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Jamie Maloney Goes to Court
With Small Claims opening in just a week, it seemed fitting that IRTE's own Jamie Maloney should be called in for Jury Duty
The following is from Jamie's own personal journal describing his journey...
Tomorrow
I have jury duty. I knew when I received the official questionnaire
last month that it was inevitable and I've been dreading it ever since.
This is the third time I've been summoned since I reached the
appropriate age and the call comes about once every decade . I'm in my
40's now and I haven't been summoned since my mid 30's so I'm due. Most
people dislike being called to jury duty for practical reasons: missing
work, a disruption of their daily schedule, etc. My anxiety centers on
being called out for dressing inappropriately. I also have a chronic
back condition which could be aggravated by sitting on hard wooden
furniture for a few days so I suppose my concerns are becoming more
rational as I reluctantly settle into middle-age. I've set my alarm for 7am but I know that anxiety will wake me up well before that.
3:30am: My cat wakes me up because she thinks it's fun to step on my hair while I sleep. I feed her and try to go back to sleep.
5:45: I give up trying to sleep and futz around the apartment for a few hours. Call time at the courthouse is 9:00
so I figure I need to leave by 8. I pick out a dress shirt that doesn't
quite fit anymore and a clean pair of jeans that are free of
unintentional holes but I still feel like I'm not dressed in a manner
that's respectful to the court. I need to point out that I resent dress
codes of any kind. It's my last vestige of adolescent outrage. I do
whatever I can to avoid situations where dress codes are enforced, going
so far as to risk being disowned by skipping family weddings. I decide
there's nothing more I can do to appear non-contemptuous and head out
the door thinking about the soldiers on D-Day who knew they would be
stepping onto a beach into a wall of enemy gunfire.
8:43:
The area where the courts are is easily the most intimidating part of
town. Looking at all the columns and steps and people in appropriate
attire, I try to tell myself my fears are irrational but this is
clearly a serious place for serious people doing serious business. I
would feel more comfortable in some of the worst areas of the city circa
1975. At least there and then I wouldn't be fined for following my
instincts and running away. I'm just some ridiculous comedian in an ill
fitting shirt, it's only a matter of time before I'm discovered and
culled form the herd. I arrive at my assigned location and immediately
realize my apparel-centric concerns are unfounded. My fellow prospective
jurors look like they're going to a picnic. Baseball hats, t-shirts and
neon sneakers are everywhere. This is usually how things work for me.
Weeks of worrying dispelled in a heartbeat followed by feeling silly for
having put myself through it. A quick trip through an ancient metal
detector, (why do I have three AA batteries in my inside coat pocket?)
and I find the jury room. My last time here I sat on beautiful, old,
painful wooden benches. They've since 'upgraded' to cushioned chairs.
The pinched nerve in my back is relieved but my sense of history and
appreciation of old world craftsmanship wonders about the fate of those
stalwart old benches. The court worker, I'm calling him the Jury Room
Commander, gives us the standard spiel, followed by the indoctr..er..
orientation video. I'm expecting a long day of sitting, reading a book
called "Emperor Mollusk Versus the Sinister Brain" and waiting patiently
but we're quickly shuffled along to another building. I was called to
criminal court but civil court needs jurors. Lots of jurors.
10:22:
A round woman in tiny shoes and a very structured dress gives us the
civil court spiel before the lawyers come in. And I'm using lawyers in
the most plural way possible. There aren't this many suits in an entire
season of Mad Men. Four lawsuits are being combined into a single trial
that's going to last between six and ten weeks. The first part of the
jury selection process is to determine if the potential jurors know or
have any connection with anyone or anything involved in the case. Every
one of the thirty (yes, thirty!) lawyers takes their turn telling us
their names and the names of all the parties they represent and will be
calling as witnesses. From what they tell us about this trial, it seems
pretty interesting if not potentially mind numbingly boring. I think I
want to serve as a juror.
11:38:
We have the opportunity to speak individually to the wall of wool about
why we may not be able serve on the jury for this trial. As much as I'd
like to, six to ten weeks is too long to be able to anticipate what
might happen with my back and I need to find a way out. As I approach
the eloquence of attorneys I feel like I've been called before every
school principal I've ever had in order to explain my deviance from the
dress code. They make no mention of my attire and to my surprise they
offer to let me get up and stretch my back from time to time during the
trial. In the end however I have a somewhat personal connection to this
case. This is a mesothelioma suit and my dearly departed grandmother was
diagnosed with that very same horror six years ago. Ultimately they
don't care how I'm dressed. They only want to know if I can be
impartial, and that's not going to happen, so they let me go home, duty
served. Slightly disappointed, slightly relieved I make my escape from
Intimidation Square.
12:51: Back home. My cat wants to eat again but not before I put on a t-shirt.
Check out Jamie in Small Claims SATURDAYS May 17, 24 & 31, 8:00pm at
358 West 44th Street
New York, NY 10036
Special discounts available online.
