I’ve been asked not to Google the case. Or to blog about it. Or to use any sort of social media.
Check, check and check.
So I’ll do what I do best. Obfuscate the issue.
Monday was juror selection day.
How the hell I ended up as one out of 70 is beyond me.
Actually, no, I take that back. I knew from the moment I saw the other 69 that I was doomed.
For starters, dress code said professional.
The only reason I was in Ralph Lauren was because it’s the only thing in my closet that fits my fat ass.
But still. Lots of beach wear. Yoga wear. Wrinkled wear.
Look. I know I’ve had professional jobs and I have a whole ass wardrobe for this shit. This is NOT me judging quality. I saw a few people really tried.
I also smelled a few people. Who clearly, shall we say, gave their clothes a wearing before. And I am speaking of the attorney to my right. I know day-old funk when I smell it.
Appearance, again, I can give a pass to. But I knew when I walked into the courtroom and the prosecution’s AND the defense’s eyes brightened up — and they made some quick notes — my fate was sealed.
Meet Juror No. 6.
Six out of 70. Also, I totally agree with their choices of one out of five. If indeed it’s a rank.
How did I get selected, indeed.
Let me answer that with a statement.
Which is …
After eight hours with all walks of society, I can understand how Trump got votes.
I’m not saying everyone is dumb or mean. Necessarily, anyway. But what I will say is their logic is as circular as some of their family trees.
Like, everyone got to ask questions. Or to say why they feel they might not be objective.
How my face — and my voice — refrained from screaming, “Sir, this is a Wendy’s!” about 40 times is BEYOND ME.
I thought, Jesus, this is who didn’t understand Amendment 4 and voted against it. This is where the 3% we needed to get it to 60% live.
Like, don’t think so hard. Just listen, read, and quiet that weird little brain of yours. You are not that deep.
In any event, when my name got called, I was not surprised at all.
If you think about it — we just put voters in charge of the election. And we collectively fucked up that assignment.
And then they put voters in charge of people’s fates. Jesus H. Tap-Dancing Christ.
Hanging out in the jury room with this group, I really feel like the attorneys put the best people from this jury pool in charge of the outcome.
So, to answer Kelly, it’s my mad English-speaking and -comprehending skillz that got me to round 2.
It’s my mad “answering questions succinctly and directly” that got me to round 3.
And frankly, I think hearing I live five minutes from the courthouse and have no spouse or kids to accommodate that sealed that deal.
Actually to answer very seriously, they were SUPER clear that they need people who can make decisions.
So when I said my job title, I got more notes made about me. I decide shit all day long. So, I hope I can help them get a verdict when this wraps up.
Also I don’t know if I’m decisive. But I am opinionated AF.
For example, I wonder whether all the people who said they don’t comprehend English well were truthful. Maybe they saw that as a way out. That was a third of the group right there.
Same with the dumb question gang. This guy next to me disqualified himself with his first dumb statement. (That people who don’t testify are cowards.)
But then he said something else really ridiculous. (That cops are second only to God in terms of truth-telling.)
Like dude, they know you’re either an idiot or trying hard to appear as one.
That all said, I realize how judgmental I’ve gotten in my advanced age. I have seen a lot of the world. I have spent time with all kinds of different people, creeds, races, cultures, etc. I’ve taken care of someone till the end of her life.
I get that no one’s had my experiences. I also get that I haven’t had theirs. But still.
I may or may not be the adultiest adult in the room. But the weight of making good decisions on my own is a heavy one. Making a good one WITH West Palm’s finest is even more daunting.