Jury Duty

Yesterday was my first day of jury duty in Richmond, Virginia. Throughout the juror orientation, several officers of the court opined on the expeditious nature of trials in the Old Dominion. "This is NOT California," said the erudite and ministerial court clerk, concluding, "We don't take six weeks for anything." The judge also identified his courtroom's deviation from the modus operandi of the Golden State: "This ain't California. We gonna get this done in one day."

And we did. Long story short, one young man with apparent gang ties had - allegedly - robbed at gunpoint another young man with apparent but variant gang ties.

Expeditious? I swear to God the trial would have been over in two hours if I hadn't decided to play Henry Fonda in the jury room. See, 10 of the 11 other jurors actually thought the guy should be acquitted. Except for one of them, a nasty little woman dressed like she worked in a dentist's office, they were very tolerant of my opinion that the son of a bitch was guilty. Actually, they all agreed he was guilty of something, but insisted they had a reasonable doubt about what.

The accused was about 6'2", 210 pounds, and the victim was about 5'7", 140. On the day of his apprehension, the accused first fled the police. And then he fled them again. After the second time, he was locked up tight and found to have one item reported stolen by the victim in his pocket, a portion of a gold chain. Also in his pocket was a single rock of crack.

I don't know what you have to do to be found guilty in this town. I'm gonna get that concealed carry permit.