Note the hand written “call Friday.” Of course I got called in for Monday and placed at the Alhambra Court House. Free parking which is a perk. The first ten names pulled included mine. Then I got called onto the jury panel as #9. Court duty is always so inconvenient and yet interesting. The crime was described as one resulting in great bodily harm via a hook. And there would be gore.
Wearing an argyle sweater and sporting a modified pompadour, the defendant looked like a younger version of Tom Waits. The judge asked us a series of questions by the number we were seated. The lawyers sat there taking notes on a piece of paper that delineated out our seating arrangement by way of squares. Among the potential jurors, english competency and alertness was in short supply. By the time the judge sifted through us, I thought I’d be serving by default. Again, I made it to the bitter end. Or until the prosecutor and defense we’re allowed to question us individually. And I was the first person the prosecutor went after. A point of pride. And when the lawyers were allowed to eject, I was the first person the prosecutor excused. Thing is, I’d make a good juror. God help those people on trial if this is an example of your peers. Hopefully they kept the younger ones (despite the fact that two of them were married to lawyers). That used to be a get out of jail card. Not any more.
So before I was called into the courtroom, I grabbed a seat by the window and got a sketch in. No camera’s are allowed into the building so you’ll have to trust my interpretation. This is the view from the top floor of the courthouse. The south side looking towards the Montebello Hills. If you should choose to enlarge the image, you’ll discover cat prints. Damn cats.