The Daily Procrastinator

Today marked my annual “if it’s mid-May, it must be jury duty” day. You think I’m kidding about it being annual? The last three years have been May 15, 2007, May 13, 2008 and May 18, 2009. I could plan my entire year around it.

Nobody came dressed like this, but there was the girl in a knit cap that inexplicably resembled a green wool version of Leia's hair from the original Star Wars.

Now, the weird thing is that I know no one who gets called more often than I do. Even in the same county, friends often go three or four years between jury summons. This has made me quite anxious to find ways to get out of it. Civic duty or no civic duty, this has become an unreasonable nuisance.

I might also add that today’s visit to the courthouse in Oakland was made even more special by the loud groups of bullhorn-toting protesters and police officers with riot gear since the officer involved with the BART shooting was scheduled for a court appearance this morning. Nothing like starting your day with angry protesters shouting at you.

I was fully prepared (well, at least hoping) to be dismissed from a criminal case. My grandfather was chief of police way back when, and I have several friends who are cops. I was fully prepared to tell them that these relationships would create an inherent bias in favor of practically any testifying police officer.

Instead, much to my horror, I got called in for an individual’s lawsuit against a large chemical company (malignant mesothelioma from asbestos exposure) which, even from the 3-minute intros, sounded like it had big gaping holes in it. This I was not prepared for.

Observation #1: with everyone dressed in black suits, the legal teams looked like members of a funeral procession. Observation #2: the plaintiffs’ attorneys looked like they bought their suits at Goodwill, while the chemical company attorneys looked like they were custom-tailored, from their Armani suits to their noses.

Bad sign #1: the juror survey was 42 pages long, required them to read responses off-site for two days, and reconvene in two days. Bad sign #2: the judge announced that the trial should be concluded by July. I grabbed a hardship exemption form and waited in line to discuss my hardship with the judge and the gaggle of attorneys waiting in chambers.

My hardship (aside from self-employment) was a trip back east to see family from 5/30 through 6/10. I was called back to chambers while the judge asked me questions about what I do. Evidently I revealed myself to be just a bit too intelligent and coherent, because she said, “I think you’d be exactly the kind of juror we need on this case, based on your background and your understanding of science and medicine.”

“I was afraid of that,” I replied.

“I’m inclined to tell you to postpone your trip,” she said. “Remember, this is your civic duty.”

I got a huge knot in my stomach, and suddenly my usual keep-my-mouth-shut self kind of erupted. I blurted out, “OK, let’s push aside the money that I’d lose in nonrefundable flights and hotels — which isn’t insignificant. But you mean to tell me that you want me to call my 90-year-old Nana and tell her that I can’t see her until the end of the summer because I’ve been picked for a jury for a mesothelioma trial? The kind of case that law firms advertise about on TV?” The chemical company’s lead tried to contain a laugh that came out as a loud snort that let me know I’d hit a little too close to home.

“Oooooo-k,” said the judge. “I think we’re done here. Thank you for your service.” I skipped out the door, deeply relieved and filled with new knowledge for getting recused from jury duty:

Lesson #1: Form a strong opinion. Voice it loudly. Stick with it. This is the most powerful tool you have.

Lesson #2: Clothing does not appear to play a role in recusal. Of the two people ahead of me — neither one excused — one was dressed in a suit and the other looked like he had just emerged from a halfway house.

Lesson #3: They’re watching you. The assistant counsel for the chemical company was watching us all enter and taking notes. There were head nods and whispers from the plaintiffs’ attorneys. They’re picking favorites from the moment they see you. Do your best to look like you’re the last person on earth that they’d want deciding their case.