Now that we’re all caught up on how jury selection works and why I am always selected to sit on a jury, let me share with you the ridiculousness of the actual case that we had to hear. I’ll tell it the same way I experienced it and in the same fashion that certain information was given to me/us – the jury.
On December 15th 2009, I arrive at the courthouse well before I was supposed to be there and made my way to the deliberation room for District Court 7 on the 7th Floor. The judge had made it extremely clear that we were NOT to be late. I did not take that as an idle threat as he was ex-military – a higher up of some kinda. We were to be in the deliberation room by 8:45am as court started promptly at 9:00am. I was there by 8:15am. I’d be damned if it was me that was going to be late!
As the other 11 jurors and 1 alternate make their way into the room, they sit down and we all make small chit-chat. Nothing special, because we were instructed NOT to talk about the case, which we still had no direct knowledge of outside of the jury selection questions and crafted speculations. We did try and surmise how many days we thought it would take to finish the trial. It was my guess that we’d have to go through to Wednesday on the basis of a few things. First, there was a gal that they selected that had children that she needed to pick up by 4:00pm. When she was selected to be on the jury the day before, the judge said we would work around her schedule (i.e. end trial for the day at 3:30pm so she could get her kids). Second, trial began at 9am. We were told we would take 30minute breaks every hour – on the hour. Then the judge tells us that we are taking lunch from 11:30am to 2:00pm. Why so long you ask? Well, simple – he was really big on the jury bonding, so we weren’t allowed to leave for lunch, but rather we had to get to know our fellow jury members. Awesome. So that being said, with all the 30minute breaks, the ridiculously long lunch hour and having to shut trial down at 3:30pm didn’t leave a whole lot of room to hear the whole trial in 1 day. I guessed we’d hear all the witnesses, but would have to come back Wednesday to continue to deliberate.
Made sense to me, but the lawyers and judge knew more than we did. They kept saying that they did not feel the trial would go more than 1 day. My reservation on believing that little detail was biased as the last trial I was on, they said it would last 1-2 days and I was there for 5.
After trying to guesstimate how much time we’d have to feel “civic” the jurors tried to speculate as to why each member was selected. I openly made the observation that it was a male dominated jury – 4 women and 9 men. If I had to guess as to why in that moment, which I did because the other jurors asked why I thought it was important, I speculated that it was going to be some kind of emotional trial. That being said, the gender most likely to sympathize with that would be a woman – by nature alone.
As 9:15am rolls around, the jury still hasn’t been called out of the deliberation room to begin trial. I start to wonder if they had decided to settle. Regardless if they had settled, the jury would still be involved in determining the ultimate sentence if they had settled to a guilty verdict. It wasn’t long after I started trying to figure out what the delay was, that the bailiff came in and asked us to line up in order on the basis of how we were called to the jury box the day before.
I was – Juror 10, Ms. Magnet.
We filed into the courtroom where the judge tells us that some things have ultimately changed and how we were going to be proceeding was going to change. At 9am to 9:15am the lawyers and judge were in the courtroom discussing things. It was at that time, that the defense attorney and the defendant had decided to enter a plea of guilty. The defendant had to say that he changed his plea to guilty in front of the jury and for the record. He stood and took ownership of the guilty plea.
The jury was then told that we’d hear from some witnesses from both the state and the defense but that it wouldn’t be as long and drawn out as it would have been if he’d wanted the jury to decide his guilt or innocence. The judge then shared that our sole duty at this point was to listen to the evidence and make a decision on the punishment that came with his theft charge. Again, we had the option of 180days to 2years. And so it began.
The state forfeited the option to give an opening statement. This led me to believe that they felt like it was a waste of time, and as we learned more – they were right.
The defense attorney reminded me of a dirty used care salesman. When he had asked questions to the jury the day before, you got this sense that he was trying to pull something over on you, but since everything was so vague, you couldn’t put your finger on the exacts. It also surprised me that sitting beside the defense attorney during the jury selection, was the defendant. He never once looked up at the potential jurors. He never once spoke to his lawyer. Rather, he sat with his head hung low. It was indicative of sorrow, remorse, embarrassment and potentially guilt. I wasn’t being biased, I just found it to be odd that the lawyer would first have him present for this part of the process and second never once tell his defendant to sit up or become more engaging (i.e. look a little less guilty). None of that made sense until after we’d come to a decision on the sentence.
The defense stood and set the scene for this being an emotional trial and planted the seed that they’d later be asking the jury to take mercy on the defendant. He didn’t speak for long. He just made the defendant out to be a sad state of affairs. I didn’t buy it.
Once the opening statements were done, the state called their first witness. He was a Loss Prevention Manager for Fiesta Grocery Store on Web Chapel. His testimony was designed to show how the defendant had stolen groceries and he’d seen the entire thing. He said that the defendant was first in the beer aisle. He said he felt like the defendant was acting suspiciously – nervous of his surroundings, jittery. The manager followed him throughout the store as he continued to gather items like sausage and other meat products and place them in his basket. The manager had then witnessed the defendant walk right past the cash registers and out the front door. The manager went out after the defendant and stopped him before he could leave asking to see a receipt of sale on the unsacked groceries that were in the cart. The defendant, of course, could not as he had not purchased any of the items. The manager escorted the defendant back into the store and held him until the police arrived. He recounted that the defendant was extremely cooperative, didn’t put up a fight and was generally upset and remorseful that he’d been caught.
Once the state was done questioning the Fiesta Manager, the defense asked a few questions. Nothing too elaborate, but did manage to drop in a weird question. He asked the manager if that after the police arrived, were any of the items that the defendant had stolen been given to the defendant and/or the defendant’s fiancé? The manager had no idea if that was the case or not and could not speak against it or in its favor. He was dismissed from the stand, but stayed to see the results of the trial.
I found that to be a weird question. Why would Fiesta or the police for that matter press charges and arrest the guy for theft only to turn around and give him some of the stolen items for free. I was eager to find out if that was the case – because someone somewhere would be in serious trouble for that. But if it were true, I could see how it could play to jury sympathy – so as to say, look even the store and/or the police recognized the defendant’s dire situation. The seed was planted. I wasn’t watering it yet, but I definitely had the faucet turned on.
Next to the stand was the arresting police officer. She went through her account of the situation. She’d arrived, viewed the video tape of the defendant stealing the groceries, taken an inventory of those stolen items to come to a total value and then subsequently arrested the defendant on charges of theft. The total value of the items stolen was just under $100. Now, I know you are saying – $100? That’s not a felony. Why is this even in a felony courtroom? –All will be revealed very soon, as I thought the exact same thing at that exact moment. The state then asked her how the defendant was acting when she arrested him. She shared that he knew he was in big trouble this time and that this was not his first offense. The defendant also told the officer that he had several warrants out for his arrest on other unrelated charges. His legal situation was obviously getting progressively worse.
Once the state was satisfied with the police officers account, she was turned over to the defense. The defense attorney asked again, if any of the items were released to the defendant’s fiancé. The officer said that she felt badly for the guy. He hadn’t put up a fight, was very cooperative and knew he was in some serious trouble this time. The defendant had indicated to her that this was not his first theft arrest. Because of his story and how sad he looked, the officer allowed the defendant to stop by their residence on the way to jail to drop off his keys, cell phone and personal items that were in his pocket. Once his fiancé had those items, she took the defendant to jail. The defense attorney pressed in asking if she’d released any of the stolen groceries to the fiancé. The police officer looked plain appalled. She said she had not and that those grocery items were itemized and returned to Fiesta. While she admitted it was not procedure to allow someone who is being arrested to stop by home to drop off personal affects, she did not release any Fiesta items to either one of them. That was the last question for her from the defense and she was then excused. Make no mistake, this police officer was extremely sympathetic to the defendants situation and played a good witness for both the state and defense.
I got to wondering why the defense lawyer was stuck on asking everyone if some of the grocery items that had been stolen were given to the defendant and/or to his fiancé. The defendant had to have told his attorney that that happened. Which was a blatant lie, obviously. That made me not think too kindly of the defendant and furthermore it made me feel like he was not as innocent or remorseful as he was being made out to be. If it was concocted by his lawyer… well, that’s why you never use a court appointed attorney. Note to self…
The state rested on the accounts of the store manager and the police officers testimony. The defense only called one witness – the defendant. And here’s where the defendant deserved a Tony Award. I mean… really quite brilliant in his ignorance. By the end of it, I felt sorry for the guy but was not interested in leniency. The 9 males and 4 women as juror selections were becoming overwhelmingly clear to me at this point. But all the defense needed was 1 juror to buy it and to either hang the jury or at the very least make them compromise to a lesser sentence so as to not hang the jury on such a small theft case.
The state rested and enter the defendant’s moment of glory. The defense lawyer called the defendant to the stand.
He was a Hispanic man and if I had to guess, I would say he was easily in his late 50s. He was wearing a decent suit that didn’t fit as if it were anything well made. It didn’t surprise me that this man most likely has never owned a suit. He was missing several of his bottom teeth. I couldn’t tell if any were missing from the top. When he spoke, he did not have a Spanish accent. He didn’t have an accent at all. He was at times hard to understand because of his poor usage of the English language and what almost sounded like a slight speech impediment. I could not deduce if it was in fact an impediment or rather him talking around his missing teeth. It wasn’t significant to anything really, but it did successfully make you feel that much sorrier for the guy.
The defendant was sworn under oath and took the stand. Before the defendant even stated his name for the court, he began to cough slightly and clear his throat. His lawyer addressed him informally asking him if he needed something to drink.
Now here’s where if this was a movie or Broadway play, some unseen narrator would have said – and here’s where the tap dance begins.
The defendant says to his lawyer – No sir. Thank you though. I just have Diabetes and it makes my throat dry sometimes. I’ll be fine.
Ok, now in my head, I start to go… whhhhhat? That was an awfully convenient way to drop that in without having to outright ask about his health. If he had, I think it would have been a lot easier for the people on a jury to say – ok, really? They’re playing the “I’m sick” card – feel sorry before I even state my name. That’s some balls. Audacity, really. But ok, I guess you have to use what you have and make it work. If he even really had diabetes… I’ll never know.
His lawyer then asks him to explain what happened on July 1st 2009 when he was arrested at Fiesta on theft charges.
The defendant begins…
I haven’t been a good man. I have been an even worse father.
(At this point, he tears up, and stumbles through the rest of his recount pausing at moments to regain his composure, cry a little more, burry his face in his hands, and ask for tissues before continuing through his testimony. And truly, it was sad to watch – I’m not heartless, but I am fair.)
Over the last 5 years things have just gotten progressively worse. I have a job. I’m a truck driver. I make about $300 a week, when the work is steady. Right now, my fiancé and I are living in a motel paying rent week-to-week. Five years ago, my mother died. I never really recovered from that. It’s all been down hill from there. I have been trying to figure out a way to get my life back on track. I wanted to be a better father to my children. That’s when I had the idea to go to Fiesta and steal some food so that I could throw a small 4th of July barbeque for the kids. You know, to start over, fresh. It was a really dumb idea. I know it was wrong, but I still did it and I am willing to accept any punishment that I receive for my actions.
His lawyer starts to dig in deeper. He asks him to elaborate on how exactly it was that he came to the idea of stealing food from Fiesta in the first place.
The defendant says (still whimpering, crying) – I was next door at my neighbors place. We’d been drinking pretty heavily. I’ve been doing that a lot lately. I came up with the idea to try and have the kids over and start becoming a better dad. To be a person in their lives.
Lawyer – How’s your health as it stands right now?
Defendant (in almost a whisper) – Cancer. *then he paused, put his head in his hands and cried very hard*
>>I wasn’t even sure if I had heard him right? Did he say he has cancer now?
Defendant (after regaining some composure) – It doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have done what I did. It was wrong and I will take any punishment I am given.
Lawyer – Did you say you have cancer?
Defendant – Yes. I have cancer. I was diagnosed with it back in February of 2009. I haven’t done anything about it because I have been trying to work and deal with all my diabetes doctor’s appointments. Soon enough, I was missing a lot of work, which I could not afford. I have no idea what stage I am even in right now?
Lawyer – Are you getting treatment in jail currently?
Defendant – Well sir, I had tried. I was supposed to be seeing a doctor, but they never took me to a hospital of any kind. They didn’t do my blood work and I felt like they were not interested in helping me. The other day, they said they were going to take me back to the doctor. I signed a sheet saying that I refused medical care telling them that the doctors they were sending me to were not helping and I was done with all of that. I later found out, that they had planned on taking me to Parkland to get tested and assessed. When I heard that, I tried to remove my refusal of medical treatment, but it’s a long process to do that. I have been in jail since July and I have not been treated for the cancer.
>>Ok, for the record – as the defendant was saying all of this, the judge laughed. He laughed so hard he was red in the face. He was laughing in total shock and dismay that this guy was even saying what he was saying. The states attorneys looked as if the Cancer proclamation was news to them too; hearing it for the very 1st time.
The defense lawyer got the point pretty quickly and steered the defendant in another direction. He wanted the defendant to start talking about the computer classes he had been taking while he was in jail this last time awaiting this trial.
Defendant – I have been taking computer classes and getting certifications. I wanted to better myself this time. I wanted to come out a better person. I wanted to turn my life around. The idea was to learn computers so I could buy one for my truck. So I could keep better track of my routes and loads, etc. I had hoped that when I was done serving this sentence that I would be able to buy my own truck. Be my own boss. Make a change.
>>Yeeeeah, right. Dude, you’re stealing $100 worth of groceries. You aren’t buying your own truck when you get out of here. Really?! Good Lord, this was getting out of control.
The defense lawyer asked a few more questions here and there that he knew would provoke tears and lengthy pauses so that his client could gather himself before continuing. And the honest truth of it all is that I believed some of what this guy had to say. I really did. I felt badly for him. Like he’d been dealt a bad hand and was making one bad decision on top of another. I don’t know if he was really sick with diabetes or cancer as no one proved it or to its contrary. Nonetheless, something happened to this guy. What? I wasn’t exactly sure. I wasn’t too naive to know that what he was telling wasn’t the whole story. There was a big part of me that felt like this guy knew exactly what he was doing and was attempting to milk the system. I, however had no evidence of that… yet.
After the defense was through, the defendant was turned over to the state for questioning. And here’s where all the warm and fuzzy feelings came to a screeching halt. The state’s attorney had zero sympathy for this guy. Almost to the extent that he’d seen and dealt with this guy before – possibly several times. I wasn’t sure yet as he hadn’t really asked any deep revealing questions, but his tone and demeanor was indicative of annoyance of having to be at this trial in the 1st place.
The states attorney then cuts the wound a little deeper. He shows the jury and the court 7 documents. Each of the 7 documents were prior arrests and guilty convictions for theft by the defendant stemming from 2007 to the current charge from July 1st 2009. In each offence, the defendant was caught stealing groceries at or around the $100 value mark. This is where the state explained to the defendant that repeat offenses of theft become felony charges, and that was why we were here today. He asked the defendant if he understood that and he said he did. I more think that it was the states way of letting the jury know why such a “small” offense was being seen in a felony court instead of a civil court.
The states attorney pressed into each offense and the repercussions of each offense. The 1st offense that was brought to felony court was in 2007. The defendant received a fine and 2years probation. He didn’t even make it off of probation before he was arrested for theft again. When he was arrested the 2nd time, they revoked the probation and sentenced him to the minimum sentence at that time of 120days in jail. Each offense there after, the defendant would claim guilt at the last minute, and offer the sentence up to a selected jury – a lot like the jury I was now sitting on. For the remaining 6 offenses, the defendant had received the minimum sentence of somewhere between 120days to 180days.
After the defendant readily acknowledged all those previous offenses with little coaxing, the states attorney asked him – when is enough, enough? The defendant resorted to his normal response of – I was wrong and I am sorry. I will accept any punishment that this jury sees fit. –When you think about it, this is really a non-response.
The states attorney asked the defendant if he knew about resources like Salvation Army that could help people in his situation; to give people an option to not steal.
Defendant (and here’s where my sympathy hit the edge of a 3million mile cliff) – Yeah, I know about those options. I have tried some before. I just didn’t like them. I didn’t want to use them.
States Lawyer – You knew about them and didn’t want to use them? Are you saying that you feel that stealing someone else’s property is a better solution? The only solution?
Defendant – No sir. I just couldn’t bring myself to ask for the help. I didn’t want to burden anyone.
>> Here’s where the defendant is now playing the – father with pride – card.
States Lawyer – How many people do you feel you have burdened here today, by having to bring this case before a judge?
The defendant offered no verbal response. Instead, he began to cry again muttering something about cancer, being wrong, owning up to it all… I’m not sure what he was saying at that point in time. With his speech impediment or lack of teeth, he was borderline unintelligible.
States Lawyer – Are these 7 offenses that I have presented here today in court the only times you have been arrested?
Defendant – No sir. I was arrested when I was 16.
States Lawyer – For theft?
Defendant – Yes sir, but I was just a kid.
States Lawyer (not even gracing the “kid” comment with a rebuttal) – Have you ever been arrested in other states?
Defendant – No sir.
States Lawyer – You’ve never been arrested in Georgia for larceny?
Defendant – What’s larceny, sir?
States Lawyer – It’s a fancy word for theft.
Defendant – Oh, yes sir. I was arrested for that in Georgia. I didn’t understand what you were asking.
States Lawyer – Can you tell the court about that incident?
Defendant (after a long pause, placing his head in his hands and crying again) – It was just stupid sir. It wasn’t right and I was just stupid. There’s not much more to say about it other than that. I was stupid.
Even though the defendant didn’t even begin to try and answer that question, the states lawyer’s point was made. It’s not about the 7 times you have been arrested in Texas; that we know about, but more-so the fact that this is a pattern not limited to the last 5 years of things going downhill in Texas. The states lawyer didn’t even press him further to give more details and not hide behind a cop-out response. He’d done what he’d come to do and that was discredit all the crying and emotional antics.
States Lawyer – How is it that you want this jury to believe you when you say you’re sorry? That you won’t do this again. How many times and to how many juries have you said that this is the last time? Why are we to believe you this time?
Defendant – This time sir, I am taking classes while I am in here. I want to be a better person when I get out. That’s the difference, sir.
I found that hard to believe. What I did believe is his defense attorney saying – oh shit man. This is number 8 on the theft charges. I’m not sure the crying act will work again this time. We’re going to have to do better than that. We’ll need cancer. How can you argue cancer? You can’t. Yes, we’ll have cancer. OH and you’ll need to take some classes while you are in there. You’ll be in there for a bit awaiting trial you might as well sneak in some computer courses. Oh yeah, yeah… that’s good. This could work.
At one point, while the state was questioning the defendant, the defendant said that he had only tried to steal from Fiesta because he really thought he could get away with it. That it wasn’t until he was caught that he’d even reconciled that the decision was a stupid one. That admission did not sit well with me in the least bit.
The states attorney had a few more questions that were relatively inconsequential but further elaborated the fact that the defendant had no intention of changing his behaviors.
The state then rested and closing arguments began. The defense lawyer was first.
He was as brief in his closing as he was in his opening statement. He leaned on the fact that the defendant was taking classes this time. That the defendant wanted to be better and make a change in his life. He then closed his statement by begging the jury to take mercy on his client and show him some leniency.
The states attorney stood up and without sugar coating one thing reiterated that the defendant was a repeat offender. He nothing short of accused the defendant of being manipulative and calculated in his defense. He brought out the 7 previous convictions and went through each one again. He pressed the fact that the defendant had had minimum sentences for all of his previous convictions. He highlighted that there was an infinite amount of people who had been down in the dumps and had not resorted to theft as the solution. He asked the jury how much did we want to spend out of pocket to let people like the defendant believe that what he was doing was acceptable. He then ended with the line – And really… when is enough, enough?
By 10:38, the decision had been handed over to the jury for deliberation on the sentencing. I felt like the decision was simple and that the deliberation would take nothing more than 1 quick vote and we’d be on our way back to our own lives… work.
How wrong could one person be? The intricacies of a jury’s deliberation to reach a decision agreed upon by 12 people was a whole different story.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
is there an art to jury selection…
Of course they’d have us all believe that there is a certain Viennese Waltz involved in jury selection. Where from across the room, lawyers attempt to accurately align themselves with their partner whose footwork will be in perfect timing with the initiators. It’s a delicate courtship in which all laws of probability are essentially and effectively removed.
For those of you, who have never even been called to jury duty, let me walk you through the basic steps of how the process unfolds. If you have served on a jury before, skip ahead.
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First, you are selected at what the state would have you believe is random.
Second, the state assigns you a jury pool identification number. This number ranges anywhere from 1 to 4,000. This number holds no true significance as not only are there not as many people as there are numbers, but jurors are selected in clumps to move from the Central Jury Room to the District Courts which is were the true jury selection occurs. This occurs in no true numerical order.
Third, you appear at the courthouse on the date and time as so instructed.
Fourth, you check yourself in so that the state knows you have appeared for your God given civic duty – the unequivocal checkmark of attendance.
Fifth, you pour into an over crowded room they call the Central Jury Room. You are called to be at the courthouse no later than 8:30am, however there is no forward progression until closer to the 10am mark. The hour-and-a-half is to allow for our wonderful state employees to make sense of the selected jurors and the day’s agenda. Once you are in the Central Jury Room, you are sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with hundreds of the other lucky bastards who are fulfilling their civic duties. There is not enough room between the seat you are in and the one in front of you for anyone to pass through. Simply, if there is an open seat in the middle, everyone up to that seat nothing short of gets up, files out of the aisle and lets the new arrival sit. The same process happens when someone’s number is called and they must move to the appropriately assigned District Court Room.
Sixth, a judge arrives and thanks you for your time and service and then swears you in.
For most people that have been called to serve jury duty, this is where their process ends. Their number was not lucky enough to have been selected in the juror lottery and they are thanked for their time and sent home. For those that are assigned to a District Courtroom the process continues.
Seventh, the court then announces what numbers have been selected to move to a District Courtroom. They are in clumps of hundreds and in no numerical order. For example – group one may be numbers 352 through 524. The next group could be numbers 3 through 124. In each grouping, even if the grouping numbers exceed 100+ numbers, there are only 63 people in that group that move to the assigned District Courtroom.
Eighth, you pile to the elevators where you wait an eternity to find one that is going up and then fight to cram into an elevator that’s well above the maximum occupancy to get to your assigned floor. This process in and of itself can take 20 minutes to accomplish, if not more.
Ninth, when you arrive at your courtroom, and of course wait a little while longer, the bailiff comes out and takes role to assure that you are where you are supposed to be and assign you yet another juror number. This time your number is in order and is between 1 and 63. There is a second bailiff inside that instructs you where to sit. This is now officially your assigned seating for the remainder of the day. The lawyers and judges all have a seating chart and know exactly who you are and refer to you as your juror number first and your given name second (i.e. Juror 43, Angela Williams).
Tenth, after you are seated where you will be for the rest of the time it takes to select the jury, the judge swears you in, again. The judge then takes you through the basics of your responsibilities should you be selected. He then asks if you know him, the lawyers and/or the defendant personally. After a few basics, there and for the record via the court reporter, he hands the room over to the State Council.
Eleventh, the state then tells you the charge. It is in no exceptional detail other than legal terms that most people sitting in the courtroom don’t have the vaguest of understanding. The state then runs you through some legal scenarios – which always correlate to the trial at hand, but in an even vaguer manner. Sometimes they single people out directly. Others sitting in the courtroom are never addressed directly. The amount of questions you are asked and/or not asked is not indicative of selection or lack thereof.
Twelfth, the defense then does his jury questioning. The directive is different than that of the states and for the obvious reasons. His goal is to select jurors that will vote in favor of his client or at the very least stumble on an emotional connection. His questions rely more on how you’d feel, can you relate, can you be objective, and impartial, etc.
Thirteenth, the 63 people are asked to leave the courtroom while the state and defense begin selecting who they want to be a member of their jury. The defense eliminates individuals whom they feel will be biased even if they have previously indicated that that can be impartial – as does the state. In a matter of 30 to 45 minutes, they have selected their jury from the pool of randomly selected individuals. Twelve members are selected and a thirteenth is selected as an alternate. These 13 individuals are then sworn in again. If this selection has not pressed into the latter part of the afternoon and the state is ready to begin presenting their case, the trial can start the same day you are selected. If the trial is not started on the same day, it merely beings the next calendar business day.
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It has been my general experience that most people have either never been called to jury duty or have been called but have never made it out of the Central Jury Room. While it’s considered a burden to miss work to “voluntarily” do your civic duty, it’s really only a scratch on the surface as to what all goes into jury selection. Furthermore, it’s only when you move to the individual District Courtrooms, that you see one of three jurors.
First, you have the blatant – I don’t want to be here – jurors.
Second, you have the flagrant – I desperately want to be on your jury – jurors.
Third, there are the – I would rather be doing something else, but understand my responsibility to answer the questions honestly and if I get called, I will serve – jurors.
On Monday, December 14th 2009, I had the “pleasure” of being called to serve jury duty for the 5th time in my life. I have served on 3 juries and have (now) played the role of foreman twice. The 2 times I was called that I didn’t serve on a jury, my initial juror number was not selected and I never left the Central Court Room. It’s my postulated theory that had I been moved to a District Courtroom, on those two occasions, I could effectively say that I have served on 5 juries total.
The first time I ever served on a jury, I was 22 years old. It was a felony robbery with the intent to harm case. For some reason and although I was by far the youngest member of the jury, I was selected to be the foreman. Which at the time, I thought had no bearing on my future jury experiences so I readily accepted. My thought process was more driven by my desire to no longer discuss things that didn’t matter – like who would be the foreman – and simply deliberate to a verdict. Which let me clear that up for everyone right now… IT DOES MATTER. It wasn’t until today that I found out why.
Let me back this up a skoach. So on December 14th 2009, there we are all 63 of us piled into this small District Courtroom. Remember the 3 different types of jurors I was talking about before? Let me introduce them to you in real-life examples.
The – I don’t want to be here – Jurors.
These people are the best. I mean, when you have to be doing something like potentially being selected for a jury, it’s imperative that there is some comic relief or you might go insane. It’s these people that provide all of that that you will need in the several hours you will be spending with them.
There was a guy sitting right next to me. He was Juror 42. I was Juror 43. Any time the state or defense attorney asked a question pertaining to being impartial or if a given scenario was fair or that they could agree with it, this guy would either raise his hand emphatically, talk out of turn or a combination of the two. His tone was harsh and to the point. He was opposing things that were obviously against the law. For instance, the state set up the following scenario (and this was after we had a 40minute discussion as to what reasonable doubt actually meant AKA a damn beating):
If the state has one witness and that one witness is according to you believable and reliable and you feel is telling the truth. Can you convict a person on the basis of that one person’s testimony?
Granted this scenario calls for a person to make some assumptions. First, if that is the evidence that the state is providing to prove guilt, and you believe it without a reasonable doubt, then you must convict – by definition of how our laws and court system is designed. Second, whether or not you think that the evidence provided could be more thorough, or that you would rather have more to go on, the law simply states that if you believe what is placed before you without a reasonable doubt, you must convict. It’s that simple.
This guy was all about saying he didn’t believe in that method of justice. It’s like well sir, you should move to Canada or possibly France, because guess what, we’re in America and this is how the show is run. He said he couldn’t be impartial when asked but could give no reason as to why. Which I suppose could be argued that that is his given right as an American to not have to explain himself.
Let me put it to you this way… it was so evident that he had zero desire to be there, that at one point and in the middle of questioning, I turned to him and said – wow, you really don’t want to serve on this jury, do you? And before he could answer I said – why don’t you just raise your hand and say you don’t want to be here. They obviously aren’t going to pick you. He just looked at me like a deer caught in headlights; like how’d you know? C’mon man… really?!
1 juror out.
Aside from him, there was a woman in the front row that followed Juror 42’s lead. When he said anything that got a negative response from the judge or the lawyers, she’d chime in and say something far more excessive. Like when 42 said he couldn’t be impartial ol’girl in the front was like – me either. As a matter of fact, I don’t care what the crime is – I’m giving the max sentence. In between siding with the crazy guy beside me, she’d sigh heavily and deeply while intermittently putting her head down on the railing (as she was in the front row) giving the ultimate eff-you to the court system.
2 jurors out.
There was another lady who when asked if after she’d convicted someone of a felony theft, could she justify all aspects of the sentencing as allotted by the court and the specific crime. For instance, this felony theft charged, if convicted, carried a sentence of 180days up to 2years. This woman responds with – for a felony, I cannot see how 180days or 6months would be enough of a sentence. I could not consider the lowest end of that range for possible sentencing.
3 jurors out.
Aside from the 3 of them, there were a slew of others that raised their hands and said for one reason or another that they could not be impartial.
My dad owned his owned his own company and was a victim of theft…
I was a victim of theft directly…
I worked for a company that was victimized by theft…
My friends were victims of theft…
4, 5, 6…12 jurors out.
Then there were four people that claimed to not be able understand the English language well enough to answer even the simplest of questions. I most closely related this to that car accident where the person who hit you pulls the – no hablo ingles – card. Well that is until the cops get there and then they speak perfect ingles. Nonetheless, the court will not call those people saying that there is a language barrier a liar.
16 jurors out.
Finally in this category, you have the famous last minute – oh shit, people are weeding themselves out so I have better come up with something quickly or my likelihood of serving is increasing with each passing moment.
Enter the following question: does anyone have anything planned within the next couple of days that would prevent you from being able to serve this jury in its entirety? Something that was already previously planned?
And here’s the few people that made me actually laugh out loud in court. My laughter was only drowned out by the simultaneous heavy sighing accompanied by eye rolling from our very Judge. It was by this point that he was ready to commit a felony against one of these rebellious potential jurors.
One guy raises his hand and is vague. He had something on Wednesday that he could not get out of. One thing I have learned about the art of lying AKA the fake call in sick to work – is this… never offer more information than is being requested. Be simple and to the point without ever really saying anything of substance. It’s likely that your work AND the overworked courts will not ask you to provide anything further than your very word. And in this instance, with this juror, the attorney simply asked if it was something that could be rescheduled. Without giving any other details the juror responded – no it’s not and they marked him down as a no and moved on. In my head, I had to applaud that guy. Nicely done, sir – well, played.
17 jurors out.
There was an older man who said he wouldn’t be able to serve because he had a colonoscopy scheduled. When the attorney asked him when it was scheduled, the man answered – oh, no it’s already happened but the simple fact is that I am uncomfortable to sit for long periods of time right now. I laughed – literally, out loud. Now, I’ve got to tell you that I was halfway tempted raise my hand and say that I had broken my coccyx in 6th grade (which is 100% true) and any time that I sit for long periods my tailbone aches. I, however, refrained. I settled with a hardy laugh and the hairy eyeball from the guy.
18 jurors out (on sheer stupidity alone).
And for some reason, I guess this guy’s very informative self-proclamation opened the flood gates of ridiculousness. A woman on the back row raises her hand and shares that she has serious bladder problems and unless the court wanted to adjourn every 15minutes to allow her to relieve herself, she’d most likely not be a good juror candidate. From that, a woman in the front proclaimed that she had ovarian cysts and those caused her great pain daily and not being able to get up and move around at her instant desire to relieve that pain probably wouldn’t work for the courts as well. From there, a guy in the third row says that he has IBS and would have a similar problem to the woman with the bladder condition. It was at this point that the judge put a stop to that nonsense. He reinstructed the jurors that it had to be a planned trip and/or a planned surgery. That just about everyone can come up with a reason that they can’t and/or don’t want to sit and listen for long periods of time. After a remedial lecture about the meaning of ones civic duty, no one else dared to mention anything of the kind again, however the damage was done.
21 jurors out.
Now to some juror math so far – 63 jurors started – 21 jurors that had successfully eliminated themselves from the running = 42 potentials remaining. My odds are starting to look bleak for not being seated on this jury. Couple these people’s ridiculousness with my shitty jury luck to start and before we were halfway done with anything – I made my own proclamation in my head… I’m screwed. I’m going to be on this jury.
The flagrant – I desperately want to be on your jury – Jurors.
There was a gentleman that arrived at my assigned District Courtroom wearing what I deemed his best – gettin’ picked for a jury outfit. This guy was in a 3-piece suit fully equipped with a Troy Duncan bow-tie that matched his suit vest. He spoke extremely proper English – annoying even to a native speaker; forced almost. My throat hurt just listening to the guy annunciate each word in its exact perfection. Any time he had the opportunity to raise his hand and give an opinion, he would do just that. He would say exactly what he thought the attorney’s wanted to hear and in perfectly indented paragraphs. I swear, I could almost see the paragraph sigh, every time he’d being a new and extended paragraph with an intro sentence, three complex sentences and conclusion sentence to sum up how perfect he was for this jury. It was impressive really. I find it near impossible that that is how he actually is in real life. Anyone who calls this man a friend outside of the courtroom needs to slap the shit out of him.
22 jurors out.
There was also a woman in this category. She was more calculated. She answered the questions in exact perfection without sounding to emphatic or eager. Her flaw however, was that in order to maintain control she sat on her hands and almost swayed back and forth as to keep an exact pace with the perfect words coming out of her mouth. She was spotted immediately. Good try sweet cheeks; good old Blind Liberty wasn’t buying that day.
23 jurors out.
The – I would rather be doing something else, but understand my responsibility to answer the questions honestly and if I get called, I will serve – Jurors.
Here’s where I fell. Most of the other 40 jurors were in this category too. Some teetered on the edge so as to say – I will if you want me to, but I’d really rather not. With my previous jury luck and how many people had managed to eliminate themselves before I even had a chance to talk, I had chalked it up to the fact that I was serving on this jury no matter what I had to say. And then THIS happened...
The defense lawyer asks the following question: If you had to choose between these 2 types of punishment, which would you favor – Rehabilitation or Deterrent?
Now, I’m Juror 43, Angela Williams and he began going down the list of jurors in order, starting with Juror 1. As people are answering Rehabilitation, Deterrent, Rehabilitation, Rehabilitation, Deterrent, etc. it dawns on me, that I have no real basis to make that kind of conclusion. I have 42 jurors to get through coupled with some people needing more definition around the words Rehabilitation and Deterrent before I have to give my answer. I start to think. Which I truly believe was my first problem. How do I know what I would lean towards? What if they’d tried to rehabilitate several times and it didn’t work. Well in that case, I’d potentially lean towards deterrent – and vice versa.
When it gets to Juror 43, Angela Williams and without hesitation I say – well, I think it would depend. I could tell that the defense attorney wasn’t extremely pleased with my answer and stared at me seeking further explanation. I only offered – you know, depending on the situation.
AND THERE’S WHERE I SEALED MY SEAT IN THIS JURY. Like a damn idiot.
After I answered and the defense attorney is still not terribly pleased as he responded with a drawn out – oooook – the judge who had only interjected to make simple clarifications when jurors were being complete idiots says – that is quite possibly the most perfect answer to that question, nicely done Juror 43. Shit. Thanks Judge. Why don’t you just send me to the head of the class where I can get my nose nice and close to your ass? It sure is hard to have a brownnose when I am 4 rows back and this was the first words I had spoken outside of when they’d called role 3 hours previously and I answered a generic – here.
Shit, shit, shit. Way to think Juror 43. I couldn’t even call myself by name at that point. I wasn’t on speaking terms with myself. Stupid 43.
Now you’d think with that kind of response from the judge that everyone after me would have said – it depends. Not one person did. Even the proper English speaker begging for a seat on this jury whom I wanted to punch as he gave his answer of rehabilitation in it’s disjointed perfection.
Not long after this, they deliberated to make their final jury selection. We went into the hall at 3:30pm and by 4:00pm, they’d selected their focal 12 and their alternative 13th. When they call us back in, they begin to call the names of the selected. As the names are being called, it becomes evident quickly that the jury will be predominantly male. I get semi-excited that maybe, just maybe I have beat the system this time. Juror 7 is selected… not me. Juror 8… not me. Juror 9… not me. It’s at this point that I started thinking again. Dumb move number 2. Both dumb moves involved thinking. See a pattern yet? I say to myself – well, there’s only 3 more spots, surely I’m not going to be on this jury. Juror 10… Angela Williams. SHIT.
Without thinking as I grabbed my bag and sweater to make my way to Juror 10’s seat in the jury box, I inadvertently say – damnit. Not a great move, I’ll admit. But it was the first thing I had done without thinking, so by default it was possibly the smartest thing I had done all day.
The judge says in response to my damnit comment – it was probably your amazing answer that got you selected to this jury. To which I replied – well, if you hadn’t sent me to the head of the class, maybe they wouldn’t have noticed. He laughed. He laughed hard. So I figured I would just follow that up with – I’m a jury magnet, it’s ok because I knew this would happen. He laughed hard again. From that point forward, he’d refer to me as Juror 10, Ms. Magnet. I enjoyed it, until I was selected to be Juror 1, Ms. Foreman Magnet. Standard.
The trial was short. It only lasted the morning of December 15th 2009. Once it was all said and done, and we’d reached a verdict and sentence, I hung around to talk to the states lawyers and the judge. I always do. It was probably mistake number 2,000 of mine for the less than 2 days that I was there. Here’s where I learned a valuable piece of information – LISTEN UP. THIS COULD SAVE YOU MY JURY DRAMA IN THE FUTURE!
One of the states attorneys is telling us how they selected some of the jury members that were left hanging around. He looks at me and tells me that no matter what I said or did, I would be on this trial. Furthermore, he knew I would be the foreman. In complete awe, I asked him how that was that he knew that and why was a guarantee without having to say anything at all?
Remember when I said I was on my 1st jury when I was 22 and in haste I had agreed to be the foreman? My mistake 6 years ago had proven to be one that I would carry throughout the rest of my life. As it turns out, each state lawyer can make permanent notes about their juries. If one juror stands out to them, they can comment specifically on that juror. It’s not a paragraph in nature, but enough to know that they should or should not immediately select a person. Since I was 22 and a foreman on a jury of people 2x+ my age and we came back with a quick and fair verdict, I consequentially was left with the following PERMANENT NOTE:
Was the foreman at 22yrs old. EXCEPTIONAL juror.
I shit you not, the states attorney tells me, that the word exceptional was in all caps. He said that’s lawyer talk for you’d be an idiot to not have this person on your jury. Then he followed that up with – so it wasn’t the judge sending you to the head of the class that screwed you, although we all got a good laugh out of that comment.
He then leaned in and whispered to me – no matter what, if the state can help it and you show up in another courtroom, you will be selected.
MOTHER of GOD…
That’s what I get for being a cocky 22year-old. I’m telling you people, there’s no jury dance involved. They almost have their entire 12 selected before you even step through the door – it generally only needs slight by manageable tweaking. Just know if you ever get in a District Courtroom with me, your odds decreased by 1 seat automatically. My stupidity says – you’re welcome as well as NEVER elect to be the foreman.
The small things in life are often learned as you’re paying for your bad decisions made in a fleeting moment that didn’t even register as a decision in that moment. Such is my life.
For those of you, who have never even been called to jury duty, let me walk you through the basic steps of how the process unfolds. If you have served on a jury before, skip ahead.
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First, you are selected at what the state would have you believe is random.
Second, the state assigns you a jury pool identification number. This number ranges anywhere from 1 to 4,000. This number holds no true significance as not only are there not as many people as there are numbers, but jurors are selected in clumps to move from the Central Jury Room to the District Courts which is were the true jury selection occurs. This occurs in no true numerical order.
Third, you appear at the courthouse on the date and time as so instructed.
Fourth, you check yourself in so that the state knows you have appeared for your God given civic duty – the unequivocal checkmark of attendance.
Fifth, you pour into an over crowded room they call the Central Jury Room. You are called to be at the courthouse no later than 8:30am, however there is no forward progression until closer to the 10am mark. The hour-and-a-half is to allow for our wonderful state employees to make sense of the selected jurors and the day’s agenda. Once you are in the Central Jury Room, you are sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with hundreds of the other lucky bastards who are fulfilling their civic duties. There is not enough room between the seat you are in and the one in front of you for anyone to pass through. Simply, if there is an open seat in the middle, everyone up to that seat nothing short of gets up, files out of the aisle and lets the new arrival sit. The same process happens when someone’s number is called and they must move to the appropriately assigned District Court Room.
Sixth, a judge arrives and thanks you for your time and service and then swears you in.
For most people that have been called to serve jury duty, this is where their process ends. Their number was not lucky enough to have been selected in the juror lottery and they are thanked for their time and sent home. For those that are assigned to a District Courtroom the process continues.
Seventh, the court then announces what numbers have been selected to move to a District Courtroom. They are in clumps of hundreds and in no numerical order. For example – group one may be numbers 352 through 524. The next group could be numbers 3 through 124. In each grouping, even if the grouping numbers exceed 100+ numbers, there are only 63 people in that group that move to the assigned District Courtroom.
Eighth, you pile to the elevators where you wait an eternity to find one that is going up and then fight to cram into an elevator that’s well above the maximum occupancy to get to your assigned floor. This process in and of itself can take 20 minutes to accomplish, if not more.
Ninth, when you arrive at your courtroom, and of course wait a little while longer, the bailiff comes out and takes role to assure that you are where you are supposed to be and assign you yet another juror number. This time your number is in order and is between 1 and 63. There is a second bailiff inside that instructs you where to sit. This is now officially your assigned seating for the remainder of the day. The lawyers and judges all have a seating chart and know exactly who you are and refer to you as your juror number first and your given name second (i.e. Juror 43, Angela Williams).
Tenth, after you are seated where you will be for the rest of the time it takes to select the jury, the judge swears you in, again. The judge then takes you through the basics of your responsibilities should you be selected. He then asks if you know him, the lawyers and/or the defendant personally. After a few basics, there and for the record via the court reporter, he hands the room over to the State Council.
Eleventh, the state then tells you the charge. It is in no exceptional detail other than legal terms that most people sitting in the courtroom don’t have the vaguest of understanding. The state then runs you through some legal scenarios – which always correlate to the trial at hand, but in an even vaguer manner. Sometimes they single people out directly. Others sitting in the courtroom are never addressed directly. The amount of questions you are asked and/or not asked is not indicative of selection or lack thereof.
Twelfth, the defense then does his jury questioning. The directive is different than that of the states and for the obvious reasons. His goal is to select jurors that will vote in favor of his client or at the very least stumble on an emotional connection. His questions rely more on how you’d feel, can you relate, can you be objective, and impartial, etc.
Thirteenth, the 63 people are asked to leave the courtroom while the state and defense begin selecting who they want to be a member of their jury. The defense eliminates individuals whom they feel will be biased even if they have previously indicated that that can be impartial – as does the state. In a matter of 30 to 45 minutes, they have selected their jury from the pool of randomly selected individuals. Twelve members are selected and a thirteenth is selected as an alternate. These 13 individuals are then sworn in again. If this selection has not pressed into the latter part of the afternoon and the state is ready to begin presenting their case, the trial can start the same day you are selected. If the trial is not started on the same day, it merely beings the next calendar business day.
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It has been my general experience that most people have either never been called to jury duty or have been called but have never made it out of the Central Jury Room. While it’s considered a burden to miss work to “voluntarily” do your civic duty, it’s really only a scratch on the surface as to what all goes into jury selection. Furthermore, it’s only when you move to the individual District Courtrooms, that you see one of three jurors.
First, you have the blatant – I don’t want to be here – jurors.
Second, you have the flagrant – I desperately want to be on your jury – jurors.
Third, there are the – I would rather be doing something else, but understand my responsibility to answer the questions honestly and if I get called, I will serve – jurors.
On Monday, December 14th 2009, I had the “pleasure” of being called to serve jury duty for the 5th time in my life. I have served on 3 juries and have (now) played the role of foreman twice. The 2 times I was called that I didn’t serve on a jury, my initial juror number was not selected and I never left the Central Court Room. It’s my postulated theory that had I been moved to a District Courtroom, on those two occasions, I could effectively say that I have served on 5 juries total.
The first time I ever served on a jury, I was 22 years old. It was a felony robbery with the intent to harm case. For some reason and although I was by far the youngest member of the jury, I was selected to be the foreman. Which at the time, I thought had no bearing on my future jury experiences so I readily accepted. My thought process was more driven by my desire to no longer discuss things that didn’t matter – like who would be the foreman – and simply deliberate to a verdict. Which let me clear that up for everyone right now… IT DOES MATTER. It wasn’t until today that I found out why.
Let me back this up a skoach. So on December 14th 2009, there we are all 63 of us piled into this small District Courtroom. Remember the 3 different types of jurors I was talking about before? Let me introduce them to you in real-life examples.
The – I don’t want to be here – Jurors.
These people are the best. I mean, when you have to be doing something like potentially being selected for a jury, it’s imperative that there is some comic relief or you might go insane. It’s these people that provide all of that that you will need in the several hours you will be spending with them.
There was a guy sitting right next to me. He was Juror 42. I was Juror 43. Any time the state or defense attorney asked a question pertaining to being impartial or if a given scenario was fair or that they could agree with it, this guy would either raise his hand emphatically, talk out of turn or a combination of the two. His tone was harsh and to the point. He was opposing things that were obviously against the law. For instance, the state set up the following scenario (and this was after we had a 40minute discussion as to what reasonable doubt actually meant AKA a damn beating):
If the state has one witness and that one witness is according to you believable and reliable and you feel is telling the truth. Can you convict a person on the basis of that one person’s testimony?
Granted this scenario calls for a person to make some assumptions. First, if that is the evidence that the state is providing to prove guilt, and you believe it without a reasonable doubt, then you must convict – by definition of how our laws and court system is designed. Second, whether or not you think that the evidence provided could be more thorough, or that you would rather have more to go on, the law simply states that if you believe what is placed before you without a reasonable doubt, you must convict. It’s that simple.
This guy was all about saying he didn’t believe in that method of justice. It’s like well sir, you should move to Canada or possibly France, because guess what, we’re in America and this is how the show is run. He said he couldn’t be impartial when asked but could give no reason as to why. Which I suppose could be argued that that is his given right as an American to not have to explain himself.
Let me put it to you this way… it was so evident that he had zero desire to be there, that at one point and in the middle of questioning, I turned to him and said – wow, you really don’t want to serve on this jury, do you? And before he could answer I said – why don’t you just raise your hand and say you don’t want to be here. They obviously aren’t going to pick you. He just looked at me like a deer caught in headlights; like how’d you know? C’mon man… really?!
1 juror out.
Aside from him, there was a woman in the front row that followed Juror 42’s lead. When he said anything that got a negative response from the judge or the lawyers, she’d chime in and say something far more excessive. Like when 42 said he couldn’t be impartial ol’girl in the front was like – me either. As a matter of fact, I don’t care what the crime is – I’m giving the max sentence. In between siding with the crazy guy beside me, she’d sigh heavily and deeply while intermittently putting her head down on the railing (as she was in the front row) giving the ultimate eff-you to the court system.
2 jurors out.
There was another lady who when asked if after she’d convicted someone of a felony theft, could she justify all aspects of the sentencing as allotted by the court and the specific crime. For instance, this felony theft charged, if convicted, carried a sentence of 180days up to 2years. This woman responds with – for a felony, I cannot see how 180days or 6months would be enough of a sentence. I could not consider the lowest end of that range for possible sentencing.
3 jurors out.
Aside from the 3 of them, there were a slew of others that raised their hands and said for one reason or another that they could not be impartial.
My dad owned his owned his own company and was a victim of theft…
I was a victim of theft directly…
I worked for a company that was victimized by theft…
My friends were victims of theft…
4, 5, 6…12 jurors out.
Then there were four people that claimed to not be able understand the English language well enough to answer even the simplest of questions. I most closely related this to that car accident where the person who hit you pulls the – no hablo ingles – card. Well that is until the cops get there and then they speak perfect ingles. Nonetheless, the court will not call those people saying that there is a language barrier a liar.
16 jurors out.
Finally in this category, you have the famous last minute – oh shit, people are weeding themselves out so I have better come up with something quickly or my likelihood of serving is increasing with each passing moment.
Enter the following question: does anyone have anything planned within the next couple of days that would prevent you from being able to serve this jury in its entirety? Something that was already previously planned?
And here’s the few people that made me actually laugh out loud in court. My laughter was only drowned out by the simultaneous heavy sighing accompanied by eye rolling from our very Judge. It was by this point that he was ready to commit a felony against one of these rebellious potential jurors.
One guy raises his hand and is vague. He had something on Wednesday that he could not get out of. One thing I have learned about the art of lying AKA the fake call in sick to work – is this… never offer more information than is being requested. Be simple and to the point without ever really saying anything of substance. It’s likely that your work AND the overworked courts will not ask you to provide anything further than your very word. And in this instance, with this juror, the attorney simply asked if it was something that could be rescheduled. Without giving any other details the juror responded – no it’s not and they marked him down as a no and moved on. In my head, I had to applaud that guy. Nicely done, sir – well, played.
17 jurors out.
There was an older man who said he wouldn’t be able to serve because he had a colonoscopy scheduled. When the attorney asked him when it was scheduled, the man answered – oh, no it’s already happened but the simple fact is that I am uncomfortable to sit for long periods of time right now. I laughed – literally, out loud. Now, I’ve got to tell you that I was halfway tempted raise my hand and say that I had broken my coccyx in 6th grade (which is 100% true) and any time that I sit for long periods my tailbone aches. I, however, refrained. I settled with a hardy laugh and the hairy eyeball from the guy.
18 jurors out (on sheer stupidity alone).
And for some reason, I guess this guy’s very informative self-proclamation opened the flood gates of ridiculousness. A woman on the back row raises her hand and shares that she has serious bladder problems and unless the court wanted to adjourn every 15minutes to allow her to relieve herself, she’d most likely not be a good juror candidate. From that, a woman in the front proclaimed that she had ovarian cysts and those caused her great pain daily and not being able to get up and move around at her instant desire to relieve that pain probably wouldn’t work for the courts as well. From there, a guy in the third row says that he has IBS and would have a similar problem to the woman with the bladder condition. It was at this point that the judge put a stop to that nonsense. He reinstructed the jurors that it had to be a planned trip and/or a planned surgery. That just about everyone can come up with a reason that they can’t and/or don’t want to sit and listen for long periods of time. After a remedial lecture about the meaning of ones civic duty, no one else dared to mention anything of the kind again, however the damage was done.
21 jurors out.
Now to some juror math so far – 63 jurors started – 21 jurors that had successfully eliminated themselves from the running = 42 potentials remaining. My odds are starting to look bleak for not being seated on this jury. Couple these people’s ridiculousness with my shitty jury luck to start and before we were halfway done with anything – I made my own proclamation in my head… I’m screwed. I’m going to be on this jury.
The flagrant – I desperately want to be on your jury – Jurors.
There was a gentleman that arrived at my assigned District Courtroom wearing what I deemed his best – gettin’ picked for a jury outfit. This guy was in a 3-piece suit fully equipped with a Troy Duncan bow-tie that matched his suit vest. He spoke extremely proper English – annoying even to a native speaker; forced almost. My throat hurt just listening to the guy annunciate each word in its exact perfection. Any time he had the opportunity to raise his hand and give an opinion, he would do just that. He would say exactly what he thought the attorney’s wanted to hear and in perfectly indented paragraphs. I swear, I could almost see the paragraph sigh, every time he’d being a new and extended paragraph with an intro sentence, three complex sentences and conclusion sentence to sum up how perfect he was for this jury. It was impressive really. I find it near impossible that that is how he actually is in real life. Anyone who calls this man a friend outside of the courtroom needs to slap the shit out of him.
22 jurors out.
There was also a woman in this category. She was more calculated. She answered the questions in exact perfection without sounding to emphatic or eager. Her flaw however, was that in order to maintain control she sat on her hands and almost swayed back and forth as to keep an exact pace with the perfect words coming out of her mouth. She was spotted immediately. Good try sweet cheeks; good old Blind Liberty wasn’t buying that day.
23 jurors out.
The – I would rather be doing something else, but understand my responsibility to answer the questions honestly and if I get called, I will serve – Jurors.
Here’s where I fell. Most of the other 40 jurors were in this category too. Some teetered on the edge so as to say – I will if you want me to, but I’d really rather not. With my previous jury luck and how many people had managed to eliminate themselves before I even had a chance to talk, I had chalked it up to the fact that I was serving on this jury no matter what I had to say. And then THIS happened...
The defense lawyer asks the following question: If you had to choose between these 2 types of punishment, which would you favor – Rehabilitation or Deterrent?
Now, I’m Juror 43, Angela Williams and he began going down the list of jurors in order, starting with Juror 1. As people are answering Rehabilitation, Deterrent, Rehabilitation, Rehabilitation, Deterrent, etc. it dawns on me, that I have no real basis to make that kind of conclusion. I have 42 jurors to get through coupled with some people needing more definition around the words Rehabilitation and Deterrent before I have to give my answer. I start to think. Which I truly believe was my first problem. How do I know what I would lean towards? What if they’d tried to rehabilitate several times and it didn’t work. Well in that case, I’d potentially lean towards deterrent – and vice versa.
When it gets to Juror 43, Angela Williams and without hesitation I say – well, I think it would depend. I could tell that the defense attorney wasn’t extremely pleased with my answer and stared at me seeking further explanation. I only offered – you know, depending on the situation.
AND THERE’S WHERE I SEALED MY SEAT IN THIS JURY. Like a damn idiot.
After I answered and the defense attorney is still not terribly pleased as he responded with a drawn out – oooook – the judge who had only interjected to make simple clarifications when jurors were being complete idiots says – that is quite possibly the most perfect answer to that question, nicely done Juror 43. Shit. Thanks Judge. Why don’t you just send me to the head of the class where I can get my nose nice and close to your ass? It sure is hard to have a brownnose when I am 4 rows back and this was the first words I had spoken outside of when they’d called role 3 hours previously and I answered a generic – here.
Shit, shit, shit. Way to think Juror 43. I couldn’t even call myself by name at that point. I wasn’t on speaking terms with myself. Stupid 43.
Now you’d think with that kind of response from the judge that everyone after me would have said – it depends. Not one person did. Even the proper English speaker begging for a seat on this jury whom I wanted to punch as he gave his answer of rehabilitation in it’s disjointed perfection.
Not long after this, they deliberated to make their final jury selection. We went into the hall at 3:30pm and by 4:00pm, they’d selected their focal 12 and their alternative 13th. When they call us back in, they begin to call the names of the selected. As the names are being called, it becomes evident quickly that the jury will be predominantly male. I get semi-excited that maybe, just maybe I have beat the system this time. Juror 7 is selected… not me. Juror 8… not me. Juror 9… not me. It’s at this point that I started thinking again. Dumb move number 2. Both dumb moves involved thinking. See a pattern yet? I say to myself – well, there’s only 3 more spots, surely I’m not going to be on this jury. Juror 10… Angela Williams. SHIT.
Without thinking as I grabbed my bag and sweater to make my way to Juror 10’s seat in the jury box, I inadvertently say – damnit. Not a great move, I’ll admit. But it was the first thing I had done without thinking, so by default it was possibly the smartest thing I had done all day.
The judge says in response to my damnit comment – it was probably your amazing answer that got you selected to this jury. To which I replied – well, if you hadn’t sent me to the head of the class, maybe they wouldn’t have noticed. He laughed. He laughed hard. So I figured I would just follow that up with – I’m a jury magnet, it’s ok because I knew this would happen. He laughed hard again. From that point forward, he’d refer to me as Juror 10, Ms. Magnet. I enjoyed it, until I was selected to be Juror 1, Ms. Foreman Magnet. Standard.
The trial was short. It only lasted the morning of December 15th 2009. Once it was all said and done, and we’d reached a verdict and sentence, I hung around to talk to the states lawyers and the judge. I always do. It was probably mistake number 2,000 of mine for the less than 2 days that I was there. Here’s where I learned a valuable piece of information – LISTEN UP. THIS COULD SAVE YOU MY JURY DRAMA IN THE FUTURE!
One of the states attorneys is telling us how they selected some of the jury members that were left hanging around. He looks at me and tells me that no matter what I said or did, I would be on this trial. Furthermore, he knew I would be the foreman. In complete awe, I asked him how that was that he knew that and why was a guarantee without having to say anything at all?
Remember when I said I was on my 1st jury when I was 22 and in haste I had agreed to be the foreman? My mistake 6 years ago had proven to be one that I would carry throughout the rest of my life. As it turns out, each state lawyer can make permanent notes about their juries. If one juror stands out to them, they can comment specifically on that juror. It’s not a paragraph in nature, but enough to know that they should or should not immediately select a person. Since I was 22 and a foreman on a jury of people 2x+ my age and we came back with a quick and fair verdict, I consequentially was left with the following PERMANENT NOTE:
Was the foreman at 22yrs old. EXCEPTIONAL juror.
I shit you not, the states attorney tells me, that the word exceptional was in all caps. He said that’s lawyer talk for you’d be an idiot to not have this person on your jury. Then he followed that up with – so it wasn’t the judge sending you to the head of the class that screwed you, although we all got a good laugh out of that comment.
He then leaned in and whispered to me – no matter what, if the state can help it and you show up in another courtroom, you will be selected.
MOTHER of GOD…
That’s what I get for being a cocky 22year-old. I’m telling you people, there’s no jury dance involved. They almost have their entire 12 selected before you even step through the door – it generally only needs slight by manageable tweaking. Just know if you ever get in a District Courtroom with me, your odds decreased by 1 seat automatically. My stupidity says – you’re welcome as well as NEVER elect to be the foreman.
The small things in life are often learned as you’re paying for your bad decisions made in a fleeting moment that didn’t even register as a decision in that moment. Such is my life.
Monday, December 7, 2009
uh... uncomfortable much...
So this came from a personality/compatibility test that I originally took as a joke from a free online dating site. I'm not ok with what it had to say... mostly because I was like, CAN YOU SEE ME?! I feel like I just got Dr. Phil'd with some BS test that accidently got it a little too right...
I repeat... NOT OK!!
Self-Confidence
As someone with high self-confidence, you feel quite comfortable interacting with other people. Indeed, you find the company of others very stimulating and enjoy meeting new people. Your relaxed demeanor in groups makes people around you comfortable too. Perhaps because you feel comfortable talking about yourself, others tend to enjoy being around you and perceive you as socially competent.
The confidence that helps you feel comfortable talking to people also spills into your own personal beliefs about yourself. Although you have several strengths, it’s likely that you also acknowledge and accept your weaknesses. But unlike some people, you take full responsibility for your actions—you rarely regret things you’ve done in the past and are not embarrassed easily.
Perhaps the defining feature that sets you apart from most people is the exceptionally high standards that you set for yourself. Your competence in social gatherings as well as at work should provide ample evidence for this. With these characteristics, it’s very likely that people come to you for advice and generally think of you as someone with leader-like qualities.
Family Orientation
As someone who respects family values, you tend to enjoy the company of family-members and are open to living a domestic life. If you have children already, you enjoy spending time with them very much and work hard to be a good parent, but may occasionally wish to “cut-loose” and let your true colors show.
If you don’t have children, you probably desire having a family sometime in the distant future. Although you occasionally enjoy cooking at home, you also like going to restaurants. This has the potential to create added stress as you transition into parenthood.
You are attracted to the idea of having a family and may be willing to work hard to achieve this, although not necessarily any time soon. This conflict is illustrated by the fact that you don’t mind doing things around the house—like cooking and entertaining guests—on the one hand. But, on the other hand, you also like going to restaurants and parties. It’s possible that in time you might prefer spending time at home more because you won’t feel like you’re missing anything when you don’t go out.
One aspect of yourself that makes you likely to become more family oriented is that you generally know how to manage your frustrations and work well on your own. This means that you have some of the basic ingredients to enjoy family life. Maintaining a tidy home, keeping a well-stocked kitchen, and making sure the kids are safe is a tough job. So attending to these things, while also taking care of yourself, may prove somewhat difficult for you.
Self-Control
The self-control personality dimension captures the way in which a person regulates and directs him or herself. Being low in self-control can be both good and bad. Occasionally people may be compelled to follow their intuitions and give in to their temptations, and your degree of self-control makes this likely to happen more often than not. This can be good in circumstances where being relaxed and open are important. However, in situations where it is necessary to be focused and careful, you might find that you do or say things that may be inappropriate.
As someone who exerts little control over your actions, you may find that you commit social blunders that might offend other people and get yourself in trouble. For example, if you’re given responsibility to work on a project that requires close attention to detail, you may be likely to overlook important details because you have difficulty staying focused. Consequently, you might feel more comfortable delegating such tasks to other people who are more detail oriented. Being able to recognize such characteristics in yourself and having more detail-oriented people do such tasks could be an effective way to manage your own stress level.
Low self-control may diminish your effectiveness at work. Acting too relaxed can make it difficult for you to focus on projects that require organized sequences of steps or stages. Thus, your ability to accomplish may be inconsistent. Indeed, it’s possible that you might be criticized periodically for being unreliable or unable to “stay within the lines.” Nonetheless, you may still experience many short-lived pleasures and never be thought of as boring.
Openness
As someone high in openness, you have a strong appreciation for beauty, both in art and nature. Indeed, it’s likely that you are easily absorbed in music and art, as well as natural phenomena. Another aspect of your openness is your emotional insight; that is, you probably have good access to and awareness of your own emotions.
Another aspect of the openness dimension is the tendency to think about abstract concepts and ideas. This thinking style may take the form of artistic and metaphorical use of language, and/or music composition or performance. Thus, it is likely that, either in your work or spare time, you enjoy activities that get your “creative juices” flowing.
Your tendency to be open-minded can have advantages and disadvantages. For instance, when there are no clear rules about how to approach a particular problem, your openness makes it easier for you to identify new ways to solve problems that might not be very obvious to people that are not as open as you are. In contrast, you may be bored easily in situations that lack high amounts of intellectual stimulation. In such cases, you might have difficulty excelling on projects that do not provide much stimulation or require much creative thinking.
Easygoingness
Easygoingness refers to one's ability to relax. Based on your score, you appear to work and play hard. The benefits of being moderate in easygoingness are that you achieve success through hard work, but you also know when and how to relax. Your colleagues and friends likely consider you as reliable and fun to be around.
Being moderate in easygoingness can cause you some stress, however. For example, you may sometimes find it difficult to complete tasks thoroughly and efficiently, which can cause stress for both you and the people around you. You may occasionally experience stress by working hard to reach your goals, but you value having fun and just relaxing. Knowing how to balance both work and play is a gift, and you have the key ingredients for doing this.
You have enough mental flexibility to think creatively and enough focus to implement those ideas well. This might be epitomized by your occasional difficulty focusing on subtle details, but the ease with which you’re able to adjust to changes in your life.
As someone who is neither rigid nor careless, you likely get along with most people well. On the one hand, you recognize the value of working hard and therefore consider such qualities in others beneficial. On the other hand, you know how to relax and thus appreciate people that know how to do this too. Chances are your friends and colleagues perceive you as someone that works hard, but also knows how to have a good time.
How does your personality affect your love life?
Given the strong degree of confidence that you have, it’s no surprise that you get along well with most people. Indeed, it’s self-confidence that allows people to feel comfortable interacting with others without feeling insecure and vulnerable. For this reason, you shouldn’t have much difficulty in romance, at least not initially. Your social skills will likely help relieve any anxiety your romantic partners might have on those first few dates. However, over time, the high standards that you have for yourself could potentially frustrate your partner.
Because you respect family values but appreciate a good night out on the town, you probably get along well with people that are different from you. For this reason, you would probably be quite content in a romantic relationship with someone who shares your same values on these issues. Being in a relationship with someone who enjoys going out to parties and staying-up late at night might be fun, at least initially; yet it’s likely that you will find this tiring over time. Thus, it might be easier and more satisfying for you to develop a long-lasting relationship with a person who enjoys both spending time at home and going out to eat.
As someone who is more relaxed than most people, you’ll likely be attracted to most people. However, your free-spirited nature might make being in a relationship with a person that is more rigid than you difficult because you might perceive the person as being too uptight and controlling. For this reason, you may ultimately be most satisfied in a relationship with someone that is shares your level of self-control.
Your openness probably makes it easy for you to respect and appreciate people that are different from you. However, when it comes to romantic relationships, your openness might make it difficult for you to tolerate people that cannot appreciate diversity as much as you. Therefore, you may be happiest in serious relationships with people that share your open-mindedness. But, your openness might occasionally cause a certain degree of dependency on your end because you may be so open that you easily adopt the preferences and habits of your partners and gradually relinquish things that make you so unique.
I repeat... NOT OK!!
Self-Confidence
As someone with high self-confidence, you feel quite comfortable interacting with other people. Indeed, you find the company of others very stimulating and enjoy meeting new people. Your relaxed demeanor in groups makes people around you comfortable too. Perhaps because you feel comfortable talking about yourself, others tend to enjoy being around you and perceive you as socially competent.
The confidence that helps you feel comfortable talking to people also spills into your own personal beliefs about yourself. Although you have several strengths, it’s likely that you also acknowledge and accept your weaknesses. But unlike some people, you take full responsibility for your actions—you rarely regret things you’ve done in the past and are not embarrassed easily.
Perhaps the defining feature that sets you apart from most people is the exceptionally high standards that you set for yourself. Your competence in social gatherings as well as at work should provide ample evidence for this. With these characteristics, it’s very likely that people come to you for advice and generally think of you as someone with leader-like qualities.
Family Orientation
As someone who respects family values, you tend to enjoy the company of family-members and are open to living a domestic life. If you have children already, you enjoy spending time with them very much and work hard to be a good parent, but may occasionally wish to “cut-loose” and let your true colors show.
If you don’t have children, you probably desire having a family sometime in the distant future. Although you occasionally enjoy cooking at home, you also like going to restaurants. This has the potential to create added stress as you transition into parenthood.
You are attracted to the idea of having a family and may be willing to work hard to achieve this, although not necessarily any time soon. This conflict is illustrated by the fact that you don’t mind doing things around the house—like cooking and entertaining guests—on the one hand. But, on the other hand, you also like going to restaurants and parties. It’s possible that in time you might prefer spending time at home more because you won’t feel like you’re missing anything when you don’t go out.
One aspect of yourself that makes you likely to become more family oriented is that you generally know how to manage your frustrations and work well on your own. This means that you have some of the basic ingredients to enjoy family life. Maintaining a tidy home, keeping a well-stocked kitchen, and making sure the kids are safe is a tough job. So attending to these things, while also taking care of yourself, may prove somewhat difficult for you.
Self-Control
The self-control personality dimension captures the way in which a person regulates and directs him or herself. Being low in self-control can be both good and bad. Occasionally people may be compelled to follow their intuitions and give in to their temptations, and your degree of self-control makes this likely to happen more often than not. This can be good in circumstances where being relaxed and open are important. However, in situations where it is necessary to be focused and careful, you might find that you do or say things that may be inappropriate.
As someone who exerts little control over your actions, you may find that you commit social blunders that might offend other people and get yourself in trouble. For example, if you’re given responsibility to work on a project that requires close attention to detail, you may be likely to overlook important details because you have difficulty staying focused. Consequently, you might feel more comfortable delegating such tasks to other people who are more detail oriented. Being able to recognize such characteristics in yourself and having more detail-oriented people do such tasks could be an effective way to manage your own stress level.
Low self-control may diminish your effectiveness at work. Acting too relaxed can make it difficult for you to focus on projects that require organized sequences of steps or stages. Thus, your ability to accomplish may be inconsistent. Indeed, it’s possible that you might be criticized periodically for being unreliable or unable to “stay within the lines.” Nonetheless, you may still experience many short-lived pleasures and never be thought of as boring.
Openness
As someone high in openness, you have a strong appreciation for beauty, both in art and nature. Indeed, it’s likely that you are easily absorbed in music and art, as well as natural phenomena. Another aspect of your openness is your emotional insight; that is, you probably have good access to and awareness of your own emotions.
Another aspect of the openness dimension is the tendency to think about abstract concepts and ideas. This thinking style may take the form of artistic and metaphorical use of language, and/or music composition or performance. Thus, it is likely that, either in your work or spare time, you enjoy activities that get your “creative juices” flowing.
Your tendency to be open-minded can have advantages and disadvantages. For instance, when there are no clear rules about how to approach a particular problem, your openness makes it easier for you to identify new ways to solve problems that might not be very obvious to people that are not as open as you are. In contrast, you may be bored easily in situations that lack high amounts of intellectual stimulation. In such cases, you might have difficulty excelling on projects that do not provide much stimulation or require much creative thinking.
Easygoingness
Easygoingness refers to one's ability to relax. Based on your score, you appear to work and play hard. The benefits of being moderate in easygoingness are that you achieve success through hard work, but you also know when and how to relax. Your colleagues and friends likely consider you as reliable and fun to be around.
Being moderate in easygoingness can cause you some stress, however. For example, you may sometimes find it difficult to complete tasks thoroughly and efficiently, which can cause stress for both you and the people around you. You may occasionally experience stress by working hard to reach your goals, but you value having fun and just relaxing. Knowing how to balance both work and play is a gift, and you have the key ingredients for doing this.
You have enough mental flexibility to think creatively and enough focus to implement those ideas well. This might be epitomized by your occasional difficulty focusing on subtle details, but the ease with which you’re able to adjust to changes in your life.
As someone who is neither rigid nor careless, you likely get along with most people well. On the one hand, you recognize the value of working hard and therefore consider such qualities in others beneficial. On the other hand, you know how to relax and thus appreciate people that know how to do this too. Chances are your friends and colleagues perceive you as someone that works hard, but also knows how to have a good time.
How does your personality affect your love life?
Given the strong degree of confidence that you have, it’s no surprise that you get along well with most people. Indeed, it’s self-confidence that allows people to feel comfortable interacting with others without feeling insecure and vulnerable. For this reason, you shouldn’t have much difficulty in romance, at least not initially. Your social skills will likely help relieve any anxiety your romantic partners might have on those first few dates. However, over time, the high standards that you have for yourself could potentially frustrate your partner.
Because you respect family values but appreciate a good night out on the town, you probably get along well with people that are different from you. For this reason, you would probably be quite content in a romantic relationship with someone who shares your same values on these issues. Being in a relationship with someone who enjoys going out to parties and staying-up late at night might be fun, at least initially; yet it’s likely that you will find this tiring over time. Thus, it might be easier and more satisfying for you to develop a long-lasting relationship with a person who enjoys both spending time at home and going out to eat.
As someone who is more relaxed than most people, you’ll likely be attracted to most people. However, your free-spirited nature might make being in a relationship with a person that is more rigid than you difficult because you might perceive the person as being too uptight and controlling. For this reason, you may ultimately be most satisfied in a relationship with someone that is shares your level of self-control.
Your openness probably makes it easy for you to respect and appreciate people that are different from you. However, when it comes to romantic relationships, your openness might make it difficult for you to tolerate people that cannot appreciate diversity as much as you. Therefore, you may be happiest in serious relationships with people that share your open-mindedness. But, your openness might occasionally cause a certain degree of dependency on your end because you may be so open that you easily adopt the preferences and habits of your partners and gradually relinquish things that make you so unique.
Friday, September 18, 2009
rejecting men my fathers age… one sad man at a time…
First off, I’d like to say that I was on point last night. I actually surprised myself with how on point I actually was. And when I say this, I actually mean it – I was my own hero last night.
Casey, his girlfriend Seph and I end up at the Outer Marker last night. Now, you go to the Outer Marker to relax in an extremely nonthreatening environment. It’s definitely not where you go if you are looking to find a soul mate or to get laid, for that matter. The waitresses are all way past their prime, drink openly on the job and fall into the – rode hard, put up wet – category. The majority of the patrons are not much better. There is usually a sprinkling of decent-to-hot guys there, but you know it’s only because they thought it would be a cool place to check out, get there and realize it’s not where they’re gonna get laid and rotate out fairly quickly. The other 95% of the patrons are all older men; men my dads age and up.
Our positioning in the bar was not meant to be strategic, but rather dumb luck that ended up resulting in one funny story after another. I suggested we shoot a little pool and the table that was open and most convenient was the one that everyone in the bar had to pass to get to the bathrooms. That lent for the guys who never would have approached us in any other bar on any other day to have a reason to talk to us while on the way to the bathroom. And let me tell you, that’s exactly what happened.
I’ll just pick a few of the more entertaining encounters…
>> Encounter One: Creepy Dude <<
Short, fat, balding, sweating profusely, roughly 48 years old.
He walks up as if he’s going to the bathroom and he makes eye-contact with me. I immediately knew that our eye-contact was an inadvertent approval on my part for him to strike up a conversation with me. Which, he did…
Him – I’ve been watching you and your friend for the last hour or so and you two haven’t moved. Are you not having fun?
Me – We’ve been shooting pool, what are you talking about we haven’t moved?
Him – Seriously, I’ve watched you for the last hour or so and I swear you two just don’t look like you’re having any fun.
Me – Wait a minute, you’ve been watching us for the last hour? I have to tell you man, that makes you a bit creepy.
Him – I’m not creepy… I’m…
I put my finger up so as to say one second, lean over to Seph and say…
Watch this, all creepy dudes who get called out on being creepy try and say that they aren’t creepy but that they’re…
AND I SHIT YOU NOT… at the exact same time that I get to that part in my statement, this guy starts talking again and in unison we both say…
Me – He’s gonna tell us he’s not creepy he’s…
Him – I’m not creepy, I’m more…
TOGETHER – Observant.
Then, I laughed. Really hard. Like the kinda laugh that you do when someone gets to the punch line of a joke that you thought was gonna be totally gay and then for some strange reason it made a 90 degree turn to hilarious. Yeah, exactly like that.
All he was wearing in that moment was a look of bewilderment as he physically felt his confidence float away. It was unfortunate really, because I’m not all that clever but like I said before – I was on point last night.
Him – No, I mean, I have just passed by here twice already and I just made an observation and wanted to make sure you were having fun.
Me – I don’t know what’s worse… that you have been staring at us for over an hour and that’s a bit creepy OR the fact that you have crossed by here twice and I didn’t even notice you.
Fine, my last statement was a bit shitty, but this guy had taken a step into my personal bubble, put his hand on my shoulder and was about to explain in drunken detail why he’s harmless and just observant. I was out on it and the last thing I said to him, made him prioritize going to the bathroom over convincing me of anything.
Angela: 1:0
Rejected Old Dude: 0:1
>> Encounter Two: I’m a Pool Shark <<
Tall, extremely overweight, red wine spilled on his white shirt, some weird gianormous growth that made him look like he had boobs on his stomach, gap in his unkempt teeth, roughly 52 years old.
So Pool Shark was watching us shoot pool for a few games. Then he did what any pool player who wants to play someone does and that’s to walk up and make a comment about the skill of the players. Generally, it’s a complimentary comment – sometimes shitty to rile a person up to be more motivated to play just to prove they’re good. The latter has a lower success ratio. This guy married the two tactics… unsuccessfully.
Him – You guys are pretty good. I was watching you guys play.
Me – You wanna play a game?
Him – I don’t play for anything less than ten-grand (and he was 100% serious).
Me – Are you kidding me? Who says that, first off? And second, anyone who throws that out there 2 sentences into a conversation while at a classy establishment like the Outer Marker, kinda falls into the douche bag category for me.
Him – I don’t care what you think of me. I could beat you playing left handed and I’m a righty.
Me – I could beat you playing with one handed.
(Now, I was truly talking shit at this point because he was annoying the shit out of me and I was already a few shots in and definitely should NOT have been making such bold statements. Oh yeah, and I suck shooting pool 1 handed – it would have been a massacre.)
Him – I paid my way through college taking money from people like you.
Me – I never said anything about playing for money. That was all you, man. I asked if you wanted to play a game on a dollar table with missing pieces and divots in the felt in a shit-hole dive bar. You know, for fun.
Him – That was your first mistake sweetheart. I don’t play for fun.
Me – Then why are you even over here? Did you think that you’d walk up say you only play for ten-grand and that I’d run out the ATM and say… let’s do this shit? And PS – I call bullshit on your shooting capabilities. Anyone who runs their mouth like you do deserves to lose what remaining teeth they have with the force of an on-coming right hook. Fortunately for you, you’re standing to my right and I’m too drunk to take a swing that would satiate my conviction of how truly annoying you really are.
And on that note… he mouthed something else shitty that I couldn’t make out and walked over to the bathroom, like that’s was his intention the whole time. He showed back up to our table mouthing a little later to which I was like – alright big guy… rack ‘em. Yeah, I lost. Which kinda sucked because #1 – I really wanted to beat the shit out of him but I only lost by 1 ball, so it wasn’t a massacre; #2 – Made all my previous shit talking nil and void; and #3 – I probably shouldn’t have been challenging people to pool at that point but rather throwing up the debauchery that I had consumed.
Angela: 1:1
Rejected Old Dude: 1:1
>> Encounter Three: Bill <<
Nice guy, tall, pleasant to be around, roughly 70 years old.
I’m leaning over the pool table, lining up yet another 8-ball shot that will win Seph and me yet another game against Casey. He’s eagerly waiting for me to miss the shot. I’m taking my time lining it up, relining it up, considering the table scratches and basically stalling. It was an easy shot… and I was clearly being dramatic followed by a horrible winner. When I backed up to look at the shot again, I backed-up into Bill. He was an old guy but nothing but smiles. So, I started talking to him.
Him – I bet you can’t make that shot.
Me – What do want to bet?
Him – I just bet you don’t make it.
Me – Oh, that’s no fun! What are you drinking?
Him – Crown.
Me – What’s your name?
Him – Bill.
Me – I’m Angela. I tell you what Bill, if I miss this shot, I will buy you a crown. If I make it, you will buy me a Miller Lite.
Him – Fair enough, but don’t miss!
And we shook on it. I stop screwing around and shoot it right in the pocket. Clean win. Perfection coupled with Redemption from the incident with Pool Shark. And Bill, a true man of his word, immediately flags down his waitress and orders me a Miller Lite. Then he tells his waitress that whatever I want tonight, to put it on his tab. I didn’t take him up on the offer, but I did decide that I’d do some harmless flirting. I figured I would be that bitch in a bar that took advantage of an old dude by just transferring my tab to him. However, if he offered… and ordered it from the waitress… then that was totally different. It’s not, but in that moment, it made me feel like less of a bitch.
And thus birthed Bill’s and my Outer Marker relationship.
Bill decided that Seph and I were school teachers. I didn’t even want to try to explain what an IT recruiter does so I said – Wow… you called it. I teach 3rd grade. Seph picked Kindergarten. I got a laugh.
During the course of the night, Bill would come over and say – Are you ready for another one? And my response (which got more and more belligerent as the night progressed) I’m always ready for another one, Bill!
Seriously, Bill was buying 5 to 6 shots per round – all Jagerbombs – and he easily bought 5 or 6 rounds. I’m actually not sure how many rounds he did buy because I lost count of how many of them I had actually taken. All I know is that Seph and Casey were gonna bail out and go to another bar, but when the drinks were flowing that resulted in me saying bye and be safe as we left Outer Marker at 2:30am. That’s right 30-minutes after the bar officially closed. I love the Outer Marker.
Funny part about Bill and I is that we both knew that it was never gonna happen between us. You know, he’s old… I’m not. Would never work really, no matter how many Jagerbombs and Miller Lites he bought me. But damn it Bill… I applaud you for trying!
Angela: 2:1
Rejected Old Dude: 1:2
>> Encounter Four: Bill’s Booty Call <<
Short little thing, dark hair – unnaturally dark for a lady her age, pissy, roughly 70 years old.
So there we are hanging out with our new best friend Bill when out of nowhere this little thing comes flying through, grabs Bill’s arm and says something shitty to him. The only thing I could really make out was…
Really Bill? Is this the shit you’re gonna pull…
I was standing to the left of Bill and this little fella had maneuvered in between us to bitch at Bill. And then he did the most amazing thing. He looked at me and said – can you believe her? To which I did not respond, but rather stood there wide-eyed kinda nervous about the situation at hand. Because if she turns out to be feisty, which she obviously was, and she hauls off and hits me… well, that puts me in an awkward position really.
I mean, I can’t a 70 year old tiny, yet hostile woman. Can I? Even if she hit me first? I don’t think that that’s appropriate. You know, it takes a lot to get kicked out of the Outer Marker, but getting kicked out for punching an old lady in the face really seemed like something that I did not want to add to my punch card (no pun intended). Furthermore, it’d be a fight over Bill. Shit, I was already 4-sheet to the wind. Someone cutting me off at that point wouldn’t have been a terribly horrible thing. Because lord knows, if you’d asked me, I was good to keep drinking even after the bar closed. But before it got to that point, she stormed off and went to the bathroom.
Me – Dude, is that your lady?
Him – No, a friend.
Me – A booty call?
Him – A friend.
Me – Friends don’t get mad like that and over this. They cheer you on.
And it was in that moment, when Bill smiled coyly at me, that I realized that Bill was a pimp. Go Bill. Wait… what does that mean in regards to me? I started to speculate that while my flirting was innocent, he was carefully calculating how much Jager it would take me to say yes to Viagra. And then as quickly as it had all started, it reached not fun anymore with a screeching halt.
His gal must’ve gone to the bathroom like a million times. I wasn’t sure if it was because she was old and had to go a lot, if she was just going so often to eye our group, or a combination of the two.
Either way… By that point Bill had moved on to Seph. I casually found myself in a game of pool pausing for the Jager shots. Bill and I didn’t talk much after that. Furthermore, it would now be Seph that was faced with punching a 70-year old lady. And while I was in semi-panic mode when it was me in the situation, I secretly decided it would be funny as shit if that happened. I was kinda rooting for it, actually. It didn’t.
Angela: 3:1
Rejected Old Dude: 1:3
AND FINALLY… I felt like since I witnessed this happen about 400x last night that I would at least devote a few lines to the bathrooms at the Outer Marker. I never thought that a swing door could be so hard to use. It was like people had forgotten how to use doors and furthermore forgotten how to read the words Men and Women.
You’d get guys that would walk up and stare at the two doors. Like you knew they were thinking – c’mon man… it’s 50/50… pick one… the odds are in your favor. And more often then not, that conclusion led to them heading towards the women’s bathroom. I can’t count how many people we stopped from going into the wrong bathroom.
Furthermore, the doors just push – in. But 90% of the time, they would try and push on the wrong side of the door, then attempt to press the other side, and nothing was working. Like they’re thinking – is this a trick door? No, silly me – it’s only a 1-staller and there’s someone using it. I’ll wait. PS – it’s not a 1-staller… there are 2 in there AND the door opens, if you’d… oh… I dunno – PUSH IT.
Bathroom Doors: 38:2
Drunk People: 2:38
Casey, his girlfriend Seph and I end up at the Outer Marker last night. Now, you go to the Outer Marker to relax in an extremely nonthreatening environment. It’s definitely not where you go if you are looking to find a soul mate or to get laid, for that matter. The waitresses are all way past their prime, drink openly on the job and fall into the – rode hard, put up wet – category. The majority of the patrons are not much better. There is usually a sprinkling of decent-to-hot guys there, but you know it’s only because they thought it would be a cool place to check out, get there and realize it’s not where they’re gonna get laid and rotate out fairly quickly. The other 95% of the patrons are all older men; men my dads age and up.
Our positioning in the bar was not meant to be strategic, but rather dumb luck that ended up resulting in one funny story after another. I suggested we shoot a little pool and the table that was open and most convenient was the one that everyone in the bar had to pass to get to the bathrooms. That lent for the guys who never would have approached us in any other bar on any other day to have a reason to talk to us while on the way to the bathroom. And let me tell you, that’s exactly what happened.
I’ll just pick a few of the more entertaining encounters…
>> Encounter One: Creepy Dude <<
Short, fat, balding, sweating profusely, roughly 48 years old.
He walks up as if he’s going to the bathroom and he makes eye-contact with me. I immediately knew that our eye-contact was an inadvertent approval on my part for him to strike up a conversation with me. Which, he did…
Him – I’ve been watching you and your friend for the last hour or so and you two haven’t moved. Are you not having fun?
Me – We’ve been shooting pool, what are you talking about we haven’t moved?
Him – Seriously, I’ve watched you for the last hour or so and I swear you two just don’t look like you’re having any fun.
Me – Wait a minute, you’ve been watching us for the last hour? I have to tell you man, that makes you a bit creepy.
Him – I’m not creepy… I’m…
I put my finger up so as to say one second, lean over to Seph and say…
Watch this, all creepy dudes who get called out on being creepy try and say that they aren’t creepy but that they’re…
AND I SHIT YOU NOT… at the exact same time that I get to that part in my statement, this guy starts talking again and in unison we both say…
Me – He’s gonna tell us he’s not creepy he’s…
Him – I’m not creepy, I’m more…
TOGETHER – Observant.
Then, I laughed. Really hard. Like the kinda laugh that you do when someone gets to the punch line of a joke that you thought was gonna be totally gay and then for some strange reason it made a 90 degree turn to hilarious. Yeah, exactly like that.
All he was wearing in that moment was a look of bewilderment as he physically felt his confidence float away. It was unfortunate really, because I’m not all that clever but like I said before – I was on point last night.
Him – No, I mean, I have just passed by here twice already and I just made an observation and wanted to make sure you were having fun.
Me – I don’t know what’s worse… that you have been staring at us for over an hour and that’s a bit creepy OR the fact that you have crossed by here twice and I didn’t even notice you.
Fine, my last statement was a bit shitty, but this guy had taken a step into my personal bubble, put his hand on my shoulder and was about to explain in drunken detail why he’s harmless and just observant. I was out on it and the last thing I said to him, made him prioritize going to the bathroom over convincing me of anything.
Angela: 1:0
Rejected Old Dude: 0:1
>> Encounter Two: I’m a Pool Shark <<
Tall, extremely overweight, red wine spilled on his white shirt, some weird gianormous growth that made him look like he had boobs on his stomach, gap in his unkempt teeth, roughly 52 years old.
So Pool Shark was watching us shoot pool for a few games. Then he did what any pool player who wants to play someone does and that’s to walk up and make a comment about the skill of the players. Generally, it’s a complimentary comment – sometimes shitty to rile a person up to be more motivated to play just to prove they’re good. The latter has a lower success ratio. This guy married the two tactics… unsuccessfully.
Him – You guys are pretty good. I was watching you guys play.
Me – You wanna play a game?
Him – I don’t play for anything less than ten-grand (and he was 100% serious).
Me – Are you kidding me? Who says that, first off? And second, anyone who throws that out there 2 sentences into a conversation while at a classy establishment like the Outer Marker, kinda falls into the douche bag category for me.
Him – I don’t care what you think of me. I could beat you playing left handed and I’m a righty.
Me – I could beat you playing with one handed.
(Now, I was truly talking shit at this point because he was annoying the shit out of me and I was already a few shots in and definitely should NOT have been making such bold statements. Oh yeah, and I suck shooting pool 1 handed – it would have been a massacre.)
Him – I paid my way through college taking money from people like you.
Me – I never said anything about playing for money. That was all you, man. I asked if you wanted to play a game on a dollar table with missing pieces and divots in the felt in a shit-hole dive bar. You know, for fun.
Him – That was your first mistake sweetheart. I don’t play for fun.
Me – Then why are you even over here? Did you think that you’d walk up say you only play for ten-grand and that I’d run out the ATM and say… let’s do this shit? And PS – I call bullshit on your shooting capabilities. Anyone who runs their mouth like you do deserves to lose what remaining teeth they have with the force of an on-coming right hook. Fortunately for you, you’re standing to my right and I’m too drunk to take a swing that would satiate my conviction of how truly annoying you really are.
And on that note… he mouthed something else shitty that I couldn’t make out and walked over to the bathroom, like that’s was his intention the whole time. He showed back up to our table mouthing a little later to which I was like – alright big guy… rack ‘em. Yeah, I lost. Which kinda sucked because #1 – I really wanted to beat the shit out of him but I only lost by 1 ball, so it wasn’t a massacre; #2 – Made all my previous shit talking nil and void; and #3 – I probably shouldn’t have been challenging people to pool at that point but rather throwing up the debauchery that I had consumed.
Angela: 1:1
Rejected Old Dude: 1:1
>> Encounter Three: Bill <<
Nice guy, tall, pleasant to be around, roughly 70 years old.
I’m leaning over the pool table, lining up yet another 8-ball shot that will win Seph and me yet another game against Casey. He’s eagerly waiting for me to miss the shot. I’m taking my time lining it up, relining it up, considering the table scratches and basically stalling. It was an easy shot… and I was clearly being dramatic followed by a horrible winner. When I backed up to look at the shot again, I backed-up into Bill. He was an old guy but nothing but smiles. So, I started talking to him.
Him – I bet you can’t make that shot.
Me – What do want to bet?
Him – I just bet you don’t make it.
Me – Oh, that’s no fun! What are you drinking?
Him – Crown.
Me – What’s your name?
Him – Bill.
Me – I’m Angela. I tell you what Bill, if I miss this shot, I will buy you a crown. If I make it, you will buy me a Miller Lite.
Him – Fair enough, but don’t miss!
And we shook on it. I stop screwing around and shoot it right in the pocket. Clean win. Perfection coupled with Redemption from the incident with Pool Shark. And Bill, a true man of his word, immediately flags down his waitress and orders me a Miller Lite. Then he tells his waitress that whatever I want tonight, to put it on his tab. I didn’t take him up on the offer, but I did decide that I’d do some harmless flirting. I figured I would be that bitch in a bar that took advantage of an old dude by just transferring my tab to him. However, if he offered… and ordered it from the waitress… then that was totally different. It’s not, but in that moment, it made me feel like less of a bitch.
And thus birthed Bill’s and my Outer Marker relationship.
Bill decided that Seph and I were school teachers. I didn’t even want to try to explain what an IT recruiter does so I said – Wow… you called it. I teach 3rd grade. Seph picked Kindergarten. I got a laugh.
During the course of the night, Bill would come over and say – Are you ready for another one? And my response (which got more and more belligerent as the night progressed) I’m always ready for another one, Bill!
Seriously, Bill was buying 5 to 6 shots per round – all Jagerbombs – and he easily bought 5 or 6 rounds. I’m actually not sure how many rounds he did buy because I lost count of how many of them I had actually taken. All I know is that Seph and Casey were gonna bail out and go to another bar, but when the drinks were flowing that resulted in me saying bye and be safe as we left Outer Marker at 2:30am. That’s right 30-minutes after the bar officially closed. I love the Outer Marker.
Funny part about Bill and I is that we both knew that it was never gonna happen between us. You know, he’s old… I’m not. Would never work really, no matter how many Jagerbombs and Miller Lites he bought me. But damn it Bill… I applaud you for trying!
Angela: 2:1
Rejected Old Dude: 1:2
>> Encounter Four: Bill’s Booty Call <<
Short little thing, dark hair – unnaturally dark for a lady her age, pissy, roughly 70 years old.
So there we are hanging out with our new best friend Bill when out of nowhere this little thing comes flying through, grabs Bill’s arm and says something shitty to him. The only thing I could really make out was…
Really Bill? Is this the shit you’re gonna pull…
I was standing to the left of Bill and this little fella had maneuvered in between us to bitch at Bill. And then he did the most amazing thing. He looked at me and said – can you believe her? To which I did not respond, but rather stood there wide-eyed kinda nervous about the situation at hand. Because if she turns out to be feisty, which she obviously was, and she hauls off and hits me… well, that puts me in an awkward position really.
I mean, I can’t a 70 year old tiny, yet hostile woman. Can I? Even if she hit me first? I don’t think that that’s appropriate. You know, it takes a lot to get kicked out of the Outer Marker, but getting kicked out for punching an old lady in the face really seemed like something that I did not want to add to my punch card (no pun intended). Furthermore, it’d be a fight over Bill. Shit, I was already 4-sheet to the wind. Someone cutting me off at that point wouldn’t have been a terribly horrible thing. Because lord knows, if you’d asked me, I was good to keep drinking even after the bar closed. But before it got to that point, she stormed off and went to the bathroom.
Me – Dude, is that your lady?
Him – No, a friend.
Me – A booty call?
Him – A friend.
Me – Friends don’t get mad like that and over this. They cheer you on.
And it was in that moment, when Bill smiled coyly at me, that I realized that Bill was a pimp. Go Bill. Wait… what does that mean in regards to me? I started to speculate that while my flirting was innocent, he was carefully calculating how much Jager it would take me to say yes to Viagra. And then as quickly as it had all started, it reached not fun anymore with a screeching halt.
His gal must’ve gone to the bathroom like a million times. I wasn’t sure if it was because she was old and had to go a lot, if she was just going so often to eye our group, or a combination of the two.
Either way… By that point Bill had moved on to Seph. I casually found myself in a game of pool pausing for the Jager shots. Bill and I didn’t talk much after that. Furthermore, it would now be Seph that was faced with punching a 70-year old lady. And while I was in semi-panic mode when it was me in the situation, I secretly decided it would be funny as shit if that happened. I was kinda rooting for it, actually. It didn’t.
Angela: 3:1
Rejected Old Dude: 1:3
AND FINALLY… I felt like since I witnessed this happen about 400x last night that I would at least devote a few lines to the bathrooms at the Outer Marker. I never thought that a swing door could be so hard to use. It was like people had forgotten how to use doors and furthermore forgotten how to read the words Men and Women.
You’d get guys that would walk up and stare at the two doors. Like you knew they were thinking – c’mon man… it’s 50/50… pick one… the odds are in your favor. And more often then not, that conclusion led to them heading towards the women’s bathroom. I can’t count how many people we stopped from going into the wrong bathroom.
Furthermore, the doors just push – in. But 90% of the time, they would try and push on the wrong side of the door, then attempt to press the other side, and nothing was working. Like they’re thinking – is this a trick door? No, silly me – it’s only a 1-staller and there’s someone using it. I’ll wait. PS – it’s not a 1-staller… there are 2 in there AND the door opens, if you’d… oh… I dunno – PUSH IT.
Bathroom Doors: 38:2
Drunk People: 2:38
Thursday, September 17, 2009
one of those days...
Today has been one of those days where I wish I could have just slept through it.
On Saturday, I am going to Vegas. Before you get all excited and jealous of me, I am going with my mom on one of our annual mom/daughter trips. I suspect it’ll be the Vegas that I never do when I go with friends – shows, swimming pool, some light gambling and nothing to hip-happening. But it’s a vacation all the same… and I’ll take it.
Last night I was up and down all night feeling the oncomings of possible cold or maybe a sinus infection. This was unacceptable. Around 2am I finally decided that Nyquil was in order to cut the nonsense off at the pass and hopefully get to sleep.
Yeah, so taking Nyquil at 2am turned out to be a horrible idea. I mean sure… I fell asleep alright but it was the waking up part that was a bit sketchy. I would go so far as to say that I slept like a damn dream – sleeping deeply and satisfyingly. And by deeply I mean 2 things. First off, I slept with my arm over my head, what I am assuming to be all night. It was to the point that when I woke up this morning, I had the worst dead arm and was sure that due to lack of circulation, it would have to be amputated. Secondly, the apartment could have burned down around me and I wouldn’t have been the wiser. To further paint the picture – I slept through a minimum of 6 alarms.
Lesson of the day: Don’t take Nyquil after 10pm.
When I woke up, I felt like I was in college again; like I had binge drank the night before coupled with taking a slew of drugs that I forgot to ask what they were or what they’d do before I took them. (Oh those were the days.) And even though I woke up in my own bed, I hadn’t the foggiest of ideas of where I was or if I was even alone for that matter – which resulted in an unanswered ‘hello’ from me. It’s about that time that I realized that I was in my own apartment and alone. Whew… 2 down.
It was 9:40am and I had a team meeting at work at 10am. It so wasn’t in the cards for me to even attempt to make the meeting on time so I mustered up enough energy to log on to my work email and send out a note saying…
“Took Nyquil last night. Apparently I didn’t read the fine print on the directions. Manufactures Note: taking Nyquil after 10pm may result in successfully blocking out the entire world. Throwing on some clothes and heading that way – but it’s highly likely that I won’t make 10am exact for meeting.”
I pulled what little hair I have into a ponytail (which is not an attractive look for me), threw on what I am positive is the exact outfit I wore to work on Monday, tossed on some flops thinking I had heels in the car (which I didn’t) and headed out the door about 3 minutes and 45 seconds after I’d gathered my bearings on the world.
It’s not as if waking up late and missing a meeting was enough, but this ungodly rain just won’t stop. Somehow rain gives people permission to become more of an idiot then they already were on a normal day driving in normal morning traffic. Today was no exception. I am cruising along only to hit dead stopped traffic on the Tollway. That resulted in a second email…
“Yeah. Sitting in dead stopped traffic. Any hopes of me making the meeting, even a little late are off the table. Might as well not even bother waiting.”
As I am on my way to work, I hear my car making a familiar noise. The same one it made when the end result was me having a slight meltdown in the Honda Repair Shops waiting area full of other waiting customers.
Back in January, I had rear-ended a guy on the Tollway in rush hour traffic. Now while I am positively in love with my 2008 Honda Civic, anyone who’s had a Honda or has been in an accident with a Honda knows that they fold up like an accordion when even in a wreck going 5 miles an hour. I didn’t hit the guy all that hard, but the front of my car was jacked. His 1996 Toyota Carolla had a crack in the bumper and that was it. In my opinion, it was something that I wouldn’t even have fixed but this guy was taking things a little too seriously.
The accident happened next to one of the big tollbooths on the North Dallas Tollway and for some reason, cops had been posted up there pulling people over – for reasons I was never really sure of but won the not getting a ticket lottery and didn’t really care about their underlying reasoning for being there. But this guy that I hit was a total tool. He called out to the state trooper to come back and investigate the situation. Investigate the situation, I repeat. A cracked bumper – really?! Granted, I rear-ended the guy, it was my fault and I wasn’t putting up a fight. I was annoyed, but was out of my car with insurance in hand.
The trooper makes his way over to our cars and this guy goes ape-shit; and I am not even kidding you… over a crack that was barely noticeable on a 10+ year old car. Honestly, it coulda been there before I hit the guy… who knows. Anyhow, the guy tells me to stand by my car and that he’d talk to the trooper. Like he was effin in charge or something, but I wasn’t looking to go to jail (again) for an “accidental” assault on a cop or a random dude for that matter.
The trooper comes back to me and tells me that the guy was worried that my insurance wasn’t valid. What the hell?! He’s worried that my insurance isn’t good? Because I look like in my spare time I have a forgery State Farm Insurance Card set up in my apartment? So the trooper says he’s going to run my insurance and my plates to make sure everything is in order. It was on the only times that I told a cop and meant it – You won’t find anything. I’m not worried.
Everything checks out and I am legit, of course, but this dude just won’t let it go. He wants to file a report against me. I tell him, in front of the cop, that I am not going to contest the claim and that I will take full responsibility. It still wasn’t enough. He was insistent on making a claim. So I’m standing there talking to the cop to find out what him making a claim against me actually meant. And that’s when I learned something new about the law.
As it might be, if you rear-end a person, the cops are called and the person you hit wants to make a report – it’s standard protocol that not only the report is filed, but that I automatically get a ticket for tailgating… or what they call following too closely. I start running math in my head and get annoyed.
$250 deductible to fix my car.
$250 to pay a ticket for tailgating.
Car insurance going up $50+ a month for getting in an accident.
This had become a pain in the ass. The cop took one look at me and said something to the effect of – let me go talk to him and see what I can do. You’re not acting belligerent (another first), you’ve taken responsibility for this and so there’s no reason to make a report on it. Agreed. After 30 minutes of the two of them talking, the trooper comes back and tells me that he’s decided not to make a police report. No shit… what the eff for?
I make the claim on my car that night and the next day I take it to the Honda Body Shop for repairs. When I get it back a week-or-so later, it’s making this horrific noise. It was my speculation that when they repaired the front part of my car from the accident, they just didn’t do it right or something was rubbing against something else. But in my mind… it directly correlated to the rear-ending accident.
My car was making a high-pitched squealing noise. Like when you pull up to a light next a gelopi making that loud burst your eardrums pitch of my car sucks sound… yeah, that was me. But it wasn’t making the noise all the time and really it was only bad when I first started driving the car. After it heated up and I’d been driving for longer than 20 minutes, the noise disappeared.
Basically I ignored it until my car made the noise even when I was idling. Inevitably, every time I took it to Honda… it wouldn’t perform. Ran like a dream. Never made a peep. And I got the – wow, chicks shouldn’t have cars look from every Honda representative I encountered. I’d easily gone into Honda 5 times and all 5 times, they sent me away saying – bring it back when it’s making the noise. To which my response was – unless you plan on coming to diagnose this shit at my apt, it will never make the noise once I get it here because it’s warmed up by then. That came with an – I don’t do shit as a Honda Representative – shrug and they sent me on my way.
The 6th time, I was livid pissed by the time I got to Honda. I left work early, scheduled an appointment with them and got to Honda at 3pm. More than enough time for the car to cool and for them to find out what the hell was wrong with it. I sit and wait. And wait. And WAIT. The shop closes at 7pm and I am still sitting there with no car diagnosis at 6:30pm and not so much as a periodic update on what the situation is.
At 6:45pm this minimum wage reject with dreads running half way down his back comes in (to a still full waiting area) and tells me that they can hear nothing. My issue at that point, which I relayed in a calm manner, was this…
Me – Look, I have brought my car in to Honda like 6x and gotten no results. No answer. The noise has gotten progressively worse and all of you guys keep telling me that there is nothing wrong with my car and there blatantly is… I’m telling you there is. It has now officially gotten to the point that I am concerned and fear for my safety by driving this car out of here, yet again. Can you please see what you can do?
Him –Well you can leave the car here over night and we can check it out first thing tomorrow morning when it’s had more than enough time to cool off. Then we can diagnose it for you, hopefully. (PS – the hopefully comment at the end was in a condescending tone of – god, girls and cars… so stupid.)
It’s at this point, that my calm tone, lack of blood sugar and patience is wearing thin.
Me – Are you going to provide me with a car or am I supposed to sleep here?
Him – Did you bring another car?
Now… just that question alone should have gotten him punched directly in the face, but somehow I managed to pull myself together… kinda.
Me – *I flippantly and over-dramatically look around with my hands tossed out to my sides showing him I wasn’t hiding an imaginary 2nd car and driver anywhere in the vicinity and say (dripping with sarcasm)…* Yes. I drove 2 cars up here today. It was hard but I made it happen in case I ran into the expected incompetence that I run into every single time I come in here.
He stares at me for 30+ seconds really trying to make that statement fit into his world, until I break the silence.
Me – No, I don’t have another car. Are you kidding me?
Him – You can bring it back in 1st thing tomorrow and we can keep it until it makes the noise.
Me – And that fixes this problem, how? I have to take more time off work, to bring you my car to sit at Honda all day so that you can “hopefully” hear the noise? Dude, it’s the same problem we have now only it’ll be happening less then 12 hours from now. This is your solution?
Him – If we keep the car tonight and it diagnoses as something that is not covered under your warranty and we put you in a rent car, then you will have to pay for the rent car and $100 for the diagnosis.
He said something else after that… but I was in 100% belligerent mode at this point and thus my Honda meltdown ensued.
Me – *As loudly as possible so the other 10+ waiting people could hear what I was about to say, said… * So you mean to tell me that you are not going to do anything to help me? You mean to tell me that after I have brought my car into Honda 6+ times and the problem that you can’t locate which is getting progressively worse to the point where I fear my safety in this vehicle and you are going to let me walk out of here? That’s how you run a business? Is that what you are telling me?
Him – Uh, well… I don’t know what to tell you.
And then it happened… the lights dimmed and I prepared for the monologue portion…
Me – Well, you can walk your ass back to where you have cars just hanging around and lone me one until you figure out if it’s covered under my warranty or not. Just like you did the last time when you didn’t put my engine back together properly and it almost fell out of my car on the highway. Yeah, I coulda died. Or like the time that you guys forgot to put the oil cap back on after you’d changed it and damn near jacked up the car beyond use. Or how about the time that you…
I am at center stage. All eyes were on me. I have the complete and total attention of whoever was left in the waiting area and I am painting an awful image of the shoddy work they have done over-and-over again.
He cuts me off… to say he’s going to go see what he can do, turns on his heels and walks out. Good call, sir… good call. 7:45pm he returns and says they are going to give me a rental from Enterprise on them. Damn right they were.
Turns out that it was just the power steering and it was ultimately covered. But it was damn dramatic to actually make it happen. And I tell you all that to say, that this morning as I am running late, my brain still in a Nyquil fog, and am sitting in dead stopped traffic, I hear “the noise” and the thought of driving my car into a median was looking like a viable option.
I arrive to work at 11:15am and find a prime parking stop. I start to think that maybe things are going to turn around today, until I spotted him.
Dave. The 39-year old guy who works with the garage dater and asked me on a secret – behind my co-workers back – lunch (that we never went on thank god). You know it’s bad when I will do something in an attempt to avoid the garage dater and/or Dave for that matter. They, 100% of the time, provide a ridiculous blog as an end result of our encounters. But that’s exactly what I planned on doing – avoiding him.
I stand by my car where I can see him but he can’t see me and wait for him to finish smoking so he’d go back in and never even see me and furthermore we wouldn’t have to talk. He’s standing in front of the only entrance into the building, so it was just a waiting game that would last the length of a cigarette. Or so I thought. I wait, and wait and wait.
I started to get restless and had thoughts like – What the eff is he doing? Smoking a whole damn pack? Get done already. I’m so effin late and don’t want to deal with you. He’s moving towards the ashtray… he’s moving… he’s moving… mother effer… he’s lit another smoke. Damn it. This is one Mexican stand-off that I’m not gonna win. I lose. At life.
I decide that I will walk at a fast pace and mutter something like – I am so late as I rush by with an – oh, I didn’t see you – hi when he tries to stop me to talk. Didn’t work; mostly because as I walked fast, it caused me to become light headed. I was already a little light headed and woozy from my 2am bad decision.
Dear Nyquil,
You effin bastard. You’re officially on my shit list, right behind Honda and Subway.
-Angela
Aside: It seems that a majority of all bad decisions start around 2am. I was once arrested around 2am. I got held up at gunpoint in a questionable part of Louisiana around 2am. I ended up in the bed of a pickup truck headed to Nevada around 2am. Just to name a few… granted those all happened many, many years ago, but the theory holds true… nothing good happens after 2am.
He stops me to talk and I have no energy to fend him off and I really needed to sit down to let my head stop spinning. I tuned in and out until he made the statement…
Well, I have to go back to work. So lunch then… Tuesday next week, right?
I unconsciously say “right” and he scurries off.
Wait, what? Lunch? Was I even talking to him? I thought he was just droning on as I was waiting for my head to catch up with my body and for him to get done smoking 20 cigarettes. Apparently I was answering him. Or at the very least, I said I’d agreed to lunch on Tuesday. Which, I must have been on auto pilot with “yes” responses because I am not even back from Vegas on Tuesday at lunch time. Eh whatever.
I picked myself up and headed into the office. I went in through the back entrance to our office space to make 100% sure that I didn’t have to see anyone as I drag my sorry ass in about 3 hours late looking like I had a good time last night. When really, all I want to do is stare at the wall for 6 hours until this Nyquil crap expels itself from my very being.
It’s 1:20pm now… and I have been totally useless. Today has been one of those days where I wish I could have just slept through it.
... but instead, I'll just blog about it.
On Saturday, I am going to Vegas. Before you get all excited and jealous of me, I am going with my mom on one of our annual mom/daughter trips. I suspect it’ll be the Vegas that I never do when I go with friends – shows, swimming pool, some light gambling and nothing to hip-happening. But it’s a vacation all the same… and I’ll take it.
Last night I was up and down all night feeling the oncomings of possible cold or maybe a sinus infection. This was unacceptable. Around 2am I finally decided that Nyquil was in order to cut the nonsense off at the pass and hopefully get to sleep.
Yeah, so taking Nyquil at 2am turned out to be a horrible idea. I mean sure… I fell asleep alright but it was the waking up part that was a bit sketchy. I would go so far as to say that I slept like a damn dream – sleeping deeply and satisfyingly. And by deeply I mean 2 things. First off, I slept with my arm over my head, what I am assuming to be all night. It was to the point that when I woke up this morning, I had the worst dead arm and was sure that due to lack of circulation, it would have to be amputated. Secondly, the apartment could have burned down around me and I wouldn’t have been the wiser. To further paint the picture – I slept through a minimum of 6 alarms.
Lesson of the day: Don’t take Nyquil after 10pm.
When I woke up, I felt like I was in college again; like I had binge drank the night before coupled with taking a slew of drugs that I forgot to ask what they were or what they’d do before I took them. (Oh those were the days.) And even though I woke up in my own bed, I hadn’t the foggiest of ideas of where I was or if I was even alone for that matter – which resulted in an unanswered ‘hello’ from me. It’s about that time that I realized that I was in my own apartment and alone. Whew… 2 down.
It was 9:40am and I had a team meeting at work at 10am. It so wasn’t in the cards for me to even attempt to make the meeting on time so I mustered up enough energy to log on to my work email and send out a note saying…
“Took Nyquil last night. Apparently I didn’t read the fine print on the directions. Manufactures Note: taking Nyquil after 10pm may result in successfully blocking out the entire world. Throwing on some clothes and heading that way – but it’s highly likely that I won’t make 10am exact for meeting.”
I pulled what little hair I have into a ponytail (which is not an attractive look for me), threw on what I am positive is the exact outfit I wore to work on Monday, tossed on some flops thinking I had heels in the car (which I didn’t) and headed out the door about 3 minutes and 45 seconds after I’d gathered my bearings on the world.
It’s not as if waking up late and missing a meeting was enough, but this ungodly rain just won’t stop. Somehow rain gives people permission to become more of an idiot then they already were on a normal day driving in normal morning traffic. Today was no exception. I am cruising along only to hit dead stopped traffic on the Tollway. That resulted in a second email…
“Yeah. Sitting in dead stopped traffic. Any hopes of me making the meeting, even a little late are off the table. Might as well not even bother waiting.”
As I am on my way to work, I hear my car making a familiar noise. The same one it made when the end result was me having a slight meltdown in the Honda Repair Shops waiting area full of other waiting customers.
Back in January, I had rear-ended a guy on the Tollway in rush hour traffic. Now while I am positively in love with my 2008 Honda Civic, anyone who’s had a Honda or has been in an accident with a Honda knows that they fold up like an accordion when even in a wreck going 5 miles an hour. I didn’t hit the guy all that hard, but the front of my car was jacked. His 1996 Toyota Carolla had a crack in the bumper and that was it. In my opinion, it was something that I wouldn’t even have fixed but this guy was taking things a little too seriously.
The accident happened next to one of the big tollbooths on the North Dallas Tollway and for some reason, cops had been posted up there pulling people over – for reasons I was never really sure of but won the not getting a ticket lottery and didn’t really care about their underlying reasoning for being there. But this guy that I hit was a total tool. He called out to the state trooper to come back and investigate the situation. Investigate the situation, I repeat. A cracked bumper – really?! Granted, I rear-ended the guy, it was my fault and I wasn’t putting up a fight. I was annoyed, but was out of my car with insurance in hand.
The trooper makes his way over to our cars and this guy goes ape-shit; and I am not even kidding you… over a crack that was barely noticeable on a 10+ year old car. Honestly, it coulda been there before I hit the guy… who knows. Anyhow, the guy tells me to stand by my car and that he’d talk to the trooper. Like he was effin in charge or something, but I wasn’t looking to go to jail (again) for an “accidental” assault on a cop or a random dude for that matter.
The trooper comes back to me and tells me that the guy was worried that my insurance wasn’t valid. What the hell?! He’s worried that my insurance isn’t good? Because I look like in my spare time I have a forgery State Farm Insurance Card set up in my apartment? So the trooper says he’s going to run my insurance and my plates to make sure everything is in order. It was on the only times that I told a cop and meant it – You won’t find anything. I’m not worried.
Everything checks out and I am legit, of course, but this dude just won’t let it go. He wants to file a report against me. I tell him, in front of the cop, that I am not going to contest the claim and that I will take full responsibility. It still wasn’t enough. He was insistent on making a claim. So I’m standing there talking to the cop to find out what him making a claim against me actually meant. And that’s when I learned something new about the law.
As it might be, if you rear-end a person, the cops are called and the person you hit wants to make a report – it’s standard protocol that not only the report is filed, but that I automatically get a ticket for tailgating… or what they call following too closely. I start running math in my head and get annoyed.
$250 deductible to fix my car.
$250 to pay a ticket for tailgating.
Car insurance going up $50+ a month for getting in an accident.
This had become a pain in the ass. The cop took one look at me and said something to the effect of – let me go talk to him and see what I can do. You’re not acting belligerent (another first), you’ve taken responsibility for this and so there’s no reason to make a report on it. Agreed. After 30 minutes of the two of them talking, the trooper comes back and tells me that he’s decided not to make a police report. No shit… what the eff for?
I make the claim on my car that night and the next day I take it to the Honda Body Shop for repairs. When I get it back a week-or-so later, it’s making this horrific noise. It was my speculation that when they repaired the front part of my car from the accident, they just didn’t do it right or something was rubbing against something else. But in my mind… it directly correlated to the rear-ending accident.
My car was making a high-pitched squealing noise. Like when you pull up to a light next a gelopi making that loud burst your eardrums pitch of my car sucks sound… yeah, that was me. But it wasn’t making the noise all the time and really it was only bad when I first started driving the car. After it heated up and I’d been driving for longer than 20 minutes, the noise disappeared.
Basically I ignored it until my car made the noise even when I was idling. Inevitably, every time I took it to Honda… it wouldn’t perform. Ran like a dream. Never made a peep. And I got the – wow, chicks shouldn’t have cars look from every Honda representative I encountered. I’d easily gone into Honda 5 times and all 5 times, they sent me away saying – bring it back when it’s making the noise. To which my response was – unless you plan on coming to diagnose this shit at my apt, it will never make the noise once I get it here because it’s warmed up by then. That came with an – I don’t do shit as a Honda Representative – shrug and they sent me on my way.
The 6th time, I was livid pissed by the time I got to Honda. I left work early, scheduled an appointment with them and got to Honda at 3pm. More than enough time for the car to cool and for them to find out what the hell was wrong with it. I sit and wait. And wait. And WAIT. The shop closes at 7pm and I am still sitting there with no car diagnosis at 6:30pm and not so much as a periodic update on what the situation is.
At 6:45pm this minimum wage reject with dreads running half way down his back comes in (to a still full waiting area) and tells me that they can hear nothing. My issue at that point, which I relayed in a calm manner, was this…
Me – Look, I have brought my car in to Honda like 6x and gotten no results. No answer. The noise has gotten progressively worse and all of you guys keep telling me that there is nothing wrong with my car and there blatantly is… I’m telling you there is. It has now officially gotten to the point that I am concerned and fear for my safety by driving this car out of here, yet again. Can you please see what you can do?
Him –Well you can leave the car here over night and we can check it out first thing tomorrow morning when it’s had more than enough time to cool off. Then we can diagnose it for you, hopefully. (PS – the hopefully comment at the end was in a condescending tone of – god, girls and cars… so stupid.)
It’s at this point, that my calm tone, lack of blood sugar and patience is wearing thin.
Me – Are you going to provide me with a car or am I supposed to sleep here?
Him – Did you bring another car?
Now… just that question alone should have gotten him punched directly in the face, but somehow I managed to pull myself together… kinda.
Me – *I flippantly and over-dramatically look around with my hands tossed out to my sides showing him I wasn’t hiding an imaginary 2nd car and driver anywhere in the vicinity and say (dripping with sarcasm)…* Yes. I drove 2 cars up here today. It was hard but I made it happen in case I ran into the expected incompetence that I run into every single time I come in here.
He stares at me for 30+ seconds really trying to make that statement fit into his world, until I break the silence.
Me – No, I don’t have another car. Are you kidding me?
Him – You can bring it back in 1st thing tomorrow and we can keep it until it makes the noise.
Me – And that fixes this problem, how? I have to take more time off work, to bring you my car to sit at Honda all day so that you can “hopefully” hear the noise? Dude, it’s the same problem we have now only it’ll be happening less then 12 hours from now. This is your solution?
Him – If we keep the car tonight and it diagnoses as something that is not covered under your warranty and we put you in a rent car, then you will have to pay for the rent car and $100 for the diagnosis.
He said something else after that… but I was in 100% belligerent mode at this point and thus my Honda meltdown ensued.
Me – *As loudly as possible so the other 10+ waiting people could hear what I was about to say, said… * So you mean to tell me that you are not going to do anything to help me? You mean to tell me that after I have brought my car into Honda 6+ times and the problem that you can’t locate which is getting progressively worse to the point where I fear my safety in this vehicle and you are going to let me walk out of here? That’s how you run a business? Is that what you are telling me?
Him – Uh, well… I don’t know what to tell you.
And then it happened… the lights dimmed and I prepared for the monologue portion…
Me – Well, you can walk your ass back to where you have cars just hanging around and lone me one until you figure out if it’s covered under my warranty or not. Just like you did the last time when you didn’t put my engine back together properly and it almost fell out of my car on the highway. Yeah, I coulda died. Or like the time that you guys forgot to put the oil cap back on after you’d changed it and damn near jacked up the car beyond use. Or how about the time that you…
I am at center stage. All eyes were on me. I have the complete and total attention of whoever was left in the waiting area and I am painting an awful image of the shoddy work they have done over-and-over again.
He cuts me off… to say he’s going to go see what he can do, turns on his heels and walks out. Good call, sir… good call. 7:45pm he returns and says they are going to give me a rental from Enterprise on them. Damn right they were.
Turns out that it was just the power steering and it was ultimately covered. But it was damn dramatic to actually make it happen. And I tell you all that to say, that this morning as I am running late, my brain still in a Nyquil fog, and am sitting in dead stopped traffic, I hear “the noise” and the thought of driving my car into a median was looking like a viable option.
I arrive to work at 11:15am and find a prime parking stop. I start to think that maybe things are going to turn around today, until I spotted him.
Dave. The 39-year old guy who works with the garage dater and asked me on a secret – behind my co-workers back – lunch (that we never went on thank god). You know it’s bad when I will do something in an attempt to avoid the garage dater and/or Dave for that matter. They, 100% of the time, provide a ridiculous blog as an end result of our encounters. But that’s exactly what I planned on doing – avoiding him.
I stand by my car where I can see him but he can’t see me and wait for him to finish smoking so he’d go back in and never even see me and furthermore we wouldn’t have to talk. He’s standing in front of the only entrance into the building, so it was just a waiting game that would last the length of a cigarette. Or so I thought. I wait, and wait and wait.
I started to get restless and had thoughts like – What the eff is he doing? Smoking a whole damn pack? Get done already. I’m so effin late and don’t want to deal with you. He’s moving towards the ashtray… he’s moving… he’s moving… mother effer… he’s lit another smoke. Damn it. This is one Mexican stand-off that I’m not gonna win. I lose. At life.
I decide that I will walk at a fast pace and mutter something like – I am so late as I rush by with an – oh, I didn’t see you – hi when he tries to stop me to talk. Didn’t work; mostly because as I walked fast, it caused me to become light headed. I was already a little light headed and woozy from my 2am bad decision.
Dear Nyquil,
You effin bastard. You’re officially on my shit list, right behind Honda and Subway.
-Angela
Aside: It seems that a majority of all bad decisions start around 2am. I was once arrested around 2am. I got held up at gunpoint in a questionable part of Louisiana around 2am. I ended up in the bed of a pickup truck headed to Nevada around 2am. Just to name a few… granted those all happened many, many years ago, but the theory holds true… nothing good happens after 2am.
He stops me to talk and I have no energy to fend him off and I really needed to sit down to let my head stop spinning. I tuned in and out until he made the statement…
Well, I have to go back to work. So lunch then… Tuesday next week, right?
I unconsciously say “right” and he scurries off.
Wait, what? Lunch? Was I even talking to him? I thought he was just droning on as I was waiting for my head to catch up with my body and for him to get done smoking 20 cigarettes. Apparently I was answering him. Or at the very least, I said I’d agreed to lunch on Tuesday. Which, I must have been on auto pilot with “yes” responses because I am not even back from Vegas on Tuesday at lunch time. Eh whatever.
I picked myself up and headed into the office. I went in through the back entrance to our office space to make 100% sure that I didn’t have to see anyone as I drag my sorry ass in about 3 hours late looking like I had a good time last night. When really, all I want to do is stare at the wall for 6 hours until this Nyquil crap expels itself from my very being.
It’s 1:20pm now… and I have been totally useless. Today has been one of those days where I wish I could have just slept through it.
... but instead, I'll just blog about it.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
negotiations marriage to self realization...
Any good negotiation starts devoid of emotion. This by any sense of the notion goes against the very make-up of a human being. There’s an end result; a goal seeking attainment. Any time you pull up a chair up to the negotiation table, any good negotiator knows that at some point the possibility of walking away from that negotiation with the desired outcome not prevalently attainable exists. You have to be right with that idea internally. Going into it under any other pretense is indicative of a loss before the first word is even uttered.
In December of 2007, I purchased my first car all on my own – no cosigner. My father attended the negotiations under the sole context that I had no clue what I was truly in for and that purchasing a car is unlike any other type of sales negotiation. I found this difficult to believe as I had spent the last 5 years of my life entrenched in sales. However, his warning proved to be no understatement by any stretch of the imagination. I found myself quietly watching my father say and do things that would be considered very out of character for him on any other given day in any other given situation.
For example, Honda offered me $2,500 as the trade-in value of my 2001 Honda Civic that had barely hit 60,000 miles and not 4 years prior purchased at $14,000. My father calmly pulled a 50 dollar bill from his pocket and laid it on the desk. His next words are forever filed under the category of – my father’s a badass. He says (and I quote), “I will give you this 50 dollar bill and kiss your ass on the 50 yard line at half-time of the next Dallas Cowboys home game, if I give you this car for $2,500 1-week from now, I will see this car on your used car lot selling for $12,000.” And my staunch Catholic father leaned back in his chair and found the sound of silence with an unrelenting stare dripping of disgust at the sheer audacity of the situation.
The salesman looked up from his computer and says, “What is it exactly that you want for your trade in?” It’s in that moment, that the salesman was on the ass end of a negotiation that was not headed in his favor and that simple statement lent for the calm and patient predator that was my unrecognizable father to pounce.
There was betrayal.
I have found what I believe to be true. I have begun to find the person inside that makes sense. The person who doesn’t hide behind a shroud for fear that someone might just figure me out. I am my father sitting in that salesman’s office leaning back in my chair with my foot poised on the world.
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