The building had a mix of bureaucratic
shabbiness and judicial majesty found in courts everywhere. I walked
in hoping to be dismissed early, but still curious enough to be
truthful.
The judge started with some questions
for the room that did nothing to get me off the hook -- when she said
celebrating Rosh Hashanah was a legitimate reason to be excused, half
the room converted to Judaism.
Before long I was at the bench facing
Her Honor, the assistant DA, the defendant, and his lawyer. "Your
questionnaire says you've been mugged, robbed, and assaulted,"
the judge noticed. "Was that all one incident?"
"No, your honor. They were all
separate incidents."
"Wow. Unlucky. Would that bias you
against the defendant?"
"No. He didn't do it."
She smiled. "Have a seat."
Like that, I was a juror on a murder
trial. It took several boring hours for the rest to be chosen.
Continue: His Peers, and Mine
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