Bob Cramer's Blog

Besides receiving an unexpected, oversized package from the IRS, there are few things people dread more than a Jury Duty summons in their mailbox. With its imposing State Court, Fulton County, GA circular logo, stern instructions to “please read all instructions carefully” and not too subtle threats that failure to obey is punishable by fine and/or imprisonment, this unwelcomed correspondence from the office of the Jury Clerk immediately triggers thoughts of excruciating hassles and lame attempts to come up with little white lies to somehow put this off until another time, all which usually fail.

My summons did contain a little tease and some hope: I was selected as a Standby which meant that I had a chance to be excused at the last minute if the Clerk’s office determined they had too many jurors for the expected case load. My directions were to call the standby hotline after 5pm on the night before to see if my group was called. If excused, my service would be considered complete and I’d have at least 18 months before I could be called again. If not, I was to be in line the following morning on the 7th floor at 185 Central Avenue downtown at 8am sharp, ready to serve.

Of course, that is where I found myself, with about 400 of my fellow neighbors, snaking our way through a makeshift line to turn in our filled out information form (you will be pleased that I answered, no, to the question if I have been convicted of a felony or a crime punishable by imprisonment for more than a year).

I had decided to forgo the free parking offered to prospective jurors in the Orange Lot of Turner Field. It was too bad the Braves were not playing that night as I might have taken up the County’s on it kind and generous doubleheader offer to do some public service during the day and then catch the Braves second game of the season, all without having to move my car. But the schedule did not cooperate, and the parking garage at Underground was a heck of a lot closer, plus it gave me a few more minutes to ask which building exactly I was supposed to report to, and only used up $8.00 of my $25.00 daily juror stipend.

After depositing my form with the clerk, I joined my fellow “FultonCountians” in a large room with a few old school television monitors (no flat screens or HD). We watched an informative video about the importance of our participation, heard from two Supreme Court justices and got kind of pumped up about the big day ahead. We then got a live audio welcome from one of the local judges who again thanked us for our service and said everything was going to be just fine.

Without hesitation, a nice young woman started calling names for the first trial, and low and behold, I heard Robert Crammer (it’s Cramer) and I was given number 39 (I had to write it on my crumpled newspaper so I wouldn’t forget it which should have disqualified me immediately from being able to serve). Nevertheless, I was honored to be included in the first case, psyched to being doing my civic duty and ready to shout out, Guilty, and throw the key in the Hudson River.

Actually, my case was dull, really dull; a traffic accident, with no debate over who was at fault, but a real debate if the actual accident caused the actual injuries that the plaintiff said it did. Boring. I was ready for a little Al Pacino in …And Justice For All (“you’re out of order, you’re out of order, this whole trial is out of order”), but everything in my little courtroom was quite orderly and our nice judge, who I think did the live audio welcome minutes before, proved to be quite a sports fan talking about the Braves opening game, the upcoming Final Four and the Masters.

She then told us about the Voir Dire process (I must admit when she started to talk Latin that I had an innocent little crush on her). But I was there to do a job, and that job was to not get selected for this jury. With a clear conscience, I was able to raise my little number 39 card for so many questions that after about three hours of waiting, going in and out of the courtroom, and seeing just how slowly the wheels of justice work, my service was thankfully no longer needed.

Free at last, I look back favorably on my time keeping the pillars of justice in balance. I await my paycheck but eagerly anticipate my certificate of attendance, suitable for framing. Ironically, when I got home from jury duty, I got an unexpected surprise in our mailbox: a nice offer for my wife to do the whole process again.