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Jury Duty Part XI: Why The Fuck Are We Even Here?

As we marched through the doorway, past the two separate bathrooms and the dirty microwave and the college sized mini-fridge, and into the cold ass room with the water cooler, there was a distinctive feeling of relief in the air. I mean we could finally talk about this fucking case! The long table in the middle of the room had seating for twelve, but three of the seats had been pushed up against the outside wall, one seat was at the end of the table, leaving four seats per long side. I chose a seat in the middle of the table with my back facing the windows which were on the left side of the room. To my left was Skinny Tanned Bald Dude, then me, and to my right Retired Engineer Dude, Black Dude With A Beard sitting at the end of the table, and continuing around the far side of the table from right to left, Fat Accountant Dude, and finally A Little Overweight But Still Cute Divorced Chick. I know, I know, what happened to Skinny Metrosexual Dude, right? Turns out he was the alternate juror and would only participate in deliberations if one of the original six became unavailable for some reason (sick, recused, whatever). Since all six of the original jurors were able to fulfill their obligations to the court, Skinny Metrosexual Dude was cut loose as soon as the closing arguments were completed.

Our first order of business was to elect a jury foreman, and during the initial juror questionnaires, Skinny Tanned Bald Dude made the mistake of revealing he had not only served on two juries before but was the jury foreman on both. And as luck would have it, one of the first things anyone needs to do is Skinny Tanned Bald Dude has to use the restroom. He pushes his roller chair away from the table, stands up and heads out into the hallway where the bathrooms are. A Little Overweight But Still Cute Divorced Chick jokes that now would be a terrific time to hold the voting to see who we want to be our jury foreperson. A ripple of quiet laughter makes its way across the room; people are laughing but people are also agreeing. She continues her joke, "I nominate Skinny Tanned Bald Dude." Seeing the chance to actually bring this to fruition, I raise my hand and declare I second the nomination. The other three people exchange hurried glances, and one by one raise their hands. "It's unanimous," A Little Overweight But Still Cute Divorced Chick declares.

Sitting in front of Black Dude With A Beard is a small packet from the Court Clerk. Inside are some written instructions, the legal definitions of each of the applicable criminal charges, and the jury ballot form in which the jury foreman will need to check the appropriate GUILTY/NOT GUILTY checkboxes. Black Dude With A Beard slides the paper across the table to Retired Engineer Dude, who passing it from his right hand to his left, continues to slide it down to me and I continue to slide it down until it is resting in front of Skinny Tanned Bald Dude's now vacant chair. Another flurry of relieved laugher ripples across the room and almost as if it were choreographed, we hear the mens bathroom door open up as Skinny Tanned Bald Dude has finished his business. He returns to his seat and looking up, finds him self staring back at five people all of whom look they have eaten the proverbial canary. "Oh shit," he says, "I'm the jury foreperson, aren't I?" The next ripple of laughter that overcomes the room is not subdued, but outright belly shaking guffaws. "You carried 100% of the vote," reassures Retired Engineer Dude.

Skinny Tanned Bald Dude's first order of business is to ask anyone else if they would like to see the security camera footage from the dermatologist's office again. He explains that it would make him feel better if he were able to read the license plate on the fleeing vehicle, or at the very least, make out that it is indeed a Pennsylvania license plate. I see this is a complete fucking waste of time, because while decent for a security camera the footage was still grainy and blocky, shooting perhaps 15 frames per second. "I don't think the quality of the footage is good enough to actually make out any details of the license plate," I caution, hoping to derail this right at the giddy up. "I recall being able ot make out the color of the car and its basic shape, but I don't recall being able to make out any fine details like license plates, or the wording on John Goodman's t-shirt, or leaves in the trees, stuff like that." Unfortunately, two other people in the group -- Black Dude With A Beard and Fat Accountant Dude -- express they too would like to review the doctor's security footage. Realizing I would waste more time trying to convince them this effort is futile than it would take to just watch the fucking footage again, I concede, "Okay sure, sounds like a good plan."

A Little Overweight But Still Cute Divorced Chick writes our request on a small piece of paper, gets up from the table and knocks on the outer door where the bailiff is waiting. A few seconds later the door opens and I can see her hand the note out through the doorway and exchange some low whispering with the bailiff on the other side. A few seconds later, she withdraws the note and walks back to us, "The request has to come from the jury foreman," she announces and leans across the table to hand the note to Skinny Tanned Bald Dude. I take this opportunity to let my eyes dart over towards the top of her shirt -- leaning over cleavage is the best cleavage -- but unfortunately the hooded sweatshirt she brought with her today blocks my view of anything good. Skinny Tanned Bald Dude simultaneously accepts the note from A Little Overweight But Still Cute Divorced Chick and stands up from the table. He retraces her steps out to the door and knocks. The bailiff answers quickly, accepts the note, and asks that we all remain at the ready to return to the courtroom to review the security footage. All I can fucking think of is what a colossal waste of fucking time this is. This is not NCIS: New York and Gary Sinise is not going to zoom-and-enhance some fucking reflection off of a passing bus to catch a glimpse of a legible plate number. The only thing we are going to do is waste time and return to the jury room with no more information that we already have.

Still, the six of us file towards the doorway and scarcely fifteen seconds go by before the bailiff returns and says, "the courtroom is ready for you." We follow him out in a single file line and right on queue, El Jefe calls for everyone in the courtroom to stand. They do, we sit, they sit. "The Bailiff reports that you would like to see the security footage from the dermatologists's office again, is that correct." Several of us nod our heads in agreement, but it is only Skinny Tanned Bald Dude who gives a verbal response, "That is correct your honor." "Very well then," he agrees, "Unpronounceablename if you would be so kind as to bring the footage up for the jury to see once again." Unpronounceablename stands up and starts to hobble to the A/V table on the other side of Dr Taub. I can tell this request caught them off guard as they are both fumbling through manilla folders trying to find the one that contains the white envelope with the correct DVD inside. Eventually they do and Unpronounceablename feeds the disc into her laptop while Dr Taub squints and holds a black remote control the appropriate distance away so he can make out the buttons. He seems to press one, then another, then another and then the familiar blue and white DVD INPUT 1 lights up the side wall of the courtroom. The entire courtroom waits while Windows takes its sweet ass time recognizing the newly inserted disc, and once it does Unpronounceablename repeatedly clicks on its icon with the fury of a thousand suns. The courtroom is dead silent except for the sound of the DVD drive motor spinning up and the cooling fan on the overhead projector.

After what I can only approximate is around seventy-two hours, Windows Media Player pops up on the sidewall and after a short wait of pure black, we are again treated to the building mointed camera view of the Florida Skin Center's parking lot. Again we are treated to a sun washes view of a tranquil summer's day, the washed out green trees gently swaying in the breeze. Again, we see a silver Dodge Ram pickup truck enter from the far right frame, swing around counter-clockwise around the center divider until it is directly in front of the building, before backing up into a parking spot, exiting frame left. Unpronounceablename then grabs her mouse and latches onto the slidebar to advance the footage to the time when Chris Penn's car enters the scene. And he does, taking almost the exact same path that John Goodman's truck had taken a few seconds earlier. He too swings counter clockwise around the center divider, and backs into a parking spot just off to the left edge of the camera. Only he sucks cock at backing up because unlike John Goodman who nailed it on his first try, the grey Ford Focus has to pull out and make a second attempt to get himself straight. I would guess around twenty seconds go by before we see two pedestrians enter from the bottom right corner, walking diagonally towards the top left area where both vehicles had disappeared into. One of the pedestrians breaks into a fast walk, then a jog, then a run. A few seconds after that, we see the grey Ford Focus enter the camera's view from the left, drive around the center divider and giving the camera a terrific view of the car's ass end, and speed out of the parking lot. And you know what we were able to make out of the speeding grey car's license plate. Exactly Jack Fucking Shit. Too grainy. Too blocky. Poor contrast. Sure you could tell there was a license plate, but not a goddamn thing about it, just as I had predicted.

The footage continues to show the silver Dodge Ram speed off after the car, but I had already tuned out at this point. I can appreciate Skinny Tanned Bald Dude's effort to be thorough, but knew this was a fool's errand from the get go. Once the pertinent part of the footage is complete, Unpronounceablename and asks El Jefe, "Again?" El Jefe relays the question to us jurors, "Is that enough or would the jury like to see this footage or any other footage, again?" I'm firmly shaking my head no at this point, and as I look around at my fellow jurors, see a few others as well. Skinny Tanned Bald Dude casts a glance around at each of us and seeing the same look, reaffirms to El Jefe, "No Your Honor, I believe we have what we need." El Jefe thanks Unpronounceablename for her assistance, and calls the courtroom to stand up while we the jury once again return walk in a single file line back to the deliberation room.

Tomorrow: Let's Get This Fucking Show On The Road.

You know what kills me about the New England Patriots? Well, aside from hating Tom Brady. It's the same fanbase, which is also overwhelmingly Red Sox fans; and the Sox's biggest rivalry is the New York Yankees. Why do people from new England hate the Yankees so much? Because the Yankees are a fucking dynasty and every year when it's playoff season it's, "Oh look the Yankees have made the playoffs. Again. For the 90th million year in a fucking row." And then these same people who decry the Yankees dominance will cheer the Patriots. I don't get it. You're cheering the same type of dynasty, just in a different sport. Anyway, how do you know that even the whole world hates the New England Patriots? When you get memed by the famous Taiwanese animation company, and when African kids wear your would-be Superbowl Champion t-shirts.

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