aprilhenry (aprilhenry) wrote,

Many are called; few are chosen

My name was called! Saying the elevator was slow, they encouraged us to take the stairs to the fifth floor courtroom. My heart was pounding, and it didn't help that once inside we each had to answer a set of questions from a laminated sheet. Name, occupation, where we lived, who we lived with and what they did, whether we had been a victim of crime, had friends/relatives in law enforcement, or had been involved in court proceedings before. The defendant, dressed in two-piece blue prison garb that didn't really hide his tattooed arms or butt crack, seemed a bit checked out.

A few people got nervous or confused and instead of saying whether they had been a victim of a crime, they answered whether they had been convicted of a crime.

So many people had their cars broken into, and not one had had any resolution to it. Ditto to our burglary, or even the time the scary guy broke in while I was in a shower but left after I ran out the front door.

In a weird twist of fate, one of the folks called up also works in publishing, for Oregon State Press.

Just hearing the attorney's questions was enough to figure out the case. Some guy damaged some other guy's car, but he has a mental illness that made him think there was a good reason for doing it. The only witnesses were going to be the two guys. The prosecutor reminded that we could not be influenced by bias or prejudice or sympathy.

They only needed six folks (not sure why it wasn't more), so they dismissed most of us.

I await another call. Or lunch.

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