Have you ever wondered if you’re normal? Just a regular person? It's been said that we define normal by virtue of our environment--our sphere of being influenced by those that influence us most. That's how most of us measure normal, right? Well, I had an unexpected test recently as well as a first--I was not only summoned but selected to serve on a criminal jury. But, first things first.

1. Jury Duty – Am I Normal?
Have you ever wondered if you’re normal? Just a regular person? It's been
said that we define normal by virtue of our environment--our sphere of being
influenced by those that influence us most. That's how most of us measure
normal, right? Well, I had an unexpected test recently as well as a first--I
was not only summoned but selected to serve on a criminal jury. But, first
things first.
It began with the requirement of reporting to the local courthouse at 8:30
AM and checking into the central jury room. Now, if you've ever been there
you know what a cattle call this circumstance represents. It's a random,
eclectic slice of human beings from throughout the county. People just like
you and some (more than a few) that make you stop and wonder--is that
person really qualified to be on a jury? But, we've been taught not to judge a
book by its cover, right? Nonetheless, it did cause me to pause and realize
just what a game of "Russian Roulette" is being played on any given weekday
in the selection process. In spite of the questionnaire and initial vetting
process, I wondered if some of these people could pull off a normal act just
long enough to end up on a jury and judge one of their peers in what would
be a defining moment regarding the accused? If I was accused of a crime and
placed in the hands of a jury charged with determining my fate, I spotted
hundreds of people that first morning that I could only hope wouldn't be able
to fake it long enough to be on my jury. Frankly, some were downright
scary! Scary looking. Scary acting. Mumbling incoherently. Stumbling.
Weird. Smelly. A few looked homeless which made me wonder how they got
a jury summons in the first place? I had to remind myself of that earlier
lesson in life about the book-by-the-cover-thing. Then it dawned on me!
Maybe they were smarter than I was giving them credit for. Were some
simply posturing to NOT get selected to serve? There was the usual--"I have
a non-refundable airline ticket", "I have a sick baby", "I don't speak the
language" and so forth and so on. Was this the norm? Should I have dressed
down, prepared a plausible excuse or acted a little weird? Or did I really
want to get selected? And was that a normal feeling? Given the dialogue
overheard countless times that morning with regard to not wanting to be
there or more than one person suggesting to another what they could do to
get dismissed, it really did make the selection process seem roulette-like.
If I had to have a jury of my peers, I'm confident that I would want "normal".
I'm reasonably confident that I would want someone who wanted to or didn't
mind being there. I'm equally confident that I wouldn't want them to be in a
hurry to get away! Right? Anyway, I'm there, wearing clean clothes, not
dressed up or down--just normal, I think. I was even curious and sort of
looking forward to the experience to some degree.
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2. I'm not saying I was all into the whole "civic duty" thing but I had come to
grips with the requirement to be there and if selected, I knew I wanted to do
a good job and be fair, it's what I would hope for if the shoe was on the other
foot. I think we all would.
So, fast-forward 2 hours. I'm finally assigned to a jury room along with 64
others and as we make our way to the courtroom, I'm thinking about being
fair and open minded and how I'm going to make the best out of the
experience, particularly if I'm chosen as one of the 12 to serve. Ten minutes
later, our group--the eclectic slice of local humanity, is gathered outside the
courtroom. We're asked to complete a new questionnaire, presumably to
create a reasonable profile for the attorneys, on both sides. Name,
occupation and birthdate. Three people we like and 3 people we don't like.
Favorite television shows. Were they attempting to ascertain normal?
Should I have admitted to watching Antique Roadshow, American Idol or
Ellen? What if I had given up the fact that I occasionally watch Days of Our
Lives? Were these trick questions? Little did I know I should have been
watching the Jerry Springer Show to prepare for the case I was about to see!
Finally, we were escorted inside, one by one, and seated in our assigned
seats. That way the attorneys could match each potential juror with his or
her favorite TV show or the people they did or didn't like.
Time for the "voir dire" process. The old French translation of "voir" means
truth, however, the modern French translation of "voir" means to see, or to
"to see [them] say". Bottom line, these guys were looking for 12 normal
people to make a fair decision. Albeit, the prosecution wants a conviction
and the defense wants an acquittal. So, the "voir dire" process begins and yet
I wasn't prepared for the next series of events--more abnormal behavior
from several of my 64 new peers. One girl asked what a prosecutor was?
Gone. Several people I had overheard outside having normal conversations
in English couldn't speak or understand the language all of a sudden. Gone.
The guy to my immediate right told the defense attorney that she looked like
his sister and that would make him root for her. Gone. Was this the norm in
the jury selection process taking place every day in courtrooms around the
country? Maybe some of these weirdo’s were smarter and more sly than I
was giving them credit for. Where did that leave me? Was I being smart not
to say something stupid? Or were these folks being stupid because they were
smart enough to avoid being selected? Who was being the most normal--I
was beginning to wonder? Maybe I should have worn my sweat pants, a
dirty tee shirt and my Crocs. And surely I could have come up with
something to make me suspect by one side or the other! But no, I kept my
mouth shut, answered questions to the best of my ability and by virtue of the
open-mouth-insert-foot-free-for-all going on around me, I knew I had a high
likelihood of getting chosen to serve, primarily because there wasn't going to
be that many of us left in the end!
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3. Unless of course, one of the attorneys could read something into the fact that
I enjoyed Antique Roadshow. But, in the end, the Roadshow and Idol must
have been OK--they picked me in spite of my TV preferences. It had been a
contest of sorts and I had won, right? I was picked and wasn't that a good
thing? Then reality set in--at least a three-day trial! Uh oh. So there we
were--12 chosen strangers, the winners from one point of view or the losers
from another view, particularly those people that manufactured the B.S.
excuses. The you-look-like-my-sister guy, the what's a prosecutor woman or
the no habla engles group. By the way--shame on you people!
With the selection process behind us, we were sworn in. And in the
courtroom, right in front of us was the defendant. In spite of the fact that I
was certain I would be fair and reasonable, I looked at this guy and knew
immediately he was G-U-I-L-T-Y! That's because I'm normal and I knew he
wasn't, right? I mean, he had tattoos! He was obviously wearing a dress
shirt for the first time in his life and he was prominently displaying a rosary
outside his shirt for everyone to see. Probably his normal dress, I'm
thinking, right? No. N-O. My "normal" filter was really processing this
situation. He was accused of assault-with -a-deadly-weapon on a 19-year-old
female. He was 37. She was living with him AND his girlfriend and his
girlfriend's kids. She was living with them under the auspices that she was
his stepdaughter--both he and the 19 year old had concocted this whole
scenario! This was plausible to the girlfriend because he had recently dated
and broken up with the mother of the 19 year old! The mother now lived
across the hall... are you following this? Did I mention the Jerry Springer
Show? Obviously, he had lied to the girlfriend and was in a relationship with
both of them, albeit a surreptitious one with the 19 year old! This was
normal, right? Jerry! Jerry! Jerry! Really? Anyway, the defendant was
accused of hitting the 19 year old in the head with a large plastic beverage
container of frozen water--think "Big Gulp" cup with a handle. She was trying
to leave the apartment following an argument and evidently he decided this
was the best way to stop her--to win her back, so to speak. Ambulance.
Hospital. Ten stitches. Neck bruise. Scar.
The defense postured. The DA asserted. They both objected multiple times.
Back and forth--kind of like TV. The police testified. The accuser testified.
But in the end, there was no denying he hit her, it simply became a matter of
intent and whether the Big-Gulp-Thingy was a deadly weapon of not. Our
choice as a jury was assault with a deadly weapon or assault or innocent.
Lots of definitions. Lots of technicalities. This jury-thing was much more
complex than I had contemplated. The whole situation was a mess and in
spite of how we might have felt about this despicable character, we had to do
the right thing. We had to weigh the evidence and make a fair decision.
However, this was definitely a side of life I had only heard about or seen on
TV or read about in the newspaper.
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4. It certainly wasn't my norm or anywhere close to it! It made my problems
seem insignificant and I don't mean the assault. I mean the life these folks
lived. The environment they lived in. Their world. On some level I felt sorry
for him. On every level, I felt sorry for her. Screwed up parents. Kids
everywhere. Dope. Alcohol. Squalor. While all of this supported my own
feelings of normal, it also made me realize that these folks probably felt they
were normal--we're all the products of our environment, right? Good or bad.
It's what we know. It doesn't mean we don't want more or different things, it
simply means we fit in and are likely similar to most of those around us and
that's normal by its very definition, is it not? Don't we gravitate to those like
us? Who the hell was I to define normal anyway?
Moreover, maybe normal wasn't the issue here at all. Maybe it was the
profound realization of just how lucky I am. My lot in life. My parents, my
wife, my two wonderful normal kids. My health, both physical and mental.
Normal, maybe. Blessed, definitely.
Oh, by the way… G-U-I-L-T-Y.
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