Apr 21 2004

Jury Duty in Sin City

by Megan Edwards
Clark County Jury DutyClark County Jury Duty Summons

The summons arrived in the mail, and a month or so later, I was on my way to the Clark County Courthouse. Armed with a long novel and lunch money, I braced myself for a day in a waiting room.

Nevada has recently made it much more difficult to get out of jury duty. All the old excuses - “My kid-dog-grandmother is sick,” “I can’t afford it,” “I’m sick” - don’t work any more. Well, actually, “I’m sick” will work, but you better be unconscious, bleeding, or a good enough actor to fool a judge. There is, however, an upside to the new rules: the “one day/one trial” provision. That means you spend one day in a room full of plastic chairs, and if you aren’t “empaneled” on a jury, you’re free until your next summons arrives. (For all the rules and info about when & if you get paid, click here.)

Normally, prospective jurors can move into the “juror lounge” right next to the “jury services room” to wait. The lounge has a couple of couches and a television, but the day I was there, it was full of technicians in lab coats, recliner chairs, blood-sucking devices, and a steady stream of blood donors. No TV was a disappointment for many prospective jurors, but not me. I had my long novel, not to mention my bad habit of listening in on other people’s cell phone calls.

Morning passed with little more to punctuate it than a video about civic duties and a tearful woman who cheered up when a judge decided to let her go. Around noon, the woman in charge told us we could leave for lunch as long as we were back in an hour. I made my way through the crowded hallway past the security checkpoint and emerged onto the crowded front steps of the courthouse.

I suppose courthouse steps look like this all across the country - lawyers in suits of varying quality intermingled with people of every age, background, size, and style. But there the similarity ends. The Clark County Courthouse is the only one in the world a block away from Fremont Street. Nowhere else in the USA can you walk out of a courtroom and into a poker game with such delightful ease.

I spent my lunch hour moseying along under the canopy of the Fremont Street Experience, where preparations were underway for an outdoor concert to be held that night. After a burger at the Bay City Diner at the Golden Gate, I headed back to the courthouse, where the steps were still crowded.

Back in the jury services room, the atmosphere lightened up a little as we headed into the final stretch. I chatted with two men who were serving on a jury. I could tell by their badges, which looked much more important than my own “prospective juror” tag.

“Three more hours and you’re free,” one of them said.

“I think I’d actually like to serve on a jury,” I said.

“You still might get to,” the other one said. “I’ve seen people get empaneled at five minutes to five.”

“Yeah,” the other chimed in, “And I’ve heard they’re in the selection process for the new Binion murder trial today. You could really get lucky.”

“They are?” I asked, more than slightly alarmed. Last time, the Binion case lasted a couple of centuries. Just then, the woman in charge called off a bunch of numbers. Mine was among them.

“Those numbers I just called — ” the woman said, shuffling papers on the desk in front of her. Her phone rang. She spoke briefly, then hung up. “Those numbers — ” More shuffling, and I started to get nervous. “We won’t be needing you. You can go.”

“Better luck next time,” one of the jurors said.

“And you can be sure there’ll be a next time,” the other continued. “Now that they know you’re a warm body.”

I wandered up to Fremont Street again, where two country bands were warming up on the outdoor stages. I had to admit I was a little disappointed that I wouldn’t be spending any more days at the courthouse. I’ve never been inside Binion’s Horseshoe, the Four Queens, or the Girls of Glitter Gulch. A three-day trial would have given me such a perfect opportunity to lunch in a topless joint while feeling civically responsible.

At least I know there’ll be a next time.

Leave a Reply