I am not an adult, DAMNIT!

If your feet were placed to the fire, what would be you determine to be the point you deemed yourself an adult? I know many people that would list marriage or having children. But, is marriage really that adult and we all know that children are now having children in copious amounts. Ah, I hear "Buying your first house". I would argue that millions of lifetime renters, are at times, more adult than myself. No, I think the one event that matures us into adulthood is jury duty. I'm not speaking of the mere act of filling out the paperwork that our courts send you every few years in an attempt to update their records or being called for duty only then being sent home with in a few hours. I'm talking about the entire voyage of completing out the paperwork, being called, being selected to sit on a jury of your peers, and finally selecting the guilt or innocence of a fellow American.

I'll be honest, I'm not sure how my state selects individuals for jury duty. I have been told that your name goes in a big pot when you vote. Others have told me that when you renew your drivers licence your name goes to the top of the list. I haven't a clue and lack the willpower to Google it in an effort to educate myself. Regardless of how they received my name, I always allow myself some creative latitude when completing the juror information form that is mailed to me every few years. Over the years, just as I have done with High School reunion questionnaires, I have found that a rambling tale woven with red pen and green crayon, a few backward letters, an ample sprinkling of misspellings and a questionable job history (JANITERS) usually exempted me from future service. That's why a mixture of both dread and excitement came over me when I received a summons to appear. Surely someone had made a mistake.

I quit my good paying job for this shit!

It was the spring of 2007. The season before, I had just quit my career as a field engineer to become a full-time artist. In one fell swoop I had left behind a life of depressing financial security and entered into a lifestyle of joyful adjunct poverty. Dark morning commutes full of dread to earn a paycheck quickly evolved into late afternoon naps melting into late nights of art creation that offered no payday. Art was being created but money buys certain things that happiness can not. Yes, there was an amount of dread upon receiving the letter informing me that I had been chosen for jury duty. But I quickly remembered that, if selected, jurors were paid for their service and if I played my cards right, my act of public service could become my first paying gig as an artist. Dreams of a year long O.J. trial flashed. An artist could indeed buy a modest amount of paint for doing very little.

I was grateful for the three weeks Wayne County gives it's citizens to tie up any loose ends between being notified and the date they had to be at the court house. Being an artist allows for very few loose ends and the weeks anticipating my date moved by very quickly and soon it became time to actually find out where the hell I was supposed to go. I knew the Frank Murphy Hall of Justice was within the city of Detroit, but a quick Google would confirm that the Hall of Justice was cornered by the new sports stadiums, the Music Hall and Greek Town and its Casino, it was both easy to get to and in a relatively tame area of the city. With my Google Map print out, my least wrinkly sport coat hanging on a chair and $15 dollars of quarters for parking, I was ready for the morning and went to bed.

The alarm screamed, I entered the shower and then dressed for my day. I'm not a coffee and eggs in the morn' type of guy, so a 44 oz. Super Gulp of Diet Dr. Pepper sufficed and my re-entry into the hell that is the Metro-Detroit morning commute began. I had forgotten how bad it really was with gravel haulers throwing rocks right at windshield height, A-holes playing fighter pilot with their Honda's trying to get one more car length ahead, and upper lower middle managers straddling two lanes checking emails between sips from their gallon cup of $8 Starbucks coffee. The city rose on the horizon and I soon made it to my destination with plenty of time to spare. Across from Mr. Murphy's Hall of Justice is a dirt lot. A tired fat man dress in jeans and stained grey shirt sits beside a plywood sign that reads "All Day Parking $15". I knew I could do better than $15 a day. The money spent on parking or tickets would surely wipe away any profit I was making from my public service. Lady Luck smiled upon the cash strapped of Metro Detroit when she opened three new casinos. Since their grand openings, I have avoided them like the plague. But, today I would cash in on their neon lit generosity and accept the Greek Town Casino's offer of free, safe and well lit parking. I would just need to remember to get my ticket stamped within the casino before trying to leave for the day. Upon entering the casino parking structure, I was amazed at how empty it was compared to the dirt lot across from the court house. Suckers! They are all going to blow their court house cash on parking in a muddy field.

I walked through the casino, it was like gambling in a soup kitchen. Someone's grandmother, wheeled oxygen tank in tote, was making sweet love to a slot machine a nickle at a time while a trio of poorly dressed unshaven men were doing their best to roll a seven. I found the closest exit to the court house and walked a short while to its front door. The security check point was really hopping as I entered the line to the metal detector. At the entrance of the check point was a sign. On it were several things that are not allowed to be brought into the Hall of Justice. There were the obvious knives and firearms, but to my surprise were listed all electronic devices including cell phones, gaming devices, laptops, cameras, and pagers. I was glad I left my cell phone in the car as it was such an antique that it needed a pull start. While awaiting my turn to enter the metal detector, many a person was seen loudly arguing with the armed Wayne County Deputy on duty to the fact that they "NEEDED" their cell phone or Gameboy. His stoic look was accompanied with a point to the posted signage, a gentle gesture towards the exit and a loud "NEXT!". It was my turn, shoes and belt came off, wallet and keys went in the grey plastic tray and I stepped through. No beeps, no buzzes. I collected my things and was directed towards a common waiting room.

Wonder Twin Powers Activate!

The gentlewoman at the front desk asked for my paperwork and I handed it to her. Handing it back she stated, "Have a seat until you are called". The room was a windowless florescent lit pale yellow with rows of chairs that were all attached at the sides. The chairs had no arms and could not be rearranged away from or towards the two out of tune mute televisions hanging on shelves from the ceiling. I walked past several rows towards the rear of the room and found a seat with my back to the wall and next to a table (welded to the side of the chair). On the table was the remnants of this mornings newspaper and a collection of several women's magazines. The magazines averaged three years old and I grabbed the newest, it was a Glamour. Like a starving man saving a morsel of food, I would save the newspaper for last. Time did not fly. The room began to fill as the empty seats separating each of us began to disappear. Strangers would now be forced to almost touch elbows. A reminder of just how painful an early start can be became apparent as a few individuals occupied a trio of spaces as they napped off last night's Colt 45. Soon, even those wounded few would be asked to sit upright and donate their seats to the growing masses. Glamour became Better Homes and Gardens and Better Homes and Gardens became Parenting. Hours passed. Names were called and people stood, then they disappeared past the front desk. The magazines gave up the ghost to the business section of The Detroit Free Press and I began to make daring daylight raids on the other immovable tables.

Just as I had found a two year old copy of Time that looked very interesting, an announcement was made. Numbers that were assigned to us in relation to our last names were to be called. If your number was called, you were to be thanked for your service and allowed to leave. One by one, numbers were called, people stood and left. The numbers soon stopped and the remaining individuals spread across the room made eye contact. Were we the chosen few? An answer came as we were asked to follow a deputy to the elevator. It was my guess that this day, I would be asked to earn my money as public servant. So far it had not been a total waste as I would have still been in bed. Along with remaining twenty other people, I entered the elevator. Not a word was spoken. Not a single question was asked as the doors opened onto a hallway of dark wood and closed doors.

The deputy asked us all to have seats on a set of long wooden pews against the wall. It was good mix of people. A man younger than me with a goatee and black Red Wings jacket sat between two women who looked like they were looking forward to what Oprah was going to show them this afternoon. Two older guys made jokes. They were the alpha dogs and had obviously earned their position during many a year on one of Detroit's factory floors. The sound of a locked door being unlocked and opened made everyone turn. A deputy appeared from behind the door and motioned us all to enter the court room. A row of orange cloth upholstered chairs dating from the early Seventies were waiting for us on a podium against the far wall. The judge sat to our right behind her raised bench. To the left were two tables. The closest table was shared by two attorneys while a second oak table was shared by neatly dress very young man and his public defender. Well, I assume she was a public defender. The kid may have been a millionaire for what I knew at the time. But I could tell that he was dressed in clothes that looked a little too new. They were clothes that looked like they were bought by a loving mother at a time when her son could not be there to try them on. The tan shirt was a little big while the slacks rose all the way to the young man's waist and were topped off with a brand new black leather belt. Nope, he would be instructed NOT to wear baggy ass flashing pants in court. No Timberland boots here please. Brand new brown loafers and black socks would be mandatory. Even with a thick layer of polish, a rough edge that could not be hidden could still be seen. This young man looked like trouble.

From behind her bench, the Judge began to read aloud from a list. As she loudly and clearly stated a name, the matching individual would raise a hand or state "Here". She would then ask one or two questions such as "What is your profession?" or "Have you served as a juror in the past year?". One person did state that they were an attorney and knew a member of the prosecution. He was thanked for his service and shown the door. More than 3 or four times, a lawyer from either side would object to an individual, not stating why, and that person would be asked to leave. My turn came. Thoughts of acting the fool to get kicked off the line came to me. But I never got the chance. The judge asked one question of me, "Are you employed?". My answer was that I was self employed as an artist. To that she let out a small squeal, "OH, That must be fun". Neither table objected to me serving and the judge moved on to the couple more people left. Finally, the judge began to talk about serving on a jury and what was expected of us. The deputy walked towards us and handed each of us sticker with large red letters "JUROR". We were asked to wear this at all times and not take it off until we returned home. We were told not to discuss the case with anyone and to return at 9 a.m. We were all free to leave.

"Did you get picked? What kind of trial is it?", my wife asked as soon as she got home from work. "I don't know, they didn't start it yet", I said. Blowing the rule about not talking about the trial completely out of the water. The rest of the evening was spent watching television. I hung my wrinkled sport coat on a chair, set my alarm and went to bed.

Don't drive angry.

The morning commute was another living hell but this time a sense of urgency came over me that never did when I made the same trek towards my former job. I never felt the pangs of being tardy as I always felt I would arrive when I arrived. But this morning I didn't want to be late. I really wanted to do this thing I had entered into and I wanted to leave a good impression and complete a job well done. I rolled down my window and took my parking stub from the casino parking structure. It was a little busier than yesterday and I had to park nearly on the roof of the structure. A quick walk through the casino and I was soon in line to enter the court house. No beeps or buzzes today and my elevator awaited my entry. I entered the dark wood paneled hallway and took a seat on the wooded pew next to my fellow citizen jurors. There was the guy in the Red Wings jacket, the two retired line workers and a handful of women who looked as if they had better things to do. In a corner of the hall, the two prosecuting attorneys were talking quietly. The sound of a door unlocking was followed by it opening. A deputy appeared and asked us all to enter the court room and take our seats. I found it interesting that both the young defendant (dressed in the same newly purchased clothes from the day before) and his attorney were seated waiting for us. We were all instructed to please rise as the judge came through a door at the rear of the court room, nodded towards the deputy and took a seat at her bench. Once we were again seated, a lawyer for the prosecution quickly stood and began to make his prepared opening statement. He spoke of a crime that had been committed and how the State would prove the guilt of the defendant seated before us. He then sat and the defendant's attorney stood and began her best to gently explain about certain circumstances that had transpired that would prove her client's innocence. Game on!

The prosecution called their first witness. He was a young man wearing a suit that was a little to small for him. It was noticeably tight in the shoulders and the hem of the pants were a little to high and revealed a little to much sock. The suit looked as if the wearer had grown and matured since its purchase. Probably because he had. He was a war hero, a member of our armed services in Iraq and on leave home for the holidays. The young man began to tell his side of the alleged crime that began shortly before Christmas 2006. He told a story of how two young men forced their way into his home located in Redford Michigan. Well, they entered an unlocked screen porch shortly before noon and knocked on the front door. Answering the knock was our witness. Through the window of the closed front door he saw a strange brown van in the drive and two strangers asked if our hero's younger brother was home. They were told he was not. Stating that they were told to meet him here and pick an item up, gentle confusion between the three parties soon ensued. Thinking that some semblance of order could be made on his part, our witness unlocked and opened the front door. Standing before him were two young men with their hands in their jacket pockets. One of the strangers made a very public motion to reveal what appeared to be the outline of a handgun from beneath the pocket his winter coat. The prosecuting attorney asked the witness if the man who stood on his front porch that morning pointing what looked like a gun at him was here in the court room. He stated that indeed he was and pointed to the well dress defendant, who made no eye contact and remained emotionless.

The witness's testimony continued that the two strangers entered his house, instructed him not to do anything stupid, and told him to sit on the couch. Pointing what looked like a handgun from under his jacket, the defendant stood over the seated young man while the second stranger ran upstairs. From his couch, he could hear that a mess was being made. The sound of heavy footsteps thumped between the sounds of things being moved and dropped. Soon the stranger came back down the stairs holding a large black plastic garbage bag. Sharp corners from boxes and soft shapes stretched the thin plastic skin of the bag. The witness was then instructed to lead then to the basement. So far no one had been hurt and our witness complied. The basement was the shared bedroom of both the witness and his younger brother. Ordering the witness to take a seat on the unmade bed, the defendant returned to his watchful position while his accomplice rifled through the personal belongings of their hostage. A second trash bag was filled with a Sony Playstation 2, a classic Xbox, and several video game disks. Eyeing a cell phone on the nightstand and not really interested in an answer, the defendant asked "Is this yours?". The young man nodded as the defendant slipped the phone into his front pants pocket. Finally, a large black plastic case was pulled from behind a chest of drawers and laid on the bed. Opening revealed that the case held a pristine pump-action shotgun. Taking his hand out of his jacket pocket, he grabbed the shotgun. Again, not really interested in an answer he asked "Is this yours?". The witness nodded yes. Collecting the two full garbage bags and the prized shotgun, the two strangers turned and exited up the stairs. From his seat on the bed, the witness could hear the front door open, then the screen door of the front porch slam shut. 911 was called and soon a trio of Redford Police cars were in the driveway.

Along with the pump-action shotgun and cell phone, the thieves had also taken unopened Christmas presents for the family. A brand new XBOX 360, games for the new XBOX, a Scarface jacket embroidered with the the likeness of actor Al Pacino, and a woman's diamond wedding ring meant to replace one that had been lost or pawned some years before.

The defendant's attorney only had a few questions for the witness. "Did you ever see the defendant actually holding a gun?", she asked. "Other than the shotgun, no.", was the reply. "Did the defendant hit or touch you at any time?"...."No", answered the witness. "No further questions your honor", and the witness stood and left the court room.

Boy, making money does not get any better than this, I thought. I get paid to send some kid to jail. Ok, I know that I'm supposed to be impartial and everyone is innocent until proven guilty. But this kid had guilt spray-painted all over his face. How bad could his case get? So far his ONLY defense was that it was  his finger, he may never had a gun and that he was invited into a strangers home to rob it. Sounded to me like a long time in jail is what the kid needs to straighten his life out. I almost wanted to raise my hand and say "OK, I'm done here....GUILTY".

Go nuts for DONUTS!

The prosecution called their next witness, a very over weight Detroit Police officer. Redford police contacted the Detroit Police department and shared information regarding the location of the thieves. The cell phone that was stolen had GPS capabilities and all that was needed was for a call to be made to it. If it were answered, they would know the location of the phone. A call was made, the phone was answered (With an instant hang up) and it was gathered that the phone was located in a neighborhood of western Detroit. The Detroit Police department was asked if they could spare a car to go and stake out the approximate location of the GPS coordinates. A description of the suspects was also passed along. Sometime after 11 pm, the officer witness two males exiting a house, enter a brown minivan and drive away. The police cruiser followed from a few blocks away until the van was observed blowing through a stop sign. The officer now had a reason to stop the van and turned on his flashing lights. The flashing lights sparked a very short high speed chase through three Detroit neighborhoods that ended in a tree filled vacant lot. The officer stated that he observed 2 individuals matching the given descriptions running from the van and one of the individuals was carrying what looked like the box to an XBOX 360 game console. Then a major hole appeared in the very large officer's testimony. He insisted that he leapt from is cruiser and, like a gazelle, made chase after the suspects. He ended the chase after he heard what sounded like gunshots being aimed towards him. Returning to the squad car, a 'SHOTS FIRED' call for assistance was made. Soon, the neighborhood streets were bathed in flashing lights of red and blue. The officer was thanked for his time as the prosecution ended their questions, handing over the floor to the defense. Again, the defense only asked the witness a few questions. "Did you see the defendant's face?", "Could you identify the person getting into the van as the defendant?", "Did you see a gun?" and "Did you see who, if anyone, was shooting at you?", to which the officer answered "No" to all of them. The officer was thanked and left the court room.

Lunch was called. The judge instructed us that we were to keep strict silence regarding the case and return at   2 pm. Damn, a 3 hour lunch break?! What the hell was I going to do in downtown Detroit for three hours? Well, it wasn't that bad. I had a gyro in Greek Town, rode the People Mover tram for an hour, and then visited the classic car display in the GM world headquarters. It was fun.

The last witness called was a detective for the Redford Police department. Quite a bit of detective work went into the apprehension of the defendant. A search warrant was ordered for the house that the cell phone was traced to and a number of items were found that matched descriptions of the same items taken in the burglary. The stolen shot gun was not among the recovered items. Within days of the robbery, the defendant was found and brought to the Redford Police station for questioning. At this point in his testimony the detective was stopped and the prosecution asked that a video made during the defendants interview be shown to the jury. There were no objections. The grainy video started and we could see the defendant sitting at a small table in a small closed room. He was dressed very differently. A baggy pants and shirt were topped off by a sideways Starter Baseball cap. The kid was really playing the whole gangsta' rapper shizizzle  part well in dress and demeanor. Then we saw a door open to the small room and the detective walk in and take a seat at the small table.

On the video the defendant was asked about the robbery. Without any prodding or duress, the defendant eventually admitted to using a stolen minivan (The same brown minivan involved in the chase) to drive to the house of the friend of his younger brother. After some questioning he also admitted on video to entering the house by "pretending" to have a gun, taking the cell phone (which he had brought to his questioning at the police station) and taking the shot gun. He did not admit to shooting at the cop and refused to say if he was a driver or passenger during the high speed chase. The video ended and the television was wheeled away. The prosecution rested and the defense stood and announced that she had no questions. Game, set and match!
Closing argumentation were made by both sides and the job of putting this turd away for a very long time began. Or so I thought....