By GARRET LEIVA
In the world of random odds there are lightning strikes, lottery windfalls and "Dear Prospective Juror" letters.
I don't expect a hit of 1 billion volts of electricity or an equal number of before-taxes dollars. The jury is still out on more you-are-hereby-summoned mail.
According to the National Center for State Courts estimates, 32 million people receive a summons for jury service each year. I must be stuck in the jury pool shallow end. After all, my name resurfaces alongside pending court dates more than Amy Winehouse's lawyers.
Jury duty falls in the civic obligation category. I've dutifully filled out jury notification cards at least nine times. The laws of percentages and plea bargains rendered most of these mailings moot.
While trial by jury predates the Sixth Amendment, so does shirking jury duty. I'm sure the Smithsonian contains a letter written in the 1700s by a Joe Public full of doth, thou and lame excuses. Over the course of history no one has heard more excuses than court judges -- except school gym teachers ... and mothers.
Of course, I've made my share of appeals to the court.
Rather than feign an illness, like dikephobia (fear of justice), I went for honest in my first jury duty letter. Admittedly I did use the word implore, but U2 concert tickets were on the line -- and our credit card. The case never went to trial, so my seat was stage left and not in the jury box.
The other time I bothered hunting for a jury excuse involved a November 15 trial date. I decided to write a letter after a lawyer friend assured me that opening day of deer season was not a de facto state holiday.
To my surprise, I ended up eyeing rifle scope crosshairs instead of inculpatory evidence.
However, I knew some day my number would come up -- as in juror seat six. Random odds brought me to sit recently in that high-back chair; along with a slip of paper pulled from a wooden box. The excuses of others brought me there as well.
At one point, the judge asked if any juror had read or seen reports on the case. I raised my hand; after all, there is a reason why the word news is written on my business card.
For several minutes I was peppered with questions. I answered each inquiry in a direct, lucid and earnest manner -- everything GetOuttaJuryDuty.com tells you not to do.
Each side in the case also exercised their voir dire option, which I'm pretty sure is French for no bathroom break. However, after nearly two hours and numerous slips of paper, I remained in my seat.
Given my occupation, I expected a swift peremptory challenge bounce out of the courtroom. After all, I suspect many a lawyer -- and judge -- would like to bring literal meaning to hung jury and journalist. Just as I settled into the idea of seat six, I was thanked for my time and excused from jury duty.
However, I wouldn't call the odds of being hit with another "Dear Prospective Juror" letter lightning nor lottery random.
