I arrived for my first day of jury service expecting a relaxing two weeks, probably without actually having to sit on a trial. However, somewhat ominously, I was informed that a longer trial ‘of possibly two or three months’ was about to commence. 30 of us were directed to a separate room, asked to complete a questionnaire and then attend an interview in court.
At the time, I was a director in a large software company. Not a real director, obviously, but someone with the word director in their job title. A salesman who had negotiated a bigger job title in order to convince himself that he wasn’t really a salesman. During the jury selection process, I attempted to avoid the trial by using the questionnaire to detail my important director’s role. The judge read out my self-aggrandising statement to the court, put the document down, peered over his glasses and asked:
‘How many people work at this company, Mr Atkins?’
‘About 20,000,’ I replied.
‘And they would all be unable to function in your absence?’
I was the first juror to be selected.
Other prospective jurors went to greater lengths to avoid the trial. One appeared with a letter from the chief executive of the huge American corporation where he worked, explaining his essential role in marketing detergent. Another claimed he was unable to read, despite the fact that he could obviously write.
As the unlucky few were chosen and trudged dejectedly to the jury box, it appeared that we were the ones who had been found guilty and sentenced to a long stretch.
