Didn’t get picked for jury duty. It took about sixty seconds for everyone in the room to know I would not get picked, thanks to the following opening conversation:
D.A. [to the entire panel]: The case you’ve been selected to serve on is a juvenile case, for possession of marijuana. Does anyone here have any experience with the juvenile justice system? [Upon my raising my hand:] Yes, Juror #24?
ME: One of my kids got in trouble a few years ago.
D.A.: Do you think that would keep you from giving a fair verdict in this case?
ME [laughing]: No, I don’t think so myself.
D.A. [clearly skeptical of my prospects for objectivity]: Was it a marijuana possession case?
ME: No, it wasn’t. But I think what is probably of more relevance to the present case is the fact that the lawyer I retained in my kid’s defense was Sam Dick.
At this point the judge, the D.A., and the defense attorney – whom, I haven’t yet mentioned, I had instantly recognized as Chad Dick, my own lawyer’s son and partner – all broke into laughter, and Chad turned around to the judge and called out cheerfully, “We’ll take THIS one!”
Still, despite the fact that from that point forward it was blindingly obvious that there was no way in the world any judge or D.A. was going to let me on a jury to try one of Chad’s clients, I had to sit through another hour and a half of voir dire before they released me along with the other seventeen people who also didn’t get picked.
But at least I don’t have to go back tomorrow.