Nina In New York: Back Off, Jury Duty. I Never Even Liked You.
A young professional's take on the trials and tribulations of everyday life in New York City.
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By Nina Pajak
I am being stalked.
I don't believe it's an exaggeration to say that I get a summons for jury duty no fewer than three times a year. That's a lot, isn't it? Am I crazy? Or is this crazy? I am clearly on the radar in a very big way.
I suspect the reason is that I've already served on a jury once before, about four and a half years ago, which unfortunately for me means that my respite is up. But I'd like to file for an extension of jury service immunity due to the fact that somebody (ahem, United States District Court for the Southern District of New York) paid absolutely no mind to my well-earned grace period, but instead continued to send me summons and notices on a regular basis, making it not at all a peaceful interlude but rather an exercise in deflecting bureaucracy. Hmph.
When I called my mother to rant like a lunatic about being called up again, she gave me an adorably mother-like response. "Well," she said, "it's probably because you were such a good juror when you served. You were so involved and asked good questions and they probably made a note of that."
Um, thanks mom. D'aw.
Only, I don't think so. It was a relatively small potatoes civil case and my shining moment came during deliberations, when I submitted a clarifying question to the clerk to help us come to a decision. Something about this query concerned someone, so the judge brought everyone back into the courtroom for a public review of the note I'd sent out to the clerk. The problem was, the conversation had to be done through our foreperson. No one else could speak. Unfortunately, our foreperson spoke English as a fourth language and/or had been totally asleep at the wheel for the last two weeks, because she was incapable of coherently reading my note or responding to any clarifying questions from the judge. After stumbling for a while, she turned to me in front of everyone, lifted her finger in a dramatic gesture and simply said,
"SHE."
Yeah, me.
Anyway, the point is that I don't quite believe that my name has been elevated to some super special "best jurors ever" pool. But my mom may be adjacent to a point in what she said. I think the fact that I not only responded to my original summons but didn't weasel out of trial service put my name in a stable of suckers from whom the courts draw heavily. I've been flagged as one of those total dweebs who thinks that all those threats are real about how failure to respond will result in tons of fines and a week in a scared straight program and then ten billion years in prison. As opposed to someone else I know, who is a very law-abiding and productive citizen, but whose one bit if civil disobedience has been never to respond to a jury summons. Ever. His theory: what are they gonna do? The answer: nada. He hasn't gotten a summons in decades.
And then there's me, conscientious me, for whom the idea of ignoring a jury summons brings to mind scenes from Oz and The Green Mile. Well, this is my reward. No good nerd goes unpunished, right?
I could go into the whole theory I developed after my trial experience about how depressingly arbitrary it all felt, and how incredibly unqualified our panel appeared to be to make a decision that was life-changing for at least two people involved. And how the lawyers for both sides were all hateful and stupid (like, really, really stupid) and how the judge gave us a speech before the proceedings began about how "sometimes I will have my eyes closed, but that doesn't mean I'm not listening." It didn't exactly make me feel like doing my civic duty in this way was of any particular importance or value. Mostly, it made me feel sad and bored and glad I didn't cave to the pressure all English majors feel to "just go to law school."
And now, here I am again, only this time I can't send in my stock letter which says, "KINDLY BACK OFF, COURT MOFOS. YOU ARE TOO EARLY! I AM STILL FREEEEEE!" Instead I will take my one postponement, and then hope that someone who matters reads this column and says, "Take this girl off the good juror list and put her on the terrible juror list. We hate her, and she didn't even have to pretend to be a despicable racist." That would be nice. Because not only am I being completely sincere in everything I've said here, but I also don't want to have to go alllllll the way downtown at 8am. Win-win.
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Nina Pajak is a writer and publishing professional living with her husband on the Upper West Side.
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