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Jury stories #2
Feb. 27th, 2006 10:23 amWhen I say I can’t believe they put me on this jury, I don’t mean it for the reasons that many people may assume. I actually don’t think you can be thrown off a civil jury in this town for being a freak or a non-gun-toting commie anymore. First of all they don’t care and aren’t asking. Second of all, the reaction to many potential juror’s eliminate-me-please monologues was more along the lines of "Yawn… ho hum … so what". Lawyers are nothing if not a jaded people.
No, I was surprised I was on the jury because the defense lawyer grilled me on two points important to the case yet didn’t eliminate me. The plaintiff was claiming post-traumatic stress disorder as a result of being hit by the defendant’s car. When asked if anyone was familiar with PTSD, I raised my hand, one of only two of the 24 potential jurors. I refused to spill out the exact details of my experience being intimately involved with friends with PTSD, but I did admit that I felt differently about family induced abuse than the remnants of accidental trauma. "Unless someone’s gonna argue that he ran his car into her intentionally to show his power and control over her and for his own sick kicks, I don’t think that the fact PTSD is being claimed would make me a biased juror," I replied.*
I also discussed a permanent work injury that I have. When he asked if I sued for damages I relied, "No, but I didn’t think I would still feel pain from it a decade later either." I also thought the judge might not like me because I stopped the jury questioning at one point and told her that it was time for a bathroom break. $15 a day doesn’t buy my servility and hell, I wasn’t even getting paid that day. Many of my fellow jurors thanked me as I urinated, a social situation for which there is no Miss Manners column.
Clearly I could have gotten off the jury if I really wanted to. The best way to get off a jury was simply to make a public asshole of yourself, something I have never been very good at. Seriously, sometimes I wish I had that skill. Generally, it’s something urban kids do better than suburban ones and even though I’ve lived in this city 17 years it’s still something I have trouble with.
Sometimes people ask where all the native San Franciscans are. Obviously gentrification and this city being a destination for post-college kids to find themselves has made it preferable for many people who grew up here to leave. But man, the ones that are here seem to be at 400 McCallister. When you introduce yourself to the lawyers and judge you have to say your name, occupation, neighborhood, marital status, occupation of adults you live with and years you’ve lived in SF. My 17 years seemed like the bottom of the scale.
Jury selection was different this time than when I had gone to criminal court. Instead of answering questions one by one, the lawyers asked broad questions and asked if people had strong reactions. Since this was a personal injury case, the tort reform folks were the first to identify themselves. One woman, experienced in avoiding jury service it would seem, imediately volunteered that she would never, under any circumstances, give monetary awards for pain and suffering even though it is the law. Others calculated the angles and saw this as the way to go, echoing the first woman and opining about hot McDonald’s coffee and the other bogeymen of lawsuit reform.
On the other side were the people who seemed to be obviously on the side of the plaintiff, people mad at San Francisco drivers in general and their disregard for pedestrians and traffic laws. There weren’t quite as many angle-workers here because one of the first folks to speak had her father killed in an accident very similar to the case we were hearing and that was a hard act to follow.
Still, I was surprised at the level of discourse going on during voir dire. People unfamiliar with torts (which are basically monetary awards for things that can’t be replaced e.g. pain and suffering in addition to regular doctor’s bills) asked smart questions and the lawyers answered them, even discussing the theoretical underpinnings of the US legal system. The brutal nature of the US lack of safety nets was also there for anyone who wanted to notice. Most people are one accident away from destitution, either as the injured or the one with a momentary lack of judgement having to pay off someone else’s medical bills and attendant care.
I was also interrogated about my job. No one flinched at "cooperative" but the plaintiff lawyer asked what a cheesemonger is.
"I buy and sell cheese," I replied.
Trying to be folksy he replied, "Oooh, got any recommendations?"
"Don’t get me started," I answered. I clipped my words to let him know he was not my friend. The other jurors laughed. Then hit me up for cheese advice during the break.
Nearly eight hours after our day began, they called us back into the room to announce the jury. I was gathering my things assuming I’d be eliminated. Instead, they called out the names of those folks dismissed and I was the last juror chosen.
*I wasn’t quite that coherent really.
No, I was surprised I was on the jury because the defense lawyer grilled me on two points important to the case yet didn’t eliminate me. The plaintiff was claiming post-traumatic stress disorder as a result of being hit by the defendant’s car. When asked if anyone was familiar with PTSD, I raised my hand, one of only two of the 24 potential jurors. I refused to spill out the exact details of my experience being intimately involved with friends with PTSD, but I did admit that I felt differently about family induced abuse than the remnants of accidental trauma. "Unless someone’s gonna argue that he ran his car into her intentionally to show his power and control over her and for his own sick kicks, I don’t think that the fact PTSD is being claimed would make me a biased juror," I replied.*
I also discussed a permanent work injury that I have. When he asked if I sued for damages I relied, "No, but I didn’t think I would still feel pain from it a decade later either." I also thought the judge might not like me because I stopped the jury questioning at one point and told her that it was time for a bathroom break. $15 a day doesn’t buy my servility and hell, I wasn’t even getting paid that day. Many of my fellow jurors thanked me as I urinated, a social situation for which there is no Miss Manners column.
Clearly I could have gotten off the jury if I really wanted to. The best way to get off a jury was simply to make a public asshole of yourself, something I have never been very good at. Seriously, sometimes I wish I had that skill. Generally, it’s something urban kids do better than suburban ones and even though I’ve lived in this city 17 years it’s still something I have trouble with.
Sometimes people ask where all the native San Franciscans are. Obviously gentrification and this city being a destination for post-college kids to find themselves has made it preferable for many people who grew up here to leave. But man, the ones that are here seem to be at 400 McCallister. When you introduce yourself to the lawyers and judge you have to say your name, occupation, neighborhood, marital status, occupation of adults you live with and years you’ve lived in SF. My 17 years seemed like the bottom of the scale.
Jury selection was different this time than when I had gone to criminal court. Instead of answering questions one by one, the lawyers asked broad questions and asked if people had strong reactions. Since this was a personal injury case, the tort reform folks were the first to identify themselves. One woman, experienced in avoiding jury service it would seem, imediately volunteered that she would never, under any circumstances, give monetary awards for pain and suffering even though it is the law. Others calculated the angles and saw this as the way to go, echoing the first woman and opining about hot McDonald’s coffee and the other bogeymen of lawsuit reform.
On the other side were the people who seemed to be obviously on the side of the plaintiff, people mad at San Francisco drivers in general and their disregard for pedestrians and traffic laws. There weren’t quite as many angle-workers here because one of the first folks to speak had her father killed in an accident very similar to the case we were hearing and that was a hard act to follow.
Still, I was surprised at the level of discourse going on during voir dire. People unfamiliar with torts (which are basically monetary awards for things that can’t be replaced e.g. pain and suffering in addition to regular doctor’s bills) asked smart questions and the lawyers answered them, even discussing the theoretical underpinnings of the US legal system. The brutal nature of the US lack of safety nets was also there for anyone who wanted to notice. Most people are one accident away from destitution, either as the injured or the one with a momentary lack of judgement having to pay off someone else’s medical bills and attendant care.
I was also interrogated about my job. No one flinched at "cooperative" but the plaintiff lawyer asked what a cheesemonger is.
"I buy and sell cheese," I replied.
Trying to be folksy he replied, "Oooh, got any recommendations?"
"Don’t get me started," I answered. I clipped my words to let him know he was not my friend. The other jurors laughed. Then hit me up for cheese advice during the break.
Nearly eight hours after our day began, they called us back into the room to announce the jury. I was gathering my things assuming I’d be eliminated. Instead, they called out the names of those folks dismissed and I was the last juror chosen.
*I wasn’t quite that coherent really.
