Went to the courthouse yesterday for jury selection. About 140-150 potential jurors were there. Thirty minutes into the proceedings, there’s a live audio feed from the Bordeaux Prison, where the judge was. He starts off on this spiel about what the trial was for (the Hells Angels), how the day would proceed (long), and how we could ask for an exception (many and myriad). He was actually quite a humorous fella. At one point, he enumerated what the 13 prisoners were accused of, and it was astounding; about 11 of them are accused of 13 (yes, 13) murders, one accused of two murders and the other of nine (if I remember correctly). Nice guys, the rat bastards.
So, when the potentials are asked who believes they should be exempt, approximately one third get up: they are then bussed off to the prison to meet with the judge. The rest of us are given coffee and doughnuts. The remainder are then split into two groups and we are told to wait around until 11:30am, when we’re given lunch (kinda tasty, actually). The first group is then bussed to the prison, and my group finally heads over at about 2:30pm. We’re all sent into the court one-by-one and, being one of the last numbers called, I’m finally summoned at about 4:30. Told to stand in the booth, I’m asked to place my hand on the bible and swear. Um, no, sorry, can’t do that. For some reason, I saw that book and absolutely refused. That never happened before. The judge takes it all in stride and simply asks me to swear to tell the truth. Yeah, I’ve got no problem with that.
“Age?” Tell him.
“Occupation?” Tell him.
“Any social contact with a police officer?” Um, well, my ex-landlord is a detective on the anti-gang squad. “Thank you, you may go.”
Now, the thing is, contrary to my previous proclamation, the thought of receiving almost $150/day for five days per week sure was appealing, especially when you consider that I had been told at my job that I would still receive my regular salary. For six months, I could have sat pretty, reaping in mucho needed cash.