“You
are hereby summoned to serve as a juror…” Finally! I’ve been waiting my entire
life to read those words. For once I get to be on the other side of “justice.” Early
on a Monday morning I travel to the court house where I’m put in a large room
with a couple hundred other potential jurors. We’re shown a video that does its
finest to sell us on the idea of jury duty. “Trial by jury is your most
important constitutional right,” the video preaches. “The only right, in fact,
that is mentioned in both the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence.”
Wow! It really must be important! And yet, nobody in the room seems very
enthused to be here.
They begin calling names
in groups of forty. When the roll call ends, muffled celebrations echo through
the room. This happens three times before my name is called. It’s around eleven
in the morning when I enter a small courtroom on the seventh floor with thirty-nine
other potential jurors. We are assigned seats by the Judge, who is elderly and
grey. He informs us that this is a personal injury case. Damn it! I immediately think. This is not what I had in mind. I was
thinking more along the lines of robbery or kidnapping or hazing. A case that I
could write about someday with enthusiasm. A case that would allow me to screw
over the system with impunity. Not a case where some asshole is suing someone
for a monetary value. “This case is expected to last at least four days,” the
Judge tells us. Four fucking days! I’m not losing four days of my life over a financial
dispute. I need to get out of this.
We are forced to swear an
oath. If I make any false statements I can be held in contempt. So much for lying
my way out. We go around the room and each potential juror answers eight
questions out loud. Before they call my name, I mess up my hair. And my beard.
I must look like an insane homeless man. I stand up and answer the questions.
Jon Penfold. Thirty-four years old. I live in Montavilla. I’m a writer. I live
with my partner, who is a massage therapist in a chiropractor’s office. (This
is supposed to be my ticket out, for I’ve been told that if your significant
other works in the medical industry, you will be dismissed from a personal
injury case.) Yes, I’ve been to court before—I was forced to take a plea
bargain and ended up being sentenced to twenty-one days in county jail.
(Hopefully another reason for dismissal). Yes, I drive, though very rarely. And
my partner knows me best. She would describe me as “funny.”
After all forty potential
jurors answer these eight questions, we are asked more questions by the
lawyers. These questions are for anybody to answer. If you have something to
say, you only need to raise your hand. “Does anybody here have any opinions
concerning personal injury cases?” I raise my hand. I tell the lawyer that in
my experience, the individuals I know who are involved in personal injury cases
are usually liars and cheats and are only concerned with easy money. “Does
anybody here believe that a victim should not be rewarded financial compensation
for pain and suffering?” A few of us raise our hands. We tell the court that we
don’t believe in pain and suffering. “Does anybody here believe laws should be
broken?” I’m the only one to raise my hand. “How could you possibly believe that
laws should be broken?” I’m asked in disbelief. I tell them that if a law is
bad to begin with, it should definitely be broken.
We are sent into small
rooms while the lawyers choose the jury. I’m in a good mood, because after
answering those questions, there’s no way in hell that they’re choosing me.
After forty-five minutes, we are called back into the court. They begin calling
the jurors’ names. Juror number four—Jon Penfold. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me? They have no idea what they
just got themselves in to.
The lawyers give their opening
statements. The plaintiff’s lawyer looks strikingly similar to the disgraced
former Oregon Governor, John Kitzhaber. The defense’s lawyer looks like the
dean from the TV show Community. The
gist of the case: on a rainy morning in November, 2013 (yes, more than three
years ago!) the plaintiff crashed her car into the man in front of her and then
was hit from behind by another car (the defense). A minor “fender bender” in
every sense of the word “minor.” They even show us photos of the cars, which
appear to have no damage to them. And for this minor fender bender, the
plaintiff thinks she deserves $600,000. This is one of those cases that illustrates
everything that is wrong with the United States court system. Before the trial
has ever started, I have already made up my mind. This girl is getting nothing.
The first person called
to the stand is the plaintiff’s husband. How has their life changed since the
accident? “We used to be able to watch action movies together,” he says. “Now,
my wife gets anxious during intense scenes.” Are you fucking kidding me? I want to scream. Half a million dollars because your wife gets anxious during action
movies! Her friend is called to the stand. She pretty much throws her under
the bus. “She was better months after the accident,” she says. “She’s much more
confident when she isn’t getting medical treatment.” Why the fuck are we here?
Day two, we listen to
fake doctors, or “chiropractors” as they prefer to be called. The plaintiff’s
chiro says that there will be a lifetime of pain from the accident. The defense’s
chiro claims that her injuries were “absolutely 100%” not caused by the
accident. Both chiro’s openly admit to being paid for their time from their
respective clients.
Day three, the plaintiff
is called to the stand. She does not appear to be in any pain or discomfort.
She freely admits to crashing her car into the car in front of her before being
hit from behind. When the defense attorney asks her “What exactly are you accusing
my client of?” she answers, “I’m not blaming anyone for anything.” Again, Why the fuck are we here?
Day four, a car accident
reconstruction engineer is called to the stand. He proves through science that
the initial impact was much worse than the subsequent rear ending by the
defense. Why are we here?
Day five, finally,
closing arguments and deliberations. Shouldn’t take long, since this case is
about as open and shut as they come. We head into the jury room. Four of us
want to give the plaintiff nothing. But, much to our surprise, there are four
other idiots who want to give her everything. I can only imagine that they’re
dreaming of similar scenarios for themselves, where a minor fender bender will
reward them with $600,000. For the
next five hours, we argue our sides, and try to negotiate. In the end, we give
her around $25,000 total, which isn’t much compared to what she wanted, but
still $25,000 too much for a minor fender bender, if you ask me.
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