Legally bored

By: LOUISE ESOLA - Staff Writer | Friday, November 11, 2005 10:53 PM PST ∞

I may have been staring at a blank wall for too many hours this week, but I have come to embrace the notion that there is a moment in every American's life when one would welcome, with open arms and loud cheers, a run-of-the-mill dictatorship complete with an unjust legal system wrought with unfair punishments and a lack of objectivity.

Just as long as we, of the law-abiding nature, did not have to endure (gasp) jury duty.

That's right, my fellow Americans, and to be politically correct, illegal immigrants and those here on visas, you guessed it.

This 27-year-old, nine years into the right to vote, had her first run-in with jury duty this week.

(I have never been arrested, so this is my first real exposure to the justice system. In the days leading up to my civic service, I was actually excited about this new experience.)

But before I continue, I realize that perhaps several of you, dear readers, have no idea what I am talking about.

In this day and age, many Americans have trouble reciting the Pledge of Allegiance and singing the verses of Star Spangled Banner, so I will provide for your review here a brief definition of jury duty.

Jury duty is one's civic duty to serve on a jury, which is a group of people sworn to sit in a courtroom for hours, days or weeks to weigh the evidence ---- sobbing and sometimes hollering testimonies and photographs of pretty much anything, which could include a bowl of cornflakes ---- of a court trial and make a decisions.

What they do not tell you in your high school civics class is that barely do those who receive a jury summons in their mailbox actually make it to a courtroom.

Based on my recent venture, we arrive by 7:40 a.m. sharp, fill out some form, and sit there in a room with many blank walls. We burn our mouths on overheated coffee purchased from the coffee cart stationed outside of the courthouse. We are given a lunch break, which, based on what I have seen in films, resembled a prison break with everyone rushing for the nearest exit.

We return from lunch and we sit. Eventually, we are dismissed for the day, only after we've come to the conclusion that there are precisely three hair-thin cracks on the north wall of the jury lounge.

Aside from staring at the blank walls, there are other things one can do with this not-so-free time.

Some people used the time to watch movies on their portable DVD players. Some did work on laptop computers. Many looked at the clock often, and sighed.

One women who sat close to me whined: "We have to just sit here all day?" Then proclaimed: "I am never doing this again."

I should have asked her: "Are you moving to the Islamic Republic of Iran anytime soon?"

As for myself, I used the opportunity of blank time to catch up on some reading, and to observe the potential jurists of my peers.

Right there in the courthouse was a room filled with hundreds of randomly-selected Americans, all set to perform their civic duty. According to United States legal jargon, these people are my peers. They are your peers, too.

One guy was in his rolled-out-of-bed pajamas. A younger guy in white-laced combat boots was reading a book that had the word "thug" in the title. One woman wore an outfit one might see glowing on stage during a 1970s taping of "Soul Train." Another fellow had on the attire equivalent of a business-in-the-front-party-in-the-back mullet hairstyle. Button-up shirt and tie on the top, shorts, tall white socks, and tennis shoes on the bottom. (Business up top, party down below.)

I wore whatever did not need to be ironed. Or rather, looked as though it did not need ironing as I selected my attire in 5 a.m. darkness. Well, actually, looked as though it had been balled up on top of an ironing board and pressed into a wrinkled mess.

I didn't know you could wear pajamas.

Staff writer Louise Esola covers Oceanside schools. She can be reached at lesola@nctimes.com.