A Jury of Our Peers

Jury duty was a bust. I got up at the crack of dawn, dropped my daughter early off at school, raced downtown (all the lights were green) and made it to the jury room in plenty of time to wait with the 200 or so other poor souls who were carted off to purgatory with me.

Actually, it wasn't bad at all. The woman giving our jury instructions had a spiel to rival Southwest flight attendants. We also saw an informative video that dramatized jury service from the point of view of a prospective juror--a pearl-wearing, well-dressed white woman 55 or so-- and that of the defendant who was younger, Hispanic, had an accent, requested an interpreter, and was accused of battery against another youngish Hispanic man.

"Bar fight," I figured when I saw the two men. Couldn't help it. Knee jerk reaction, aided and abetted by the racial profiling portrayed in our informative videos. All the attorneys and judges portrayed in the video were white. The jurors portrayed were of various ethnicities but all were very well dressed in business attire.

Not like the motley crew in the basement of our courthouse. Nobody was wearing a halter top or a wife beater, but there were plenty of jeans, flip-flops and shorts. In fact, I only saw one man wearing a suit and he radiated self-conscious self-importance.

We saw our video confirming our worst stereotypes, had a break, got a coupon for a snack, and then I was dismissed, two hours after my arrival. I was disappointed. I was all fired up to do my civic duty but it was not to be, nor will it happen for the next two years as that's how long my two hours in the basement is good for.

The wheels of the justice system don't turn quickly enough for this member of the jury pool.