Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Law Professor Risks Career To Blog About Jury Duty

Posted by Alan Childress

Not really.  But given the rash of recent bar disciplines on lawyer-bloggers and law prof-bloggers who revealed too much about jury duty and the like, on which Mike Frisch became the Deep Throat of the New York Times (or was he the Daniel Ellsberg? Or the psychiatrist?  I get confused; whatever. I know he reported it from Behind The Green Door).  Anyway, this is not even my jury duty story, and it is not really about the law part, more like the secondary education part -- well, tangentially about the law part if you can imagine being on trial for your life with this one juror...  It is a report from Ingrid M----, with her jury story; she is a second grade teacher in Austin and said we could post this:

Jury duty was a no-go, mercifully for my students. Something about a felony being reduced to a misdemeanor trial and not needing as many jurors. By luck or some other means, I was dismissed along with about 20 others. The kid next to me seemed genuinely disappointed that he was axed.

The other emo kid next to me hadn't even figured out yet who the "Juror" was supposed to be on his pay form he was filling out. He looked on my paper and started to write "Ingrid M--" on his paper on the line marked "Juror: ________."  Then I pointed out that HE is the juror when filling out HIS paper and I am the juror when filling out MY paper. This was news to him. Not realizing that he was a potential juror, it's probably best he was dismissed. Plus, the Deputy in charge, a dour Barney Fife, chided him for being late, as if it would have been better for him to have been confused longer. He probably took the extra time to figure out that the elevator button that says "3" actually takes you to the 3rd floor/jury selection room.

Plus, I was overdressed for the occasion. Most people came in jeans and a T-shirt. Not me, I was the Elle in the room. Oh well. 

Not sure if she means Elle Woods or Elle Magazine, but I want to know what emoboy was wearing.  Someone may have dodged a bullet lethal injection that day.   Reminds me of the Woody Allen joke about cheating in philosophy class.  Also reminds me of the true story I once heard from a friend at a record store (that's anachronistic, I know) overhearing a customer ask the manager, "Dude, how do you spell AC/DC?"

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