Death to Juror Number Twelve (#122)

‘Twas the week before Christmas
And all through the courts
Eleven angry jurors
Were no longer good sports.

The evidence was lame
The man should be freed
Self-defense was enough
What more could anyone need?

But Juror Twelve disagreed.
That motherfucker.

During the jury selection for a criminal case of assault and battery, the defense attorney thanked and excused every single white male in the jury pool. I suspect it’s because almost every white guy I know espouses some version of “if they have enough evidence for a trial, of course he’s guilty.”

The lone white male remaining was a pain in the ass once deliberations began. But it wasn’t because he thought the defendant was guilty. It was that Juror #12 either couldn’t — or wouldn’t — make up his mind. In under an hour, the rest of the jury had decided that there wasn’t enough evidence to prove the defendant attacked his father with intent to harm first during a family altercation.

An approximation of my chalkboard flowchart. No cellphones on in the jury room!

We spent two days explaining our logic to Juror #12. I even drew him a flowchart on the jury room’s chalkboard.

My masterpiece did not help. Juror #12 put his head in his hands. “I just need a minute to think.”

I hid my gritted teeth behind a smile. “Take your time. We will all be quiet.”

Juror #9 dug through the pile of jury instructions. The pile was big. The papers rustled for almost ten minutes before Juror #9 handed a page to me. I don’t remember the exact phrasing, but it read something like, ‘if you cannot decide between guilty or not guilty, you must find the defendant not guilty.”

I mouthed, “thank you” and went over to the chalkboard, adding this:


Juror #12 finally opened his eyes.

I asked, “Did you make a decision?” If he said, “I can’t decide” one more time I was going to pounce, tell him that the inability to make a decision WAS, per the jury instructions, a “Not Guilty” verdict, and then the ordeal would be over.

Instead, Juror #12 said, “I think if I hear the father’s testimony and the son’s testimony, and the detective’s testimony once more time, I’ll be able to make a decision.”

I was 90% sure that weasel was stringing us along, but the room was tense. If I didn’t set a patient tone, I feared other jurors might start throwing things. (I wasn’t entirely sure I would stop them.) So once again I smiled and nodded, and sent out the question, “Can we please have the testimony of father, the son, and the detective read back to us by the court reporter?” to the judge.

Court was adjourned for the day before our read-back could be arranged. Another shopping day and workday had been lost.

The next morning our jury was sent to an unused courtroom, where the defense attorney and defendant waited with the court reporter. None of us could meet the defendant’s tortured eyes. The longer a jury deliberates, the more likely it is to return a “Guilty” verdict. The defendant was sure we were sending him up the river.

If only we could have told that poor man HE wasn’t the asshole we wanted to send up the river.

Hearing the testimony the first time was bad enough. Hearing it the second time was excruciating. Especially since I figured I had better sit by Juror #12 so no one hit him.

My seat choice was a mistake. I wound up wanting to hit him. While the rest of us slumped down, tired and frustrated that justice was being delayed, Juror #12 sat up attentively. He smiled, took notes, and even fucking GIGGLED over one of the stupid questions the defense council had asked the defendant:

Attorney: “So why do you wear a belt?”

Defendant (confused as all hell): “To keep my pants up?”

Juror #12: “Tee-hee-hee!”

I clamped my right hand around my pencil, ground my left elbow into my armrest, and pressed my left hand to my forehead. Juror #6 later asked me if I had fallen asleep.

“If only,” I grumbled. “I was afraid that if I didn’t hold myself rigid, I might jam my pencil into Juror #12’s stupid, giggling face.”

She looked shocked. “Really? How were you able to appear so calm and reasonable?”

“I practice a lot. With my in-laws.”

Rehearing the testimony took another day. That night, I fumed and plotted…just like I sometimes do with my in-laws. Clearly, Juror #12 was enjoying his time on the jury. Maybe it was better than coping with the four kids he had at home, or his work at an insurance company. Or maybe he relished gumming up the gears of justice more than denying an amputee an adequate prosthetic limb.

Either way, I was done. So done. Juror #12, the eager beaver, was usually first in the jury room. But the next morning, I was waiting for him. Tapping my finger against the chalkboard. The part that said: “Can’t Decide = Not Guilty.”

I smiled. “Did you get a chance to see this the other day?”

“Uh…should we be talking without the other jurors?”

“Oh, we’re not deliberating. I just wanted to make sure you saw this.” I tapped again. “Because, you know, not being able to make a decision IS a decision, according to the jury instructions.”


“I have a question for you. It’s not related to the evidence, of course, because that would be wrong for us to discuss. And I’ll ask it again later, when all the jurors are here and can hear my question and your answer. But since it takes you such a long, long time to decide on stuff, I wanted you to have plenty of time to think about your answer before the others arrive and I ask this question:

“Do you hate your job or do you have a neurological condition that makes it impossible to make decisions? Because if it’s the latter, it’s something I think the judge needs to know. We do, after all, have three alternate jurors.” They were stuck at the courthouse, same as us, only in a different room with wifi, phones, and computers. The only thing they didn’t get was Juror #12. Lucky bastards.

Juror #12 did not answer. I said nothing further. The other jurors trickled in. Once everyone was seated, I turned to Juror #12. “I have a question–”

Juror #12 interrupted. “Not Guilty.”

The room erupted.

“Thank God!”

“About time!”


Juror #5 shoved the envelope with the verdict forms at me. “Quick! Write it down before he changes his mind!”

Juror #9: “He can’t change his mind. Can he?”

Juror #11: “No way, man. We all heard you!”

I had the verdict written and delivered to the bailiff in under a minute. We had to wait for another 30 minutes for the courtroom to be cleared and the parties summoned.

As soon as the verdict was read and the jury dismissed, we bolted from the courtroom like school kids released for Winter Break. Juror #12, seated closest to the door, opened it and held it for the rest of us as we exited.

But once we were in the elevator, I didn’t see him.

I asked, “Where is Juror #12?”

Juror #9 snorted. “He went back into the courtroom.”

“Like a stalker?” I shuddered. “So weird.”

Juror #8 said, “Hey did you guys see the defendant? He was sobbing.”

Juror #11 rolled his eyes. “That man should be cheering.”

But I understood. When I left the courthouse that day, I felt as if a great weight had slipped off my shoulders. There was a warm breeze on my face and Southern California sunlight on my lips. They tasted like freedom. Which seemed silly, really.

I’d only been trapped by an entitled twerp for a week. The lunch breaks had been long. My chair was cushy. I wasn’t concerned about the possibility of prison — so long as I didn’t throttle Juror #12. The stress was nothing compared to what the defendant had been under for months.

I hope the court allowed him a good, long cry.

Published by

Autumn Ashbough

WF writing about the humorous perils of life with Chinese-American significant other.

22 thoughts on “Death to Juror Number Twelve (#122)”

  1. Holy crap. I can’t even imagine how patient you must’ve been with Juror #12!

    I suspect that Juror #12 had some secret agenda and was deliberately dragging out deliberations (tee hee) for as long as possible.

    …does this mean you’ll not postpone jury duty again? *g*

    1. Ha! Hopefully I am safe for another year or two.

      In the initial questioning of the jury pool, the judge does ask about previous juror experience. So next time, I have my embittered rant ready and maybe they will excuse me.

    1. I don’t know. He might have really had a neurological processing issue, but that would not explain why he hung out in the courtroom while the rest of us fled. Probably it was a combination of entitled white male, slow processing, and just enjoying court.

  2. Oh my. I don’t think I would have been as patient as you were. I was on a drug trial and the prosecutors screwed up everything. We knew he was guilty but could not convict. Done in an hour. I expect there was some ulterior motive here and I love how you broke it. It does leave a bad taste in your mouth though, doesn’t it?

  3. Another great story from Autumn! Wow, juror #12 sounds like such an oblivious ass. I can’t believe he was selfish enough to delay all of you, and still continue to be wishy washy even after rehearing the testimonies! I’m glad you finally gave him a stern talking to in the end.

    So on most court cases are the jurors usually in majority with an answer? In the last few cases you described it seems like the majority of the jury were leaning in the same direction. Have you ever been on a case where it was completely split?

    I love the poem by the way, especially the last line, haha. Cracks me up.

    1. He was an entitled ass. I’m not sure how much of it was a genuine inability to process and make quick decisions, but I am sure that his career in insurance claims is perfect for him. 🙂 But you’re right, I think his obliviousness was the most frustrating thing.He was going to do what HE wanted to do, and please himself, whether it meant a speedy trial or not.

      All of the cases I’ve been on have had pretty obvious verdicts and a majority consensus. Or maybe I just forced everyone to agree with me.

  4. That as*h***! I have no idea how you managed to be so calm. I’d have shoved the board to his face or vice versa. I mean, dude, it’s written there, “can’t decide –> not guilty”. Problem solved.
    The question with the belt must be one of the most idiotic I’ve ever seen.
    Awesome poem at the beginning, by the way. xDD

  5. Your handwriting is so prettyyyy! The poem at the beginning was funny too!

    What I don’t get is that Juror #12. Did he secretly strike a deal with the plaintiff? Did he have any sort of interest in the case? Or do you happen to get paid for these services and he wanted more?

    And if the instructions said that if he can’t decide it means the defendant is not guilty, then why did you have to go through the whole thing again? Wouldn’t it have sufficed if you simply showed him (and explained) that rule to him and then proceeded on?

    In Romania, it is only the judge who gets to decide, so the system is quite different. o3o

    1. All good questions. Jurors get paid a pittance, something like $5.00 a day, plus mileage. So there wasn’t any sort of monetary incentive. And we all swear under oath that we don’t know the defendant or any of the witnesses or the lawyers. So there’s very little chance Juror #12 was bribed (also, probably not a high profile enough case to risk jury tampering).

      1. Oh! So they do pay you! I somehow was under the impression that it’s like community work or something like that. But then again, with so little money…
        Mhm, thought so. Though he could’ve still offended the law.
        What would have happened if he said the guy was guilty? I mean, there would have been a majority of no, and one yes. What then? Is the majority that counts or—?
        And thank you so much for answering my questions!

  6. I should show your story to my boyfriend to explain to him why everybody in the western world hates insurance people. (He works in insurance AND he likes it. But he does sales. Is that ok as an excuse? :D)

    1. Sales is one thing — it’s very social. Claims — and thwarting insurance claims — is another matter entirely. And the main reason everyone hates insurance people. 🙂

  7. OMG. You are a saint! A saint, I tell you! Poor folks like #12…makes me wonder what the story around him is all about. I can’t imagine. I want to blame folks like him for socieities ills, and yet…mercy, I must show mercy like you did to him.

    1. LOL, yes, mercy. Actually, I think it was more like, “Wow, if I start trashing him or getting impatient, the other jurors are going to rip him apart. And I might like it and that would be BAD” meaning it would have taken longer. 🙂

  8. Very funny and well written – you had me laughing from the poem 🙂

    I have never done jury duty but I covered a few court cases as a journalist and once had a crazy potential juror approach me. She told me she had been dismissed already and started asking me about the case. After our conversation she admitted she hadn’t actually been dismissed. I freaked out (as it had been drilled into me that you couldn’t speak to members of the jury about the case) and told her that I shouldn’t have spoken to her about it. She then looked me in the eye – in front of other people – and said “I don’t know what you are talking about, I have never spoken to you in my life”. I looked over at some guy sitting across from us for confirmation that I wasn’t crazy but he clearly didn’t want to be involved. I rang my editor and they freaked out (saying the trial may have to be aborted) and that I needed to speak to one of the lawyers – thankfully, after the lawyer got past his initial annoyance and saw which potential juror I was talking about he said something like “oh, don’t worry about her, we weren’t going to pick her anyway” – maybe they knew she was crazy? Maybe she was a potential juror number 12?

    1. Oh, wow, that is some craziness there! At least you managed to head it off before Crazy Juror made it into the jury room. Or the attorney did, I guess. But you were probably the nail in the coffin.

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