Posted by Lex Konrad in Dispatches | Apr 19, 2006
“Lex!”
Standing in line for the metal detector, I’d mentally checked out. It took me a moment to realize someone had called my name. When I spun I around I saw Chris, of Chelsea Grill fame, standing in the other line and grinning at me. I marched over to him and clasped his hand. “Holy shit. You’re the last person I expected to run into here.”
By now his grin had transmogrified into a full-on smile. “In trouble with the law, Lex?”
“Naw, I’m just here for jury duty. You here for the same?”
“Nope. I’m testifyin’ against a purse-snatcher.”
“Aren’t you the model citizen.” Chris handed me his business card; he’s general manager for a fancy new club now, moving up in the world. I smiled at the prospect of VIP treatment and promised to pay him a visit.
After we’d parted ways I found myself oddly moved by my friend’s service to the community. Though I’d initially been reluctant to haul my ass down to the courthouse, well, the system has a way of grinding you down.
And so I patiently sat in the jury selection room, read a book, talked politics with a few people, and dutifully returned from lunch at the appointed hour, anxious to find out whether we’d receive a call from the war room.
Then came the clerk’s magic words: “Okay folks, it’s slow around here this week so you’re being discharged.”
Discharged. I should have been relieved—and I was in a sense—but I also felt a little let down: once I’d resigned myself to being there I wanted to see the process through. For the first time I felt like a citizen of New York and not just a resident.
The old folks spoke of how much better it is now that the jury summons comes only once every four years and not every two years as it once did. I’m not so sure. It seems like a long time to wait for another chance at citizenship.
Posted by Lex Konrad in Dispatches | Apr 17, 2006
“You are the only ones standing between civilization and anarchy,” quipped the clerk. The 150-or-so Manhattan residents crammed into the courthouse auditorium laughed. Who knew jury duty could be so darned funny?
Our bleak, windowless holding pen smelled like public school: musty and familiar. It contained what I imagined must have been a cross-section of Manhattan’s non-immigrant population, who were, to my surprise, a rather ordinary looking group of people. After scrutinizing the audience I made the following notation in my logbook: Ratio of hot babes to average lookers – 1:10. This is why I would make a good juror; I always zero-in on the pertinent facts.
Then came my brush with blogebrity. You see, the clerk had an annoying habit of remarking upon people’s professions as they handed in their paperwork (for whatever reason there were an assload of lawyers and cops among the potential jurors). When my turn came—I’d simply marked down “Self Employed”—he said, “Oh, you have the best boss in the world.”
“Little do you know,” was my rejoinder.
When I returned to my seat I spied a man standing in line wearing obligatory hipster uniform #3—the one that says I blew $500 on these clothes and spent an hour picking them out but I want it to look like I raided some teenager’s closet. (Actually, this may have been a good wardrobe choice considering jury duty has that distinctive air of high school detention about it.) After the hipster handed in his form the clerk, of course, commented upon the man’s profession. My synapses fired. “I bet that’s so-and-so,” I muttered under my breath. And, sure enough, when a bunch of people were called up for service two hours later he answered to the name.
The rest of my day was uneventful. The powers that be gave the remaining juror pool an hour-and-a-half for lunch, after which we returned to the jury selection room and napped like preschoolers (snoring preschoolers, that is) until we were finally let go at 3:30 PM. No one else was called to service. Apparently the wheel of justice really does turn slowly.
Will any legal professional in his or her right mind put Lex Konrad on a jury? Stay tuned…
NB: I’ve intentionally left out certain details. And, obviously, if I am assigned to a case I won’t be able to offer any commentary.
