Jury Duty Am I Normal?

Have you ever wondered if youre normal? Just a regular person? It's been said that we define normal by virtue of our environment--our sphere of being influenced by those that influence us most. That's how most of us measure normal, right? Well, I had an unexpected test recently as well as a first--I was not only summoned but selected to serve on a criminal jury. But, first things first. It began with the requirement of reporting to the local courthouse at 8:30 AM and checking into the central jury room. Now, if you've ever been there you know what a cattle call this circumstance represents. It's a random, eclectic slice of human beings from throughout the county. People just like you and some (more than a few) that make you stop and wonder--is that person really qualified to be on a jury? But, we've been taught not to judge a book by its cover, right? Nonetheless, it did cause me to pause and realize just what a game of "Russian Roulette" is being played on any given weekday in the selection process. In spite of the questionnaire and initial vetting process, I wondered if some of these people could pull off a normal act just long enough to end up on a jury and judge one of their peers in what would be a defining moment regarding the accused? If I was accused of a crime and placed in the hands of a jury charged with determining my fate, I spotted hundreds of people that first morning that I could only hope wouldn't be able to fake it long enough to be on my jury. Frankly, some were downright scary! Scary looking. Scary acting. Mumbling incoherently. Stumbling. Weird. Smelly. A few looked homeless which made me wonder how they got a jury summons in the first place? I had to remind myself of that earlier lesson in life about the book-bythe-cover-thing. Then it dawned on me! Maybe they were smarter than I was giving them credit for. Were some simply posturing to NOT get selected to serve?
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There was the usual--"I have a non-refundable airline ticket", "I have a sick baby", "I don't speak the language" and so forth and so on. Was this the norm? Should I have dressed down, prepared a plausible excuse or acted a little weird? Or did I really want to get selected? And was that a normal feeling? Given the dialogue overheard countless times that morning with regard to not wanting to be there or more than one person suggesting to another what they could do to get dismissed, it really did make the selection process seem roulette-like. If I had to have a jury of my peers, I'm confident that I would want "normal". I'm reasonably confident that I would want someone who wanted to or didn't mind being there. I'm equally confident that I wouldn't want them to be in a hurry to get away! Right? Anyway, I'm there, wearing clean clothes, not dressed up or down--just normal, I think. I was even curious and sort of looking forward to the experience to some degree. I'm not saying I was all into the whole "civic duty" thing but I had come to grips with the requirement to be there and if selected, I knew I wanted to do a good job and be fair, it's what I would hope for if the shoe was on the other foot. I think we all would. So, fast-forward 2 hours. I'm finally assigned to a jury room along with 64 others and as we make our way to the courtroom, I'm thinking about being fair and open minded and how I'm going to make the best out of the experience, particularly if I'm chosen as one of the 12 to serve. Ten minutes later, our group--the eclectic slice of local humanity, is gathered outside the courtroom. We're asked to complete a new questionnaire, presumably to create a reasonable profile for the attorneys, on both sides. Name, occupation and birthdate.

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Three people we like and 3 people we don't like. Favorite television shows. Were they attempting to ascertain normal? Should I have admitted to watching Antique Roadshow, American Idol or Ellen? What if I had given up the fact that I occasionally watch Days of Our Lives? Were these trick questions? Little did I know I should have been watching the Jerry Springer Show to prepare for the case I was about to see! Finally, we were escorted inside, one by one, and seated in our assigned seats. That way the attorneys could match each potential juror with his or her favorite TV show or the people they did or didn't like. Time for the "voir dire" process. The old French translation of "voir" means truth, however, the modern French translation of "voir" means to see, or to "to see [them] say". Bottom line, these guys were looking for 12 normal people to make a fair decision. Albeit, the prosecution wants a conviction and the defense wants an acquittal. So, the "voir dire" process begins and yet I wasn't prepared for the next series of events--more abnormal behavior from several of my 64 new peers. One girl asked what a prosecutor was? Gone. Several people I had overheard outside having normal conversations in English couldn't speak or understand the language all of a sudden. Gone. The guy to my immediate right told the defense attorney that she looked like his sister and that would make him root for her. Gone. Was this the norm in the jury selection process taking place every day in courtrooms around the country? Maybe some of these weirdos were smarter and more sly than I was giving them credit for. Where did that leave me? Was I being smart not to say something stupid? Or were these folks being stupid because they were smart enough to avoid being selected? Who was being the most normal--I was beginning to wonder? Maybe I should have worn my sweat pants, a dirty tee shirt and my Crocs. And surely I could have come up with something to make me suspect by one side or the other!

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But no, I kept my mouth shut, answered questions to the best of my ability and by virtue of the open-mouth-insert-foot-freefor-all going on around me, I knew I had a high likelihood of getting chosen to serve, primarily because there wasn't going to be that many of us left in the end! Unless of course, one of the attorneys could read something into the fact that I enjoyed Antique Roadshow. But, in the end, the Roadshow and Idol must have been OK--they picked me in spite of my TV preferences. It had been a contest of sorts and I had won, right? I was picked and wasn't that a good thing? Then reality set in--at least a three-day trial! Uh oh. So there we were--12 chosen strangers, the winners from one point of view or the losers from another view, particularly those people that manufactured the B.S. excuses. The you-look-likemy-sister guy, the what's a prosecutor woman or the no habla engles group. By the way--shame on you people! With the selection process behind us, we were sworn in. And in the courtroom, right in front of us was the defendant. In spite of the fact that I was certain I would be fair and reasonable, I looked at this guy and knew immediately he was G-U-I-L-T-Y! That's because I'm normal and I knew he wasn't, right? I mean, he had tattoos! He was obviously wearing a dress shirt for the first time in his life and he was prominently displaying a rosary outside his shirt for everyone to see. Probably his normal dress, I'm thinking, right? No. N-O. My "normal" filter was really processing this situation. He was accused of assault-with -a-deadly-weapon on a 19-year-old female. He was 37. She was living with him AND his girlfriend and his girlfriend's kids. She was living with them under the auspices that she was his stepdaughter--both he and the 19 year old had concocted this whole scenario! This was plausible to the girlfriend because he had recently dated and broken up with the mother of the 19 year old! The mother now lived across the hall... are you following this? Did I mention the Jerry Springer Show?
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Obviously, he had lied to the girlfriend and was in a relationship with both of them, albeit a surreptitious one with the 19 year old! This was normal, right? Jerry! Jerry! Jerry! Really? Anyway, the defendant was accused of hitting the 19 year old in the head with a large plastic beverage container of frozen water--think "Big Gulp" cup with a handle. She was trying to leave the apartment following an argument and evidently he decided this was the best way to stop her--to win her back, so to speak. Ambulance. Hospital. Ten stitches. Neck bruise. Scar. The defense postured. The DA asserted. They both objected multiple times. Back and forth--kind of like TV. The police testified. The accuser testified. But in the end, there was no denying he hit her, it simply became a matter of intent and whether the Big-Gulp-Thingy was a deadly weapon of not. Our choice as a jury was assault with a deadly weapon or assault or innocent. Lots of definitions. Lots of technicalities. This jury-thing was much more complex than I had contemplated. The whole situation was a mess and in spite of how we might have felt about this despicable character, we had to do the right thing. We had to weigh the evidence and make a fair decision. However, this was definitely a side of life I had only heard about or seen on TV or read about in the newspaper. It certainly wasn't my norm or anywhere close to it! It made my problems seem insignificant and I don't mean the assault. I mean the life these folks lived. The environment they lived in. Their world. On some level I felt sorry for him. On every level, I felt sorry for her. Screwed up parents. Kids everywhere. Dope. Alcohol. Squalor. While all of this supported my own feelings of normal, it also made me realize that these folks probably felt they were normal--we're all the products of our environment, right? Good or bad. It's what we know. It doesn't mean we don't want more or different things, it simply means we fit in and are likely similar to most of those around us and that's normal by its very definition, is it not?
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Don't we gravitate to those like us? Who the hell was I to define normal anyway? Moreover, maybe normal wasn't the issue here at all. Maybe it was the profound realization of just how lucky I am. My lot in life. My parents, my wife, my two wonderful normal kids. My health, both physical and mental. Normal, maybe. Blessed, definitely. Oh, by the way G-U-I-L-T-Y.

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