Good thread, Sue.
I served on a federal jury (Cheyenne, Wyoming, USA) two years ago. It was my first jury service. We 12 (plus one alternate juror) heard a drug case. Two young men were being tried together for the same crime: sale of methamphetimines. They were both Hispanic, one spoke English and had attended a California college. The other did not speak English but both were provided with simultaneous translators, one for each man.
I had to drive 75 miles each way to the court house. It was winter and we had icy roads, so I elected to stay in Cheyenne the second night of the three-day trial. The government provided the room, meals and a daily stipend for jurors. We also were issued canvas covers with "Federal Juror" stenciled on them for covering parking meters. We could park anywhere near the court house without being ticketed.
Each day, at lunch time, we were escorted by federal marshalls to a different restaurant where we ate together while the two marshalls ate at another table and made sure that we were not approached by anyone else except restaurant staff. I felt very important.
The third day would be our last for deliberations because we were in agreement (except for one person) that the two defendants were guilty as sin. We would not pronounce sentence, only find guilt or innocence. Sentencing was the judge's job.
The final day was Monday and I had spent the weekend at home. I left for the court with plenty of lead time because of the icy conditions. About 30 miles along the interstate, my car decided to make a sudden left turn into the wide, grassy median that separated the northbound from the southbound lanes. With no braking and no steering and a forward speed of 45 mph, I went across the median into the northbound lanes, my windshield covered with snow that had flown up when I went through the snow covered grass. Blind and sliding, I managed to turn on the wipers to see what fate awaited me, realized that I was in deep doodoo and steered for the grass as the car slowed down.
There I sat for two and a half hours, on the cell phone to the judge's clerk, my wife, and a towing service. I had no idea where I was, literally. In Wyoming there are many miles of open land with only mile post markers for you to determine how far you are from the next town. I was between mileposts.
Now, I'll leave you wondering what happened next because this post is entirely too long already. TBC (to be continued).
