Jury Duty in a New City

There's been a spate of jurisprudential duties in my circle; a friend in LA a few weeks ago, my wife last month, a friend here in Philly just last week. Like celebrity deaths, jury duty seems to come in clusters, and today it was my time to go.

Living in Philadelphia, you come to assume that anything related to municipal governance is going to be a complete and utter disaster. This is the city that barely has recycling, where most neighborhoods don't have street cleaning. A city that tried to become the first WiFi city in the country only to fail to the point where the private company contracted to provide the service is pulling out its routers and going home. A city where a steady string of leaders have been the target of FBI corruption probes, and where most intersections need to have a sign instructing "Wait for Green" in a futile attempt to corral some of the world's most incompetent drivers. It's a ridiculous excuse for a city, lovable in its constant failures.

But apparently, one thing this city does well is jury selection. My friend Ray, who recently served as well, put it well when he pointed out that if you spend your life waiting for Septa trolleys, it is a major surprise to show up for jury duty and be served free cinnamon cake by friendly clerks. I kid you not, the room was spacious, with plenty of comfortable seats, clean restrooms, vending machines, free coffee, and a table full of snacks. Directions were given clearly, and one of the judges came down to give us an inspirational speech in a thick South Philly Italian accent.

Ironically, I did jury duty in Los Angeles, just before moving, and that was a miserable experience. In Los Angeles, I showed up at 7:30 am to a courthouse, waited until lunch, and then was moved to a courthouse twelve miles away in Inglewood. No transportation provided, they just assumed everyone had a car. There, we waited for five hours before being told to come back again the next day. Then, we waited all day long with absolutely no information, and in an miserably hot cramped room, before being told in severe tones that that because we had complained amongst ourselves about the situation, we had irrevocably tainted our pool and they would have to impanel a new jury.

So yeah, Philadelphia jury duty rocks. And as Ray pointed out, it's one of the few times you have a group of people made up of genuine Philadelphians without suburban interlopers. It was a congenial group, with lots of discussion of the primary results and a bit of flirting. When the clerk called out a funny name, people would give a good-natured chuckle. When the clerk announced "Barbara Bush," everyone burst out laughing. When she called "Cornelius Cardew, Jr.," I think I was the only one to snicker.

And best of all, I was impaneled for a civil trial that settled before we were even called in, and I was done by noon. Philly rocks.