To be frank, I cherish any opportunity to perform my civic duties. Not only am I a responsible, informed voter, I also pay my taxes and of course, in reference to today’s topic at hand, I answer the call when summoned for jury duty. Generally speaking, I don’t shy away from controversy, but I do proceed with a fair amount of trepidation and an abundance of caution on this particular subject matter.
While I support the judicial system and its rules and procedural regulations, I feel there are a few problems contained therein. Consider this a formal complaint, an airing of grievances, if you will, about my recent experience in the Charleston County Circuit Court juror pool.
On the first day of my juror servitude, I arrived promptly; well-dressed, well-rested and ready to serve. Much to my dismay, the parking garage reserved for free juror parking was full. No matter, I quickly and graciously decided. Plenty of parking was available at the public parking garage adjacent the courthouse, providing a much appreciated, shorter walk on the rugged cobblestone streets for my tender, dainty paws, and less time spent in air that was not ocean-adjacent – my preferred mode of oxygen delivery.
Let me begin this next part of the story with an apology to the bovine community. I have nothing against you or your lifestyle, but being herded and corralled like cattle is not something I feel I should have to tolerate. Tolerate it I did, however, because of my deep and obedient commitment to civil service.
My fellow citizens and I were shuffled from one room to the next, lined up along the walls of said courthouse, questioned, interrogated, REleased or not released and thereby led to one room, enduring one round of questioning after another. Fine. Part of the process of choosing a competent panel of jurors and I shall leave this particular matter at rest.
Bathroom breaks were given at five-minute intervals every two hours, which I and my fellow candidates found insufficient. The exact number of snacks provided was zero. My tiny self emitted more than a few audible stomach growls due to the gross lack of calories supplied over the course of the day. I did not expect snacks to be provided and therefore brought my own, but I was not allowed to consume the provisions I had so carefully procured. Perhaps it was a mistake, an oversight I pray, but my group of potential jurors were not given a lunch break. Astonishing, to say the least.
I was not picked for a trial this round and was finally dismissed in the late afternoon. Upon my gleeful exit, I was given a card with instructions regarding the procedure for the remainder of the week. And I quote, “Due to uncontrollable circumstances, the voicemail system may become inoperable,” which it did, forcing yours truly to leave the island and traverse downtown the following day to inquire as to whether my services were, in fact, needed. I was not, for which I was more than a smidge grateful, but a working, outgoing voicemail system should really be the bare minimum and would have saved me a journey that I mostly try not to make.
Back on my fair isle, I am certain not to leave for the foreseeable future, and I shall remain grateful for the sand beneath my paws, the salty air that fills my lungs and a voice that I shall continue to use for the betterment of my community and the world at large.
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