My jury duty started out a-ok, despite the fact that my number qualified me for a day in criminal court #230, vying for a spot of 12 out of 65. Police Officer "Call Me Carl" was jovial and reassuring, cracking jokes with the jurors ("Do you want your pen back?" "You paid for it--you keep it.") and promising a swift and painless day.
Then "Call Me Carl" left us standing in the hallway for two hours outside the courtroom, while a variety of interesting people paraded up and down the hall, and I got chatted up by Roberto who told me how much he loves America.
Two hours, folks... no chairs. By the time he lined us up by juror number, lunch was fast approaching and pissed-off juror stomachs were rumbling.
They finally called us inside ("sit anywhere") only to reveal that we could all go home--in the two hours we were waiting, they had settled 6 out of 7 cases, and the 7th had more work before it would be seen by a jury. Turns out that a lot of these folks, when they realize that a jury is actually lined up and ready to go, decide its in their better interests to let the lawyers settle it up.
I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall for that process--the psychology at work: "Don't make me bring those jurors in here--did you see them? They look mean and uncomfortable. But I'll do it, if that's what you really want..."
So this is how justice works. A game of chicken.
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