Dear J-
For a couple of hours this afternoon, I was Juror No. 8 until the defense dismissed me on a peremptory challenge. Today’s service went pretty smoothly, in fact; I got up on time, caught the right buses, and found the same book I’d been reading (The Church of Dead Girls, Stephen Dobyns) the last time I’d gone. Because my group didn’t get called until after lunch, I had a chance to finish the book, too (the hysteria in the book builds to a believable yet excessive pitch, and the narration kept shifting between an unreliable narrator and omniscience — minor nits, as the story was quite compelling). It’s cheaper and nearly as quick to ride the bus ($5 for a day pass beats the cost of gas and a parking lot any day), but I’m still intrigued by the notion of a trolley extension up into my neck of the woods.
A couple of notes: one of the people who was excused from the prospective jury pool (one of the standard jury questions is whether or not you’ve got friends or family in law enforcement or the legal profession) did so because her brother was a DEA agent who’d been killed; the last name sounded familiar and I suspect she may be related to Kiki Camarena.
Also, you’re supposed to state if you know anyone else in the room; I was surprised that someone thought they knew me (Mike Liu is a surprisingly common name; this fellow knew one in middle school and, in his words, “It’s been twenty years but I’m pretty sure he’d be a nuclear engineer now.”) — just not me, though.
As threatened yesterday, I did find a large burger to consume at the food court in Horton Plaza, the closest mall (after the two-hour lunch break they cut us, I saw more than a few folks sneaking back in with shopping bags). I grabbed a table by myself but was soon approached by a man with three boys asking if he could share the table (the seating areas are many, but relatively tiny). I agreed, and he walked off, leaving three boys ranging in age (or so they appeared) from six months to eight years staring at me as I ate my fries. Hmm. Stranger danger. Should I offer my fries to the hungry-looking eighteen-month old? What about when said middle child pokes at random scraps of meat left on the table by the previous occupant (I cleaned them up when his back was turned), or when the same middle child starts chasing birds around, dragging his older brother along and leaving an unattended baby with a stranger?
Well, the fries weren’t that good anyway, and it’s fast food; the dad was back after another five minutes or so, but it felt like the longest five minutes lately. theVet reminds me that should I attempt to pull a similar stunt with figgy, I take my life into my own hands.
Mike
Tags: burger, court, engineer, horton plaza, jury, peremptory challenge, san diego, service, voir dire
