Near Miss (Trial)

The envelope arrived in that we're-done-with Charley-but-not-yet-worried-about-Frances time last month: Jury Summons. I'd been summoned three times before, and never had to go in. (First time: when I first moved to Florida, I was summoned to Oregon; second time: I was summoned for the day they were moving into the new courthouse downtown; third time: I just lucked out and didn't have to report.) My luck ran out with number four — the backlog of cases from all the hurricane-related closings made them request all sixteen juror groups for today.

So I made the trek to our county seat of Tavares. This little town is roughly a 45-minute drive north of our house, so I had to leave before 7. Ugh. Found the courthouse, parked, went in, got scanned by security. I set off the alarm and had to get the hand-wand treatment. I never set off the machines at the airport; why would the Lake County Courthouse be more secure than the International Airport?

Got to the jury room, and discovered that they are NOT set up to handle this many people. Standing room only. Ugh. Watched a truly moving video (ugh) telling us how this isn't a waste of time, it's the highest civic calling, pulling all those patriotic heartstrings: "America has been using juries for over 200 years, and we're one of only a handful of nations that do. And we do it because it works." I kid you not. They swore everyone in en masse, and then promptly let about a third of the people go just because they said they didn't want to serve today.

And the waiting began. They called probably 40 names, and mine wasn't on the list. The room empties more. 9:00 rolls around, they called me as part of a group of about 18. We marched down to the courtroom, got seated, were told the case in question would involve us returning on Thursday, and the judge started to read the charging statement. Something was wrong with the statement. We were this close to mistrial, but since the selection-of-jurors hadn't started yet, they decided they could just send us back and grab a new 18. So, back to the jury lounge.

One group of people were told they could leave and do whatever, just be back by 12:45. We weren't in that group. More sitting. I ate a granola bar I brought (thank goodness), and read. At just after noon, we were called back for another round of jury selection, but this time, for a case a week-and-a-half away! The judge questioned each of us individually, and then both attorneys went through their questioning process. Just from those questions, I had a pretty good inkling of the angle each was going to take. Not that I can give any details, but it was one of those cases that made me think, "why is this case even being tried?

I'm no activist, but when the judge asked each person if they were "married, single, divorced, etc." I responded: "I have a partner, but the state doesn't recognize that." The judge smiled and actually did ask my partner's employment the same way she asked the others about spousal employment. (Made me kinda glad I cast a vote in favor of this judge last month!) I do wonder, though, if that response is why neither attorney had any questions just for me?

I also wonder if it had a bearing on my non-seection. I don't think I have been so relieved to have my name NOT called. I finally got the all-clear to leave about 1:15. I'm done for a full year, and some other group of 6 has to come back next week sometime to suffer through an afternoon of testimony.

It could have been worse: One guy nearby in the lounge said he was called for an eight-week term once. Did I say "worse?" All I can think of that is, "the horrors!"