I think I've mentioned before that I had jury duty back in September. It was the first time I had ever been called for it and I was happy to comply, but I really didn't want to be seated on a jury because it was going to mean some long ass days for me. Of course my employer had to give me the time off, but since there are some things that only I can do (because I am so freaking indispensable, and don't you forget it) I was going to have to spend some time in the office regardless. That was seriously going to cut into my drinking time and lord knows we couldn't have that, so I kept my fingers crossed that I wouldn't be selected to be on a jury. From everything I'd heard I had nothing to worry about. Everyone I knew who'd had to report for jury duty had spent their time sitting in a big room with hundreds of others, listening to other people's names being called out. After a couple hours of this all of the people left -- of which there were very many -- were free to go about their business. It was essentially common knowledge that being called for jury duty meant you'd go sit in a room for a few hours and then go home.
The morning of the big day I made my way to the courthouse, listened to a judge give us a quick speech telling us how awesome we all were for being there, as if we needed him to tell us that because Hello! We know how great we are so please carry on, and then parked my ass in a chair with my book. A few minutes later they called out the first batch of names. You can probably see where this is going and yeah, you're goddamn right my name was called right off the bat. The thirty of us went up to the courtroom where fourteen people would be randomly picked to sit in the jury box and undergo the first round of questioning from the attorneys. As soon as both attorneys were satisfied with the fourteen on the jury (twelve jurors and two alternates) the rest of the jury pool would be dismissed, with the thanks of the court, of course. And from there they'd probably wander downtown to have martinis for lunch and laugh at the rest of the poor bastards sitting there, martini-free, listening to opening arguments. I hoped I'd get lucky and not be called as one of the first fourteen, but again you can probably see where this is going and, again, you'd be exactly right: Say hello to Juror #4! For some reason that still escapes me, neither attorney found me objectionable enough to dismiss. Damn.
As it turned out, the case we were assigned was being tried in chancery court. If, like me, that means nothing to you, chancery court is essentially business/contract court. When I heard that whatever positive feelings I had about fulfilling my civic duty evaporated. A contract dispute? A goddamn contract dispute? I didn't want to sit on a murder trial or anything like that, but I was hoping for something that would hold my interest. Maybe a particularly nasty divorce with allegations of porn addiction and/or a foot fetish, or perhaps somebody who got busted whacking off in public. Something.
I will spare you the details of the case, not because they're secret or anything, but because I don't want you to fall asleep on me. I've spent too much time writing this crap down for you to go and nod off in the middle of it. Anyway, suffice it to say that a printing company was suing a freight company for losses they [the printing company] suffered when the freight company didn't deliver some products on time. The court had already determined that the freight company was in breach of contract, but for whatever reason the plaintiff wanted a jury to decide what damages they were due. So we, the jury, sat for hour after hour after goddamn hour examining bills of lading and listening to witnesses discuss why a particular trucking company sucked ass or why they didn't. The attorneys both did a good job, although the defendant's counsel was a bit of a jackass. He was ethically obligated to vigorously represent his client, and we all respected that. But there were times when he went too far and we were all sitting there thinking about what a dick he was. Passion and vehemence are one thing; unnecessary and deliberate assholery is another.
Finally the trial was over, and not a moment too soon. I got a little tired of being chaperoned to the restroom to make sure I didn't run into another juror and hide in the stall discussing why Exhibit 18c was more compelling than Exhibit 39f. I understand that they wanted to ensure no one on the jury was compromised, but damn. If they thought we were going to spend our precious spare time discussing freight invoices they were severely misguided.
Despite the snoozefest that was the trial, all of us jurors took our responsibilities extremely seriously. Deliberations were very earnest and occasionally quite heated. For the most part we agreed on damages, although there were a few points where we quibbled. The plaintiff was asking to be compensated for numerous fees/charges/losses totaling several hundred thousand dollars, and at one point we argued for almost twenty minutes over one item worth eight bucks and some change. That's dedication, people.
Eventually we decided on a number and were getting ready to put our signatures on the necessary documents when one juror asked if we could apply a Jackass Attorney Penalty. We all looked at each other, hoping someone would be able to come up with a legitimate reason why we could charge the defendant for having a buttmonkey for a lawyer, but we ultimately decided we couldn't. We delivered our verdict, neither side was satisfied, and we came away feeling as though we'd done our jobs well.
Three months after my jury experience I'm still thinking about the Jackass Attorney Penalty, and I've decided that I should implement something similar in my day to day life. I would like to call it a Douche Fee. Who's with me? Obviously we all have our individual pet peeves, many of which may not be particularly rational, but there are some things that are universal, or at least should be. Parking in a handicapped spot when you are not? Douche fee. Playing air drums in public? Douche fee. Being Jessica Simpson? Double douche fee for you, you dumb talentless bitch.
I'm pretty sure this is an idea whose time has come, and I believe I'm just the crotchety old skeezer to implement it. So if you see some tall brunette in a supermarket confronting someone, all "Excuse me, but are those spandex bicycle shorts you're wearing? At the grocery store? You owe me five bucks for being a douche," please do say hello to me.
