Tour of Jury Duty ...

I performed my civic duty today when I visited the Philadelphia Criminal Justice Center as part of a 700+ person jury pool for upcoming trials. But what started out as my obligation as a resident of this city soon turned into an 8 hour stretch of boredom and fighting hemorroidal flare-ups caused by countless hours of waiting...and waiting...and waiting...

The mailing notice informed me to arrive there by 8:15 am so, after stopping at the Wawa for a large cup of coffee, I walked amoung the morning rush of office dwellers and package delivery guys, making my way through the glass and concrete corridors of Center City. It was a bright, sunny, remarkably mild (for November) morning and the walk was relaxing, until I reached Market Street and heard the deep bong of the city hall clock tower echoing off the curtains of glass and steel rising up on either side of me. I remembered from the last time I suffered through Jury Duty that getting into the place was a chore in itself, what with the long lines and metal detectors...and this was before 9/11. I quickened my step from 20th Street, crossed the granite park on the west side of city hall, grimaced at the shabby looking Christmas tree being decorated by city workers, and cut through the central courtyard of the French/Victorian style landmark, passing under the towering portico that led me to Market East.

It was ten minutes after eight when I arrived at the main entrance to the Criminal Justice Center. Surprisingly enough, it wasn't overly crowded in the lobby. I handed in my cell phone and turned the corner to go through the metal detectors, where I was instructed to remove my coat, pockets and belt and place them on the conveyor belt which takes my items through the x-ray machine. After redressing, I gathered up my coffee and reading material and turned the next corner, being directed into a small lobby where someome greeted me, collected my notice with my identifation number and pointed me toward the waiting room through the double doors (taking special time to tell me of the wide range of breakfast food and beverages in the adjoining room).

8:15am...

I find an available seat in a large room with rows and rows of seats, filled with people of all ages, races and religions, all with one thing in common: they couldn't figure a way out of this. Sipping on my Wawa coffee, I fill out the 2-page questionaire using the #2 golf pencil provided to me. I then fold it and wait for my name to be called.

8:45am...

Still waiting for my name to be called.

9:15am...

About two-thirds of the room has been vacated, the former occupants on their way in groups of 40-60 people to the criminal courtrooms on the upper levels or to the civil courtrooms in city hall across the street. I look around to see who's left. A scattering of people (at least it looks like a scattering, but there are still a couple hundred people in the room) are trying desperately to occupy their time with books, newspapers, small talk with their neighbors or watching local television programming on the flat screen tvs suspended from the cieling.

9:45am...

I begin to wonder what would happen if I wasn't called. Around that same time, a young black woman sitting a couple seats away from me leans over and asks me that very same question. "You'll be called." I reply. "It's just a matter of time."

10:00am...

The woman who calls the names arrives at the podium with a fresh list in hand. She announces that the following list of people will be needed for jury selection in a criminal trial upstairs. There will be 60 people called, but we were to remain seated until all names are called.

10:06am...

My name is finally called. I'm juror number 36.

10:10am...

We are asked to line up with numbers 1 through 40 to the left of the main entrance and 41 through 60 down the center aisle. We are instructed to form a line 2 wide and that our juror numbers are not needed for any particular order. As we lined up along the wall, I looked out into the room and saw about 20 or so people still seated. They were going to be the last ones called.

10:12am...

The court officer moved down the line silently counting us jurors, her fingers dancing in the air before her like an airline stewardess taking a head count. She then counted the center aisle and paused. "We're missing someone from over in this line and we have an extra in that line." I checked my number just to make sure I'm in the right line. Yup.

"Please check your numbers and make sure you're where you're supposed to be please." The court officer instructed. "Numbers one through forty in this line, forty-one through sixty in the center aisle."

10:13am...

Counting again, the court officer moves more quickly through the lines. Everyone has checked and rechecked their numbers, assuring her and themselves that they are in the correct line.

10:13:37am...

The court officers grabs her list and begins reading off names. Within the first couple names called out, an audible, exhausted sigh comes from behind me. A black girl, probably no older than twenty, with a butt that could shelter a small village, realizes she's in the wrong line. Among the soft snickering and aggrivated groans of the other jurors, the girl moves across the room to the correct line.

10:14am...

The court officer informs us that, in just a moment, we would be led upstairs to the courtroom. She exits the waiting area to get further instructions.

10:14:10am...

The court officer returns: "That trial has been cancelled, please take your seats and we'll send you to the next one available."

10:20am...

The last group of twenty (who were sitting in their seats while we were all up in line) are called, gathered and led out of the room, leaving us 60 potential jurors sitting anxiously in our seats. Another court officer enters the room and tells us it'll be about 10-15 more minutes before we are moved, so if we wanted to step outside for a break or go to the bathroom, please feel free. I quickly rush outside and light up a cigarette. I can feel the beginnings of a headache creeping up the back of my neck.

10:30am...

Back in the room, we wait...

10:35am...

waiting...

10:45am...

Two and a half hours after my initial arrival, I am escorted out of the room with 59 other jurors to the elevator lobby. We bypass the elevators and head to the escalator instead.

10:47am...

We now find ourselves lined up 2 x 2 like rejects from Noah's Ark in a 2nd floor hallway. A man behind me whispers that we're about to be sent back down into the room again.

10:49am...

We're split into 3 groups of twenty and are taken up to the eleventh floor, via the elevator. It finally looks like things are going to start happening.

11:00am...

All 60 of us are now on the eleventh floor, waiting for instructions. We're told to hang out in the lobby until we're directed to the courtroom.

11:40am...

We're directed to the courtroom. My headache is screaming at me.

11:45am...

The judge introduces himself, the Assistant District Attorney and the defense lawyer. He begins to give us some instructions and throws in some lame jokes along the way to kind of put us at ease. After all, we've been sitting downstairs and in the 11th floor elevator lobby for 3 1/2 hours already with nothing to show for our civic duty.

11:55am...

The judge calls a sidebar with the ADA and the defense lawyer.

11:56am...

The judge calls a lunch recess. We are to report back at 1:00pm.

1:00pm...

We arrive back in the courtroom and are immediately broken down into three groups of twenty. The last group (41-60) are escorted to another courtroom for another trial selection, leaving 40 of us remaining. Of the remaining, numbers one through twenty are escorted into a back room and numbers 21-40 (myself included) are herded off to an adjacent courtroom. We're told that the first group of twenty are going to be interviewed about their questionaires they filled out earlier that morning and it would just be a "short wait" before we are brought back in and questioned ourselves.

1:30pm...

2:00pm...

2:30pm...

3:00pm...

The court officer arrives and brings us back into the first courtroom. We're ushered past the seating gallery and the twenty remaining jurors are put into a small room behind the courtroom. A man pokes his head into the room from another door to tell us there's a water bottle and bathroom back there and the judge will be with us shortly.

The court reporter arrives a few minutes later and tells us that the judge will question the remaining jurors one at a time in numerical order. She calls in juror #20.

3:10pm...

Juror #21 is called.

3:15pm...

Juror #22

It seems to be going fairly quickly this time around. I calculate that I should be getting out of there sometime around 4:30 or so. Whether or not I will be selected to serve on the trial is still to be determined. My headache was pounding by now and people all around the room were visibly worn down by the hours and hours of waiting with no real guidance. The last thing I wanted to do was to wait any longer only to be told that I've been selected to come back in the morning.

3:20pm...

Juror #23

I try and figure out what to say to these lawyers that will make them not want me on the panel. There are reasons I'm called bitter and they can come into perfect use at a time like this...

3:40:pm...

Juror #26

...After all, I don't trust the police department. Five years ago, I had a home invasion and I was dragged up to my bedroom by a big black man with a knife against my throat. After wrestling him off and chasing him out of my house, I called the police. Sure, they arrived quickly and immediately jumped into action, but when they learned I was gay, I can tell their attitude changed, probably thinking this was just a trick gone bad...

4:00pm...

Juror #30

...Even my wallet and the knife the guy left behind were dusted for prints, but none were found. Although I always found it strange that, when the police captain slipped my wallet through my mailslot of my front door in a plain manilla envelope without even knocking on the door to talk to me, there was never any sign of fingerprint dust on the leather...

4:15pm...

Juror #33

There were seven jurors left in the room, all lost in their thoughts. I had become lost in my own anger and frustration with the whole process. A civil trial I could handle but, left alone in a room all day to stew in the frustrations of an impending criminal trial, I couldn't help but go back to that one question on the survey that morning about not having prejudice against the statement of a police officer simply because of his or her occupation. I was left out in the cold by these officers simply because I am gay. Now I'm supposed to trust the testimony of a cop who will be testifying against two people who were of obvious middle eastern decent?

4:25pm...

The court officer hasn't arrived back for the next juror yet. I'm growing more and more impatient with each passing moment. I'll keep my cool, but let it be known, should they ask why I checked the box marked "yes" under that question...

4:35pm...

The court officer finally arrives and smiles at the 7 remaining jurors. "We have selected our jury and alternates. You can all go home now. The office downstairs is closed, so we will mail you out your checks."

What??? Nearly 8 1/2 hours of sitting in rooms full of strangers, being shuttled around the criminal justice center like cattle, having nothing to do, but watch the bored faces of the other jurors while beating off the headache from hell or trying desperately to focus on the words in the book I grabbed before leaving the house this morning? All that time for...."civic duty" and nine bucks that'll be mailed to me??? And I didn't even get a chance to vent my frustration????

4:45pm...

I'm sitting at a bar, cold beer in my hand...