I did my
civic duty today, appearing (as summoned) for jury duty.
No matter
how many times I do it, experiencing the morning drive into Norristown is always
anxiety-inducing. I have no GPS so I painstakingly
study maps. I write instructional notes
to myself in LARGE LETTERS so that my fifty year old eyes will not have to don
reading glasses or strain at the Google printouts and street map books strewn willy-nilly
across the passenger seat of my car. In
my hyper-primed state, I have been known to make “practice runs” to
destinations I am unsure about reaching in a timely manner. (This is the part,
where in case you haven’t already begun, you start feeling really sorry for my husband….) Being late stresses me out. Especially when the government insists on printing
the juror’s expected arrival time in RED and using words like contempt of court and imprisonment on their summons
forms. Since I have been beckoned to
this very location three times before, (and
since I actually WORKED in a different part of Norristown for over three years
in the early 80s) I gave myself permission to make this morning’s drive
without rehearsal. Sadly, this was a mistake as within two-tenths of one mile
to the courthouse, I found myself inadvertently heading south over a one way
bridge to a town sadistically called Bridgeport. My printed notes were no use to me after
all. And to understand the state in
which I arrived at the juror cloakroom, you should probably know I used every
second of the extra 40 minutes with which I had padded my planned journey. A puzzle maker would be hard-pressed to
devise a more complicated maze than the circuitous route I drove to the
courthouse parking garage today. Truly,
is it REALLY necessary to have so many
one-way streets?! I think not. When I become independently wealthy, one of
my first actions will be to hire a tolerant and forgiving chauffeur.
Meanwhile,
back at the courthouse….
During my
prior appearances as potential juror for the county, I sat
as one sits in the Jury
Marshaling Room. By some unspoken rule,
everyone leaves one seat between themselves and the poor pitiful other potential
jurors on either side. It’s as though we
all know the air will become thin and stale by 4:00 in the afternoon and we don’t
want to unnecessarily share our oxygen unless we have to. This pattern of
seat spacing works beautifully until the stragglers start to appear. They too, are spaced nicely. One arrives in a flurry about every five
minutes. They are the ones who did NOT
arrive by the time marked in RED on their juror summons. As if by script, they
arrive one at a time and begin speaking loudly about the parking situation, the
cold weather, the injustice of the early hour, and the forgotten cuticle
scissors the security guards forced them to remove from their knitting bags.
(Again, an infraction clearly marked
on our paperwork…) The latecomers seem
to have a shared inability to understand the questions on the juror
informational questionnaire. The
check-in personnel are patient beyond imagination and I am reminded (in a
rather humbling way) about my own impatience with my fellow human beings. After dispensing the clipboard upon which the
stragglers are to complete the information that was supposed to have been MAILED or COMPLETED ONLINE, the dawdlers
stroll over to the remaining seats and actually SIT NEXT TO SOMEONE. (Mind you, there are still seats available
which would not interfere with anyone
else’s oxygen…) This discourtesy prompts a collective (though discreet) sigh from
all of the people who are seated in accordance with obvious personal space sensibilities
(those who managed to arrive promptly despite the inordinate number of one-way
streets.) I mean REALLY. Add 40 minutes to your drive time people!!!
So I was expecting a day like the days I’d had
before in this
courthouse. On prior
trips I whiled away the hours with three main points of enjoyment. 1.)Sipping hazardously hot cocoa from flimsy
paper vending machine cups 2.)People watching (a random selection of the
population makes for some fascinating observation), and finally my favorite
jury duty pastime: 3)Reading novels in the Jury Marshaling Room. This reading of novels during normal work
hours involves not a small amount of guilt as I can’t help but think of the
onslaught my substitute nurse might be experiencing at my vacated desk.
So much unnecessary guilt floating
around in this world and I absorb it like a thirsty sponge….But that is another blog post…
I cracked
open The Midwife of Hope River and started to read, interrupted only
slightly by Larry Kane, presenter of the Montgomery County Jury Service
Orientation video. (This instructional
video was well done so it didn’t hurt at all.)
A very kind judge came by to visit, and we were given basic instructions. There were to be two trials requiring jury selection
today (one civil and one criminal.) In
other words, they’d be back. Yet I was
feeling fairly confident. Confidence
with the raw sort of feeling one who has never left her flimsy cocoa cup for an
actual courtroom might be feeling. We’ll
need to call it naivety because two hours into my service, it was necessary to
leave not just my cocoa cup but my cell phone, my packed lunch, my beloved
novel, and my hopes and dreams that today would be set aside for a quiet day of
reading.
Suddenly I
was thrust into the occupation of Juror Number 21. (I had my own laminated identification sign
and everything.) We were lined up by
juror number and sent off to the elevator where we would lift off at a rate of 10
jurors at a time. I don’t really care
for elevators, particularly CROWDED elevators.
My 9 appropriately-sized juror associates and the guide who directed us
just barely fit into that tiny little
elevator. (I was trying not to breathe as the level of oxygen-sharing was OFF
THE CHARTS.) I had seen the size of some
of the jurors who were chosen to arrive in the next batch of 10 and let’s just
say I thanked my lucky stars to be number 21 and not number 31.
It all felt
very official and rather uncomfortable.
Eventually accompanied by 49 other unfortunates, we were ushered into
the courtroom to meet some people.
We met the
judge, several lawyers, the defendant and the plaintiffs. We were given a brief explanation of the case
and the questioning began. If the judge
or one of the lawyers asked a question which resonated with us, we were to lift
our laminated number card high in the air and be counted. (Basically a way of weeding out the
trouble-makers.) The questioning went on
for a much longer time than I would have imagined. More than two hours later we were still lifting
signs and groaning at Juror number 5 (who seemed to fall into every single
category of complaint.) Just dismiss her already…..At the end of
the questioning, several persons asked to have a private conference with the
legal teams and judge. These were the
jurors fervently hoping to be excused. Since the judge gave us a stern warning
about our civic duty (framed excruciatingly in thanks for our generous and
compliant service and obvious sacrifice) I felt obligated to be as cooperative as
possible and did not request my own private conference. (See
that Jim, I didn’t WHINE at all!)
While these
private meetings were taking place in a room just off the courtroom, we were
given permission to stand up and talk to one another (though not about the
case.) Since at this point going to the
restrooms required an escort, I was thankful that THIS time I had not indulged
in the vending machine cocoa. I determinedly opted to ignore any symptoms that
might arise. The jurors all around me
were spouting their reasons for hardship as though I were the one in position
to pardon. I’ve never heard so many good
excuses to be relieved from jury duty. College
exams, aged parents who needed caretaking, spouses in the hospital, trips out
of the country, hourly medications, and a whole host of other medical
conditions which sounded so dire I began to fear having to resuscitate some of
my fellow jurors. (Imagine… here I had been thinking I was the only one inconvenienced.)
Just as my blood sugar was dropping to
ridiculous lows as we were not allowed to go to lunch until this portion of the
jury selection was accomplished, one of the court assistants called for Juror
Number 21. I was barely paying attention
by that time because I was trying to restore the blood flow to my legs after
such an extensive interval of sitting. The court assistant found me toeing the
perimeter of the courtroom, admiring the wood paneling and trying out some inconspicuous
yoga moves on alternating feet. (Not embarrassing
AT ALL to have jurors numbered 20 and 22 yelling to me from the peanut gallery
and pointing me out to the entire left side of the courtroom...)
I was
ushered to a room where the judge and lawyers from both sides of the debate
awaited. They were interested in
something I had written on my questionnaire.
“It says here you are a nurse.” This was accurate. Some questions ensued and I think it is safe
to say I represented myself as more than a little UNSTABLE to both sides of the bench.
You see, television
commercials featuring greedy lawyers in search of the injured or sick make
me rather ill. Add that to the absence
of a medical malpractice cap on compensatory damages in Pennsylvania and it
feels to me rather like a free-for-all if someone has smooth-talking
representation and the slightest intent to sue.
I’d like to believe that most medical professionals do the best they can
and if something untoward occurs, it is simply a mistake. In fact in many
cases, the medical professional is more distraught than the patient. I know
this is not always the situation and there are those who need to be removed
from practice. I am not sure however,
that millions of dollars in compensation can adequately eradicate the problem. But I am sure if things don't change we will run all of the decent doctors right out of our fine state because they can no longer afford the malpractice insurance.
So on the
one hand, I might be an excellent juror for the defense.
But then
came a question with perhaps a more telling answer. “As a nurse, do you think you might be
inclined to side with the physician in a case of malpractice?” To my credit, I did not laugh out loud. But I did answer with a very strong NO. I consider myself first and foremost an
advocate for my patients. This must have
come through clearly because one of the lawyers asked, “Do you feel animosity toward physicians?!” I told them I have no animosity whatsoever toward
the defendant in the next room. I do, however, have QUITE
A BIT of animosity toward SEVERAL physicians.
The defense lawyer sounded a distinct “uh-oh” as his eyebrows hit his hairline and I’m certain I caught the judge in a grin. (I want to think he was laughing with me and not at me.)
Though it’s
way too late to make a long story short, I was given my walking papers just
after lunch.
And the
funny part of all is this. I spent the
month leading up to my jury duty HOPING I would not have to serve. I spent the entire morning in Norristown praying that I
would be released so I would not have to find sub nursing coverage for a
minimum FIVE DAY case. I hoped against hope they would not call my name to fill one of those chairs in the jury
box (though they looked significantly more comfortable than the hard wooden
benches upon which we sat during selection.)
Yet as I was walking from the courtroom in the midst of a personal
celebration of my release, my prevailing thought was this. “Why didn’t they WANT me?!” (Don’t worry, I'm not as daft as all that. The thought was fleeting and celebration
won the day.)
So there you
have it. A day at the courthouse and my personal takeaways are these. I am
directionally challenged, impatient with tardy humans, AND pathologically insecure. Three strikes and I was OUT! Literally!
But at least I don’t have
to find anyone guilty, I don't have to hear
heartbreaking stories of loss, and (oh happy day) I don’t have to
drive to Norristown in the
morning.
It will be lovely to be back
at my desk. (Never fear, I know the
way.)
