Spare Lunch/Hung Juror

The woman sitting across from me is wearing an olive trench coat and her black, wire-framed glasses pitch her button nose and compress feathered grey hairs. Then the man with the faded tattoo on his right arm with grey and blond hair and small joules is next to her. Then the woman tooling with a blackberry with strawberry hair, which looks even redder thanks to her pink skin tone. Then a woman with frazzled, parted salt and pepper hair wearing a black coat with red lapels. Then the old woman, with the loose skin hidden beneath her purple jacket and hacking smoker's cough who explains to everyone that she drove to a supermarket, parked her car and took the bus downtown.

As the attorney walks in the woman with the frazzled hair asks, "Are we getting out of here early?" "No," he responds matter-of-factly. The lawyer has grey Dudley Moore-hair, a navy/sunflower tie and a nautical blue blazer. He scratches his brushy eyebrows with a long middle finger. A woman adjacent me has black hair and bruised knuckles.

The Dudley Moore lawyer explains the case while the jurors eat a provided lunch. Both sides are explained at which point we are to deliberate amongst ourselves. After explaining the case the bushy-eyed lawyer asks, "Any questions?"

I raise my hand, having thought long and hard about this question for the past 20 minutes. "Can I eat that spare lunch?" "Sure," he replies before packing his supplies and papers except for a few medical documents he hands the jury foreman; exhibits we are supposed to look over and consider as evidence.

A simple case involving a woman rear-ended, the defendant admits fault, but the subsequent surgeries were botched by doctors. Is the original insurance company responsible for the woman's continued pain and suffering? I felt yes, even if they were not to blame for the botched surgeries, she would have never needed the surgeries had the accident never taken place. Everyone agree, except for the woman with frazzled hair who asked if we were leaving early.

She rationalized that the insurance company was only liable for the initial damages. She was swayed by passion and would not budge. I took the medical records from the woman with bruised knuckles, who had gotten the records from the woman with strawberry hair, and read through the documents, having done a stint in the medical records industry in college. The plaintiff had problems moving and was taking morphine and hydrocodone for the pain. Probably an addict this late in life I thought. Frazzle hair wouldn't budge or look at the medical records.

Finally, the attorney comes back in the room and we state our hung status and, a little later, he dismisses the jury. Everyone else leaves the conference room expect the lawyer and I. "The woman who objected didn't even look a the medical records," I say taking a big bite of the white chocolate chip cookie found in the spare lunch.
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