Week Two, June 2008
(Refer to previous post for lame explanation as to why I am reading Jane Austen.)
Jane Austen: William’s desire of seeing Fanny dance, made more than a momentary impression on his uncle. The hope of an opportunity, which Sir Thomas had then given, was not given to be thought of no more. He remained steadily inclined to gratify so amiable a feeling - to gratify anybody else who might wish to see Fanny dance, and to give pleasure to the young people in general; and having thought the matter over and taken his resolution in quiet independence, the result of it appeared the next morning at breakfast, when after recalling and commending what his nephew had said, he added, “I do not like, William, that you should leave Northamptonshire without this indulgence. It would give me pleasure to see you both dance.”
Juror #3: Kill me now!
Public Address System: The first group of jurors will be for Judge Palmer Robinson. Please note the name if you are called. Please refer to your bio forms as I call your names, marking the number I assign you in the large red block in the bottom right hand corner.
Jane Austen: Mrs. Norris had not another word to say. She saw decision in his looks, and her surprise and vexation required some minutes silence to be settled into composure. A ball at such a time!
Public Address: Judge Palmer Robinson’s jurors please follow the bailiff to floor eight and line up in numerical order in the elevator lobby.
Juror #3: There are forty of us. I wedge myself between juror #2 (Hiking boot woman who was reading a “History of the White Race” while munching a Snickers bar in the juror assembly room.) and juror #4 (Green flannel shirt man, late middle age, reading bio of Jessie James. I always notice what people read - speculate what it says about them - wonder if anyone has noticed I am reading Jane Austen. Wonder what it says about me.)
Also in the group: guy wearing U.S.M.C marksmanship t-shirt, gum chewing woman with iPod, blond woman wearing beads and carrying orange spangle bag - we are an eclectic group. I wonder who will be chosen to sit for this trial - wonder if I will be chosen - or if I want to be chosen. We hold our number cards to our chests, hearts thumping in anticip . . . ation, as the bailiff counts us off. Number 13 is missing. She pages number 13 and we wait standing in the marble elevator lobby like statuary in a mausoleum.
Jane Austen: As for the ball so near at hand, she had too many agitations and fears to have half the enjoyment in anticipation which she ought to have had, or must have been supposed to have, by the many young ladies looking forward to the same event in situations more at ease, but under circumstances of less novelty, less interest, less peculiar gratification than would be attributed to her.
Juror #3: Huh?? At length juror #13 is observed emerging from the stairwell, having walked up the eight floors. Health nut? Elevator phobic? We are never to know.
Bailiff: Please follow me, keeping in order. Jurors one through eight proceed into the courtroom and take your seats in the first row of the jury box.
Jane Austen: The ball began. It was rather honour than happiness to Fanny, for the first dance at least; her partner was in excellent spirits and tried to impart them to her, but she was a great deal too much frightened to have any enjoyment, till she could suppose herself no longer looked at.
Juror #3: Thus it went this week as I dog-paddled around the jury pool in Superior Court - sinking into a slough of ennui and frustration as the courtroom clock ticked off the hours of my civic duty. Two days of commuting into Seattle on the Metro bus, going through security, dozing slumped in uncomfortable jury room chairs hour after excruciating hour, swilling acidic coffee to keep awake while reading Jane Austen’s “Mansfield Park” - and wouldn’t you know the defendant cuts an eleventh hour plea, depriving me of my opportunity to exact revenge for cramped leg muscles and aching back! Believe me, whatever sentence the judge handed down is a walk in the park compared to what I would have argued for! That guy is lucky he bypassed the jury trial. Perhaps he was wise enough to have realized that after all the suffering inflicted upon the jury, “we the jury” would have been out for blood by the time we were at long last seated in the box. We wouldn’t have needed the three strikes law to throw away the key.
I appreciated that the judge thanked us profusely for our patience as she dismissed us - a full three hours before the first bus headed south into my neighborhood. A three hour layover! I’ve had shorter layovers on cheap coach flights across the continent. Had I driven my own vehicle I could have been home in fifteen minutes - as it was I had to kill three hours walking around downtown before I could even use my free bus pass. (And here’s a note: the schedule information on the Metro web site had me catching the #123 Commuter Express on a completely different street than the actual stop! I asked three drivers where the correct stop was before one of them pointed me back up the hill to 3rd Avenue.- across the street from the Courthouse! Hey Metro folks, if you want people to give up their cars and take the bus you will have to do a whole lot better job than that. By the time I found the bus stop I had shin splints so painful I could barely walk. No, I will not soon be counted among the fans of mass transit.)
Of course I could have spent twenty dollars for a taxis home but the County only pays jurors ten dollars per day. Good thing I am a public spirited citizen who considers jury duty a cherished right and privilege. Theoretically speaking. I wonder if Fanny came away from the ball with shin splints?
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