Cursed Tongue: Adventures in Jurisimprudence: Bearing Witless, Part 1

Posted by CursedTongue on June 19, 2008

Passing through the doors into courtroom I crawl into the skin of Juror #6, emotionally reserved and attentive, as opposed to dramatic and flighty.  Like a Lifetime movie, the trial has everything:  a love triangle, a hunky young state prosecutor with hypnotic ties, a cherubic blond 7 year-old witness, a gun that may or may not have been in a glove or holster and four people with a dubious grasp on the concept of being role models for their children.  As an added bonus, this case even dabbled in the ramifications of the Information Age.

Gather ’round, Dear Readers, and let me tell you a heartwarming tale of post-Thanksgiving Day domestic violence.  Once upon a time, in a suburb of Phoenix, there lived a family, who, for some reason not disclosed to the jury, moved in with a single woman renting a house on Cypress Street.  Her name was Jessica and she and the wife, Lisa, fell in love, sometime in early November.  That’s when Jessica and Lisa had a “We need to talk” kind of conversation with Clint, the husband.  It turns out that he wasn’t pleased about the transfer of his wife’s affections.  And so, he threatened to gut Jessica with a knife from her bikini area to her throat.  The next day Jessica and Lisa went out on their first errand as a family, obtaining a restraining order.  Two days after Thanksgiving Clint entered the house on Cypress Street unexpectedly, and probably with the help of a switchblade.

The first witness was Lisa’s boss, Marge.  Clint picked up his computer from Lisa’s office and Marge acted as an intermediary.  Marge helped Clint carry out said computer to his purple pimpmobile.  He opened the trunk and pointed out the gun in the back and jokingly said he hoped she wasn’t afraid of guns.  Marge replied that she had a .38 Special at home, and was familiar with firearms.

She also testified that one day she came in to work and there were fliers attached to the fence around her business.  The fliers included the address, and aerial photos of the house on Cypress, from what several witnesses termed “virtual reality.”  Really, it was Google Maps.  Like a monkey climbing the suspension cords on an elevator, Clint printed the Google Map, whipped out his Sharpie and in a crude hand, penned messages to the tune of, “Home-wrecker lives here.”  And, “She stole my beautiful wife.”  He thoughtfully posted them at Lisa’s office and in her neighborhood, despite the restraining order.

Jessica took the stand and testified to hearing a loud noise around 10 p.m. after she and Lisa retired for the evening.  Jessica leaves the sleeping Lisa in the bedroom to check it out.  She notices that the kitchen door is slightly ajar.  She walks to the door so she can shut it, in order to keep out lunatics.  To her surprise she is grabbed from behind and told to “Shut the f*** up,” as for some reason she was screaming.

Lisa stumbles, bleary and pantsless into the hall.  She takes in the sight of estranged husband, who has her girlfriend by the hair, and runs back to the bedroom for jeans.  Because sometime people just need pants to deal with reality.  She returns, tries to talk Clint out of hurting anyone.  At some point, which varies depending on the witness, Clint retrieves a gun in either a holster or a brown work glove and points it at Jessica.

Eventually, Susan, Lisa’s visiting mother, decides she should check out the noise in the kitchen.  Clint threatens immediate action if the police are called.  Susan sees the barrel of the gun and immediately runs back to the room she is sharing with her granddaughter, Britney, and dials the police on her cell phone.  She quickly slams into a stumbling block:  she does not know the address.

The subsequent 911 call consists of the patient operator talking Susan through finding the address, telling her that she can’t triangulate her position from her cell phone, and trying to keep Susan on the phone.  Susan, convinced that they are all going to die as Clint brandishes the uncovered gun, puts the phone down and runs back and forth between the kitchen and Britney’s room.  Subsequently, loosing track of her granddaughter.

Will Clint discharge the uncovered/in a holster/in a glove gun?  Will Susan find the address and be reunited with Britney?  Will Juror #6 crack under the pressure of jury duty and strain of bus travel?  Which crazy tie will the prosecutor try to distract the jury with next?  If the glove doesn’t fit, will we have to acquit?

Tune in next week.

- Sarah Letnes

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Tags: humor, jury duty

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