Juror Number 21

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.)