their lawyers) came into the courtroom, and they looked angry. If I were either of them, I’d be all smiley and friendly looking. You know, to try to get the jury on my side.
Not these two. The plaintiff was an older woman wearing lots of makeup to hide what looked like many lunch dates with the plastic surgeon. And there was the boob job. All that work still couldn’t hide the haughty.
The defendant was barely out of the womb and looked very tightly wound. Maybe she was just scared out of her mind of the plastic lady at the other table.
The plaintiff’s lawyer asked us a number of questions, such as if we were State Farm policy holders (!) or were related to a policy holder. (As if I would know! It isn’t like I talk insurance with the in-laws.). He also asked us if we knew or were related to the defendant or her lawyer.
The defendant’s lawyer asked us if we knew the plaintiff, her lawyer or the plaintiff’s ex-husband [name redacted]. Or the plaintiff’s other ex-husband. Or the other one. Or that other one. Bodybuilder lady turned to me and said, “Is that four?” “Yep,” I replied. “Plus the one she’s got now” (evidenced by the different last name). And then the lawyer asked about one more. So Unpleasant Plaintiff was up to Husband Six. Wow.
The defendant’s lawyer then asked if we knew a particular doctor, one who specializes in TMJ. So the accident caused TMJ in the plaintiff? Not the stress of being an angry harpy who can’t keep a husband? Oooookaaay.
I was not chosen as a juror for this case. Maybe it was because I kind of laughed about the sixth husband.
Civil Case No. 2
The next case featured Redneck No. 1 and Redneck No. 2, who wanted the court to sort out their tangled love life, and decide whether they were indeed married in a common law union. And if so, could the court please grant them a divorce, divide the property, and allow the woman to have child support and alimony?
Georgia hasn’t recognized common law marriages since Jan. 1, 1997, but that doesn’t matter because Ms. Plunging Neckline and Mr. Jeans and a Polo have been together for 20 years and have two children.
She says they are married, because she wants the money and the stuff. He says they aren’t, because he wants his money and stuff.
And Jeans’ lawyer noted that if it is a marriage, then the jury can’t award alimony if the wife committed adultery. Oh, and do we know Neckline’s “new friend,” Mr. So-and-So? He’s seated in the back, sporting a deep, dark tanning bed glow and frosty tips.
How could Neckline’s lawyer let this pass? He was probably thinking about cookies and milk and a nap. I doubt he was out of Pampers. I have underwear older than he is.
I wasn’t chosen as a juror for this trial either. I think it is because I didn’t stand up when Pampers asked who believed the husband should always take care of the wife, and the wife should not work outside the home. Um, I’m not quitting my job, Dude.
Criminal docket
After a two-hour lunch (a two-hour lunch), we cooled our jets in the courtroom for another hour while the judge tried to get the criminal defendants to plea out and avoid a trial. It worked, and we were released at 3 p.m. I am a whopping $25 richer, and I have this lovely story to tell.
I have to admit I was a little hurt that no one chose me for jury duty. The cop tried to make me feel better by saying it was because I put “professor” as my occupation. He said they don’t like educated people on the jury because educated people are more likely to be able to see through the bullshit.
I don’t know about that. Maybe I just looked happily married.
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Hmm … “Beefstake” tomatoes. Like really chunky, flavorful tomatoes grown on a piece of wood stuck in the ground? Or like “beefcake” — muscular, handsome tomatoes? Oh it’s a darn heterograph tripping up our friend in produce. “Beefsteak” is the word he/she needs.
Stay classy, North Carolina!
Observe and report 