Liveblogging jury duty!
My time is up. I must serve my jury duty this week. I write to you from the jury pool room in the county courthouse in Inglewood.
The way jury duty works in Los Angeles county is this: you are bound to clear your schedule for five business days. If you don’t get put on a trial on the first day, you can go home and not have to come back for a year or more. However, if you get chosen to serve, you have to expect the trial to last three to five days.
Now then, there’s a trick. You may or may not have to serve on the first day of your week. You need to call in every night to see if they need you to come in the next day. Last time I was called, I didn’t have to go in for the first three days at all, but then had to report on Thursday. The problem is, your five days of service don’t begin on the first day you’ve pledged, they begin on the first day you’re called in. So for me, I came in on Thursday and found that my service began on that day, and could be expected to go until the following Thursday. So suddenly, a week of jury duty becomes two weeks of jury duty. Because I’m self-employed, I had cancelled a week of meetings and work time to serve on a jury; now they were asking me to cancel two. So I had to postpone to the dead of August, when nothing happens in show business, and here I am. To make matters worse, due to Governor Schwarteneggar’s terminating the state budget, the courts don’t operate at all on the third Wednesday of each month, which is tomorrow, and that means that if I’m chosen to serve, my week will be one day longer. Sheesh.
The people in charge of orienting the jurors here in Inglewood are friendly and even funny — they know jury duty is a drag and no one wants to be here, and they crack many wry jokes about everyone’s level of discomfort.
They also showed us a video and asked us to pay close attention. The video turned out to be a solemn, inspirational, condescending 15-minute documentary explaining how a jury works and the important rolea jury plays in society. It is pitched to an audience with the intelligence of the average 10-year-old. It contains, I swear, lines like "California is our nation’s greatest state, filled with natural beauty and blessed with a robust economy. But we do have disputes here, and we do have crime, and that’s where the state justice system comes in." This spoken over shots of waves crashing on rocks in Malibu and the sun setting over downtown Los Angeles. Then there were a number of brief scenes showing the kinds of things we might expect to see inside an LA County courtroom, as though no one in the jury pool room had ever seen a courtroom drama. I can’t imagine who they got to write and direct and shoot and cut and act in this thing.
We are now waiting for a judge to come around and give us a little more info on what might happen to us today.
UPDATE 11:33 Nothing has happened for the past 90 minutes. Just a large number of people in the jury pool room, chatting and reading and making phone calls and texting and playing video games on their iPhones and surfing the internet on their laptops. Myself, to keep myself entertained I’ve brought Samuel Beckett’s The Unnamable, which is a novel about a man, if you can call him a man, who exists in a kind of grey void and imagines that there is some group of authority figures, somewhere, who are waiting for him to say something. What they want him to day he has no idea, so he creates characters who exist in what you and I would call "the real world," and tells stories about them. One character he creates is called Mahood. Mahood is a one-legged man who comes home after a long absence to find his entire extended family dead of botulism. Another character he creates is called Worm. Worm is a limbless torso who lives in a large jar on the front porch of a restaurant somewhere in suburban Ireland. He acts as sort-of the restaurant’s mascot, and the restaurant’s menu leans against his jar. The rest of the book, a good 120 pages or so, is filled with the narrator’s musings on who his captors are, what they want from him, what he thinks they might want to hear him say, where his voice comes from (because it does not come from within himself) and how he might be able to finally stop talking at some point. Beach reading from Mr. Beckett.
In case I whip through The Unnamable before I’m selected, I’ve also brought Beckett’s last novel How It is, which is about a guy who crawls around naked in the mud and tortures another guy with a can opener. It has no punctuation. Beckett was obviously shooting for the bestseller list with that one.
UPDATE 12:00 NOON In a surprise twist, everyone has been sent home early. And that’s it, we don’t have to come back for at least another year. Mysterious thing, this civic duty. Apparently no cases went to jury today. And I was so looking forward to being one of 12 angry men.