Prompt 24: The Uncomfortable Jury

It was my first time doing jury duty, and to be honest, I was a little excited. Most of the people in the room were in their thirties and up. I must have been the youngest person there. I dressed in my best clothes; a charcoal suit with a patterned shirt and tie and black shoes. I looked good if I may be so bold to declare it. Yet everyone else looked like they had either just come from work or their dry cleaning had not been finished in time. I figured better to be overdressed and look good than be under dressed and look like a pauper in the prince's court. And a court was exactly where we were.

Our case was simple enough. A woman charged her employer with wrongful termination. I had my thoughts when the trial began, but I kept an open mind, actively looking for a way out of my initial conclusions. By the end of day two, however, I was not only all but solidified in my opinion of the matter, but my butt had solidified too. The elongation of a relatively easy trail, redundant arguments, and principally the terribly uncomfortable chairs had turned what was initially a somewhat fun experience into an experience most closely related to the torture of terrorist suspects at Guantanamo Bay.

While most of my compatriots in the jury were quite vocal about their displeasure, particularly the chairs, I mostly kept to myself. I didn't want my own discomfort to drive me to a premature resolution of my opinion. I had seen the terrific movie “twelve angry men” before, and I wanted to make sure that I would play the part of Henry Fonda if the occasion arose. I took notes, payed close attention, even as I shifted in my seat what seemed like every two minutes. I was prepared to make my case. But the trial continued, as did the anguish of our undersides.

By the fourth day, two days beyond what most of us deemed necessary to formulate a fair opinion, I was reservedly exasperated with the whole ordeal. The judge seemed to be as anxious as we were and began to hurry things up considerably. I still searched and searched for a ticket out of my current position on the case at hand, but found none in the closing arguments of either side. The employer was one of the largest in the area and the requested restitution for the plaintiff was considerable. So I knew that my decision had to be fair and resolute. The judge explained our duties and sent us into the room.

For days I had studies the faces and words of my fellow jurors to find a clue about each of their positions. I had postulated that realistically, I might be one of the only people of my opinion on the case. Furthermore, I was prepared to back up my position with the many observations and fact that I had written down. Yet all my concern and pages of notes came to naught as we closed the door and began deliberations. All but one person agreed with my own conclusions. There would be no hung jury today. I was amazed.

I learned something that day (or four). I was perfectly capable of fairly assessing the truth of a matter and providing a fair verdict, even in a state of physical torment. I had doubted and questioned if I had made the right choice. I had been concerned that, based on my preconceived notions of what my cohorts opinions might be, I would be the odd man out. Turns out I was wrong about one thing, but seemingly very right about another.

We signed the paper that finalized our opinion and took it to the court room, the best part of the whole process. We had concluded that the employer was well within their rights to fire the employee. The finality of the whole thing was a little strange, however. Here this former employee would have to deal with our decision for the rest of their life, yet I would go home that day, make myself a sandwich and watch some TV in my ever so plush easy-chair. I indeed felt the responsibility of my decision, and today, I remain steadfast in my decision. I am not, however, so eager to sign up again as I was when the trial began. Thank goodness the jury pool has a five year minimum turnaround.