The jury's out to lunch!

Editor's Note: Commedienne Pam Stone writes her column for The Tryon Daily Bulletin twice each month from her office in the "Unabomber Shack" on her Gowensville farm. Want a chance to respond to this column? Go to Pam’s blog at www.tryondailybulletin.com.

One of the interesting aspects of small town living is being called in for Jury Duty. Not an appointment anyone truly looks forward to, but one we all generally obey, sooner or later, like a sullen teenager finally picking up his room.

Coming from first, Atlanta, and secondly, Los Angeles, a city of well over 14 million, it was no surprise that everyone in the prospective jury pool was a complete stranger. Being a melting pot, there was a vast array of faces: Asian, African, Latino, you name it- all grim with missing work for potential cases that wouldn't be nearly as riveting as O.J.'s.

However, should you be summoned locally, you will find that, A: you recognize most of the prospective jurors ("Well, hey, Donnie, how's your Momma's hip?") and B: you probably recognize the defendant.

This happened, oh, let's say in February. I have to really be careful here. I don't know why~ you can stumble coming out of the Post Office at 10 a.m. and it will be on "The Tryon Evening News" (aka gossip mill) by 2 p.m., so I'm probably very late in the telling of this story… Anyway, let's say the case being tried was an attempted 'assault with a deadly weapon' case. And let's say that the plaintiff claimed the defendant threw a pit-bull at him and then clubbed him across the head with a tire iron. It wasn't nearly that imaginative, but not only do I not want to embarrass those involved, I realize that, sometime in the future, they could very well be in a jury deciding MY fate, so it's better not to tick anyone off.

The humor began when the attorneys present began, one by one, to interview each potential juror.

"Sir, do you know or have you ever met the defendant?"

"Yes, sir. I hired him to finish my basement last winter."

"I see. Do you think that, having employed him at one time, you could be unbiased towards him?"

"Yes, sir, I do. But he's such a nice fella, I just can't believe he'd a done such a thing!"

"Excuuuused."

A second, elderly, gentleman was asked to come forward and state his name. After frowning in response to several questions, he finally cupped his ear and shook his head.

"Sir, did you understand any of the questions I have asked?"

"Well, it all sounds the same to me like when I was on that other jury last week."

"I'm sorry?"

"I can't make out a thing you're sayin'"

"I wish you had informed us of this, before."

"Well, nobody ever asked me if I could hear!"

"Excuuuused."

The funny thing is, as you sit there and watch what you regard to be clearly inferior people chosen instead of yourself, you forget that you came grudgingly to Jury Duty in the first place. Suddenly, you're the spotty-faced sixth grader who's the last to be chosen for basketball. You begin comparing yourself to the others, thinking, "You have got to be kidding me. He's got whiskey on his breath and is missing a thumb!"
or, "Not that Holy Roller..."

There is a lesson to be learned, here. If you are new to Polk County and you think it's possible you might be breaking the law in near future, start baking muffins NOW.

Pass them out to everyone you meet. This way, while they might not quite be what you consider to be your peers, they'll certainly remember you:

"I just can't believe she'd do such a thing. Have you had those pumpkin ones she makes?"