Jury duty

Jan 5, 2014

gavelI definitely have the right to remain silent. But, shocker, as usual I am electing to waive that right — this time to bring you an important bulletin about our judicial system.

However, anything I say can and may be used against me in a court of law.

I, state my name, do solemnly swear that the following testimony is the truth, the partial truth and everything but the truth …

What’s with all the legal mumbo jumbo, you ask?

I just got called for jury duty. And now a preponderance of evidence suggests that I will be driving to the Warren B. Rudman Federal Courthouse in Concord at 6:30 a.m. this Wednesday — or else. (The “summons” doesn’t specify, but I suspect non-compliance is federally “frowned upon.”)

So I have little choice but to throw myself on the mercy of the court.

Don’t get me wrong. There’s nothing I’d love more than to take a couple weeks off from work, sifting through clues and dishing out a double-life sentence to some triple offender — all while dining on free meals from the Sequester Cafe and popping cannonballs in the heated, Olympic-sized jury pool.

Judicial myth: The so-called “jury pool” is not a giant container of chlorinated water used for recreational purposes. It is, instead, a group (or “pool”) of citizens from which a “jury” may be selected. (So no running, no splashing, no mischief involving an inflatable dolphin.)

While I am super curious about serving — claiming my front-row seat for this very special edition of “Justice: American Style” — I’m also feeling jittery about jury duty.

For one thing, I work for a newspaper and we barely have enough bodies to put out the paper right now. So missing work represents a hardship for my employer and my colleagues.

For another thing, I see on TV that when you go into a courtroom they sometimes ask you to “swear.” And I, of course, do not believe in swearing. (Actually that is incorrect, a white lie, yikes — possibly even perjury. Will you please rephrase the question?)

Also, what is it with these federal prosecutors? Seems like they just want to make a big federal case out of everything.

And I hope that at no point during the proceedings will the presiding judge find it necessary to hold me in contempt. Because I’d hate to have to call him or her into chambers for cross-examination.

Sure, I’m intrigued by this chance to see justice in action. (For example, I have never seen anyone quash a subpoena. Is there a machine for that? The SubP-Quasher 5000? Or is it more of a bureaucratic maneuver?)

But I’m also a little nervous. In fact, I think I may be feeling some temporary insanity coming on.

Or I could heed the counsel of a former mentor, George Carlin — simply confess that I would make a terrific juror because I can spot guilty people just by looking at them.

Anyway, I figure my best bet is to tell all — to offer complete transparency about my status as a potential juror.

So, in the interest of full disclosure, I am compelled to testify that I harbor extreme prejudice against morons — ignorant, selfish people who can barely make it through life without messing things up for others. If selected as a juror, these jerks will feel my full judicial wrath.

White-collar criminals will not like me either. I will try not to make an example of them by holding them personally responsible for losses I incurred during the meltdown of 2008. But I can’t offer any guarantees.

If the case has anything to do with New Hampshire’s version of the Stand Your Ground law, I’m liable to go off half-cocked.

In fact, if this has anything to do with firearms whatsoever the jury selection experts might want to review some past writings — including my infamous Professor Gunn column, which prompted firearms boosters to call me “vile,” “ignorant,” “racist” and much, much more.

Or the piece — post-Newtown massacre — where I imagine heaven as a place free from guns (Value the human race over arms race).

And if the case involves anyone whose negligence is responsible for a child shooting themselves or getting shot, save your excuses. Jail.

If it pleases the court, a few other things the jury selection folks will definitely want to know about me:

— I detest unsubstantiated allegations.

— I have always believed that certain key jurors (me, for example) should also be equipped with gavels, kind of like a backup judge.

— When in a courthouse, I sometimes feel the urge to sue various parties, my specialty being frivolous class-action litigation with arbitrary and capricious demands for seven-figure punitive damages.

— An attorney is more likely to hold my attention if they sprinkle their oral arguments with terms like “Exhibit A,” “habeas corpus” and “malfeasance.”

— If there are any monkeys involved, I am likely to be sympathetic toward the monkeys’ case, whatever it may be, especially if the monkeys are wearing suits in the courtroom.

— I am at high risk of confusing the terms “juris prudence” and “juris impudence.”

— If things get a little rough, I won’t hesitate to exercise my constitutional right to plead Beethoven’s Fifth.

In summation, now that I have disclosed a sampling of my potential conflicts and eccentricities in the sworn testimony above, I stand ready to perform my civic duty as a proud citizen of the United States of America. Unless they want to release me on personal recognizance, with time off for good behavior.

Anyway, that’s what I’ve got on the docket for next week. Now you won’t be surprised if you read about some idiot columnist being jailed for contempt, obstruction of justice or third-degree satire.

— John Breneman


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