"Voir Dire"

Or, in English,      "Sit all day".  Most of us experience the 4 seasons.  They are all 4 of them predictable and annual.  San Francisco generally has about 1.5 or 2 seasons total.  Which is fine with me.  We could have all 4, but why ?       Miss Trudy Sanders has a 5th Season : no, not Frankie Valli's love child - but Jury Season.  Time to don my Civic Duty Drag, fluff out the long robes and powdered wig - it is time to haunt the Hall (s) of Justice once more.  The pat downs, the felons, the bad food, the barristers with their (brown ?  why ?) suits and boxes of documents being dragged around like naughty pets. The poor tiny babies visiting jail (Really ?  Can't someone just tell them Daddy's not home and may not be for a while ?).  The absolutely amazing # of people who suddenly "no speak English".  (These people just fry me - I always try to trick them during court breaks...)    I get called EVERY YEAR.  The system is designed to choose randomly.  I think I get that - but then why am I called EVERY YEAR when others are NEVER called ?  Chief has been called, like, once in 35 years...   It just doesn't seem random from where I sit.  In a hard chair.  All day.  EVERY YEAR.    Especially since, mostly, they just don't want me.  I jurried (sp?) on a drunk driver injury case many moons ago.  What a dick HE was : his PD was some neanderthal whose explanation for him failing the Breath-A-Lyzer test was "...he'd just filled his gas tank."  Well, if "gas" was whiskey and "tank" was his stomach, then yes, Your Honor : I'll allow it.   Guilty, guilty, guilty !     I have heard "the Court would like to thank and excuse Trudy Sanders" innumerable times.  I know it's nothing personal - but a rejection is still a rejection.  Defense lawyers hate me, the prosecution generally thinks I'm neat.   I think maybe I talk too much.  They used to reject me out of hand when I was a working therapist : guess they thought I'd think too much or something.  Then,  they rejected me as a homemaker - not able to think at all ?   I opted for a middle-of-the-road "unemployed" today.  Figured I'd fit in with all of my fellow casualties of The Economy.  And maybe could think just enough.       One time, I asked to approach the bench.  I have always wanted to say that, so I took my chance while I could.  It was pretty cool.  (ed. note - I have also always wanted to call a "sidebar" - stay tuned).  Another time, I raised my impartial little hand and said to the Judge : "I wanted to throw up after you read the 11th charge, Your Honor."   I think that was a "thank and excuse".   Maybe they should move me to Civil instead of Criminal.       So, I make it to The Box today, so at least I'm not as bored.  We had a coupla doctors, a high schooler ( ? ), cab driver, bus driver, graphic designers, software whatever-it-is-they-do, retired contractors, teachers, unemployed legal secretary, food service workers, shop-keeps, the ubiquitous pack of "no speakees" - and a couple of just nut bags.  I was positive that the defense (as usual) hated me, and waited to get T&E'd.   I answered questions using phrases such as : "...well, then I'd be screwed, wouldn't I?", "..now, that's just nasty !", and "I prefer to finesse and manipulate before I resort to physical violence, sir."      After 6 hours of the afore-mentioned voir dire - we had ourselves 14 people who promised to be good and fair and unbiased and understood English and were not active felons.    I cannot say any more, as I risk being in contempt of court.  Suffice it to say that Juror #7 has a fresh pad of paper, several sharpened #2 pencils, and a burning desire to take copious notes.  We gon' have a gavel-bangin' good time.             Watch this space.            All my love,                  Juror #7