The day in which court proceedings may actually begin. See day 1 for the Previous Installement of a full fun day of jury selection shenanigans and limone snicketts.
6:00 a.m. - Delicately extricate myself from Mr. (W)right's tiny twin bed, knees just slightly achy from the stair tromping staggerings of the day prior. Bounce past a few groggy roommates-in-law to find a little snack to eat
6:30 a.m. - Rouse the (W)right beast.I am doing my best to pretend that it is the weekend for the next hour and a half
8:00 a.m. - Set out again. Nearly witness 3 horrific car crashes (narrowly averted) on the way to the courthouse.
8:30 a.m. - Run into my attorney in the security line. He says today will be "fun." I'm not sure if he's deranged or sarcastic. I tell him I'll meet him in the room and take the stairs.
9:05 a.m.- Counsel informs the judge that juror #15 saw my co-defendants in a parking lot last night, driving the vehicle at issue in the crash (NOOOOOO!) Fortunately nobody thinks anything needs to be done about this... until the appeals I suppose.
9:07 a.m. - Opening statements. Plaintiff's attorney tells us the rules of the road: "Rule #1 - anticipate sudden stops on the road; Rule #2 always leave room when following a car to be able to stop suddenly; Rule #3 do NOT talk about Fight Club." I might have remembered those slightly incorrectly. Since our expert later confirms that sufficient stopping distance would be something like 100 feet, I am having a hard time imagining anyone actually conforming to these rules on the freeway.
9:20 a.m. - Plaintiff's attorney concludes. I still feel this urge to applaud, but don't act on it. "My" lawyer goes next. This is when I fully realize that Opposing Counsel is actually named "Charles. Counsell" and we are not just being cute by referring to him as "Mr. Counsel." And yes, my attorney wins kudos for taking half the time of Mr. Counsel.
9:26 a.m. - Codefense's turn. She ups the defense ante by being even briefer (har har, legal joke) than my attorney. She also wins hands-down for having the sexiest damned shoes in the court room. Oh god, I want these.
9:27 a.m. - Mr. Counsel's first witness is my codefendant. He's going to get grilled because he claims to actually know what the hell happened back then. It is not going to be pretty.
9:50 a.m. - Mr. Counsel is still deep frying codefendant in irritating minutia. I have zoned out entirely, to my chagrin, and am trying not to stare vacantly straight at any particular juror. My lawyer gives me my January 12, 2012 deposition to review. As I thought, I remembered nothing back then just like I remember nothing now.
10:01 a.m. - Mr. Counsell officially takes a pause from his mind-numbing examination to let cross happen.
10:06 a.m. - Oh god, I really am exercising restraint in not whipping out my phone and photographing codefense counsel's shoes, which she is displaying beautifully with crossed legs as she speak.
10:25 a.m. - Per objection by Mr. Counsell, codefendant will not be allowed to testify to an extrasensory perceptions he may have had regarding the crash (however sense impressions are shockingly allowed)
10:30 a.m. - Break. I run for the stairs.
11:10 a.m. - Mr. Counsel calls me! My big moment I notice that while he didn't ask what Codefendant's work was, he took some measures to make sure it was heard that I was an attorney. I did cheerily explain my profession as "mediator and collaborative law attorney" hoping to get a chance to make a random elevator speech about collaborative law and convert a few jurors for their next dissolutions. Sadly he wanted to instead affirm that I'd gone to law school and passed the bar. Of course, he's right to highlight this. Three years of law school has made me a spectacularly useless witness. I remember nothing. I think that's actually more honest than stating that the stories my brain made up to fill in gaps are my memories, but well...
11:13 a.m. - After an objection to "leading questioning" the judge allows Mr. Counsell to ask that way because I am an opposing party and thus "a hostile witness," but then chuckles and tells the jury "not that she seems very hostile." Every one chuckles. This is a far less tense witness session than the one before it.
11:15 a.m. - I am reminded that I have to say "yes" or "no" instead of "uh huh" - I continue to nod and say things like uh-huh. I make a few joking comments at something Mr. Counsel says and the jury laughs. I win. They may think I mowed the plaintiff down in cold blood ten times, but I did make them laugh. So there was that. There was a statement I unfortunately made to an insurance adjuster - er "agent for Codefense" - a bit after the accident where I said I'd thought I'd hit the plaintiff's car. Mr. Counsell has me read the pertinent parts and asks wouldn't my memory be better then. I say not necessarily... which actually is true, as I can tell you a thousand reasons my brain would have substituted that detail in there (least of which was that Mr. Hill said he hadn't hit anyone and the police report said I hit every one and I'm easily convinced of my own guilt). I also point out that there were many "(inaudible)" and "ums" and "well as best as I remember it" to add to my general air of uncertainty. Still a very unfortunate statement, but at least I stick with the golden rule of witnessing by sticking with short sentences and saying I didn't remember anything I didn't remember.
11:16 a.m. - On cross with my attorney, I almost totally derail his case by saying I didn't think the head on photograph was from right after the accident because there was no damage to the car. Then he showed me pictures taken from the side where all the damage was and I said "oh right!!" and went back to the first head-on shot and was able to make some sense. I am pretty sure I came off as a total flake, but hopefully a fairly agreeable one who at most would tap a bumper after being significantly slowed by impact with another car.
11:20 a.m. - And now the plaintiff is on the stand. I was apparently a boring witness. She's much more interesting. Going into a sob story that is pretty sad about being unemployed and moving back home to stay with her mom and how it was her birthday. But really I just idly wonder if this is coming across effectively with the jury. She can have edges of hysteria and nervousness that make me a little uncomfortable. I could see that being either effective or quite alienating.
11:40 a.m. - I learn for the first time that she first went to see her attorney a few days after the accident, started chiropractic treatment a week after and completed her treatment in September of 2009. I was not served with any papers until late August 2011. Now I'm irked. Why the two year delay exactly??
11:50 a.m. - Apparently the plaintiff didn't even realize my car had been involved in the accident until she read the police report.
11:55 a.m. - And we're on cross examination. Oh god those shoes are so beautiful. The plaintiff keeps saying "well to be quite honest... I don't exactly remember xyz" - "to be honest" was like "clearly" in law school: total taboo buzz words. Codefense mentions it, but gently as she tends to be (very effective way of telling somebody she's dead wrong while sounding really nice about it).
11:59 a.m. - Judge asks how much longer we'll need as it's almost lunch. Codefense says just one minute. She means it.
12:01 p.m. - Redirect back to Mr. Counsel. He appears to have no intention to make this brief.
12:05 p.m. - The court transcriber tells the judge he needs to be somewhere at 12:15. The judge none too kindly says we're done, as jurors pass questions forward that they'd like to have asked.
12:16 p.m. I leave the door just at the same time as one of the jurors. We're not supposed to interact in any way, which is incredibly hard for me (especially because you somewhat get to know them in voir dire). I linger with the door open while still maintaining a facade of non-recognition. It is the strangest fourth wall. At least I can talk to the other parties in the case.
12:40 p.m. - Walk for a while until I'm ready to roost at a Starbucks with a drip decaff made some fancy way I wanna call a Chipmunk, but I think that might be incorrect. It was tasty.
1:37 p.m. - The judge reads us the questions from the jury, which include: (1) does plaintiff have insurance? (2) what's plaintiff's driving record?: (3) How did the car get damaged? (4) has plaintiff ever sued any one before? And other things of this nature. Mr. Counsel insists that "it's relevant if it's on some jurors' minds." Note to attorneys: this is not the legal definition of relevancy.
1:41 p.m. - Jurors come back and a few of the more admissible questions are answered.
1:42 p.m. - A switcheroo of witnesses out of order, since the experts for defense are only available that afternoon. First witness is a chiropractor who did a records review of Plaintiff's chiropractor and thought the treatment was excessive in duration and frequency.
1:50 p.m. - As the chiropractor talks, I find myself straightening up my posture in reaction.
1:55 p.m. - A juror almost nods off.
1: 56 p.m. - Mr. Counsel: "I'm gonna object as to what other people do." He is sadly overruled and other people are allowed to continue doing things.
2:10 p.m. Mr Counsell's getting his cross-examination on. He wants to know wouldn't it have been way better to have talked to the chiropractor and plaintiff for the records review.The chiro doesn't seem to agree, but Mr. Counsell's pretty fervent on this one. I see him as a man who would like to just throw every one in a room at the scene of the accident and have a rap session. I also see him as a man who is claiming over and over again that the experts are no good because it's been so far past the event, but who created this lag by delaying the filing of suit for so long. I also see him as a man who will never stop talking and is really challenging my reserves in not rolling my eyes at him.
2:13 p.m. - When asked something like "he's a good doctor isn't he?", our expert says: "Well I've reviewed his records before... and I think he's a very pleasant person." OHHHH SNAP.
2:20 p.m. - Poor expert has had to read from three separate binders full of reports in painstaking detail about every chiropractic visit plaintiff had. My head hurts. Expert keeps dropping things.
2:21 p.m. - Redirect lasts four minutes
2:25 p.m. - Back to Mr. Counsel who is madly flipping through piles of papers and notes. The judge asks if this might be a good time to ask some of the jury questions.He asks. They are answered. There's a question about whether weight would affect recovery. One about whether the original X-Rays were reviewed by a radiologist or just the treating chiro (the latter).
2:35 p.m. - Break!Back up and down those stairs.
2:50 p.m. - Mr. Counsel whispers that he is not happy about jury selection to his client. Oh boy! Appeals! Mistrials! Retrials!! Groan.
2:56 p.m. - Trooper Hunter, a specialist in accident reconstruction with a resume a mile and fifteen minutes long comes to the stand. He says lots of fascinating totally nerdy things about forces of impact and computer modelling and damage and... concludes that with the information provided about the respective cars and all his models that this was "two two car accidents and not a four car accident." I'm excited and interested in all his nerdy talk. This is turning fun.
3:15 p.m. - My heart drops as it's time for Mr. Counsel's cross. Apparently he is now fixating on the fact that in one statement - not provided to this expert - plaintiff said she first stopped 3-4 feet from car in front of her, "I don't know." And that this requires additional models to see how the accident would have played out if she'd stopped half a foot from the first car's bumper.
3:16 p.m. - When Trooper Hunter explains that the information she provided gives an adequate ballpark of potential impacts, Mr. Counsell has the temerity to say "Don't you think my client deserves the truth!?!" As if it wasn't her repeated misstatement in the first place.
3:30 p.m.- Jury questions get addressed while Mr. Counsel again leafs through his notes for too long. It's fun to watch the expert get all geeked out and bright eyed at some of the more abstruse questions about airbags and impacts.
3:40 p.m. - Mr. Counsel asks about reaction and breaking distance. Average distance to come to a full stop at an unexpected event travelling at 30 mph would be 104 feet. In case you were wondering. Of course if the unexpected event is moving away from you too as it takes its 104 feet to stop...
3:45 p.m. Mr. Counsel is ready to take a break and let Codefense Counsel have her turn.
3:50 p.m. - My lawyer gets to redirect, even as Mr. Counsel tries to leap back into the questioning fray.
3:58 p.m. - Back to Mr. Counsel who only NOW decides to raise a time where apparently the expert put in a declaration that inaccurately stated he had done an on site investigation instead of his son. I say inaccurate, because by the explanation it was a supplemental report drafted by the attorney and which he briefly scanned and then signed. Then later realized what had happened and submitted an amended declaration. Given how often we do that with our clients, I find it painfully likely. Mr. Counsel is playing on the "UNDER OATH" part of things to really get the jury thinking he's a liar. Wonder if they'll take that bait.
4:05 p.m. - Judge cuts off Mr. Counsel and says we're done. The jury leaves. We stand around awkwardly waiting for them to leave so that the other attorneys can leave objections on the record about admitting that last line of questioning. Appeals! Mistrial! Oh boy!!
4:10 p.m. - My attorney tells me that we're just doing closings tomorrow so I don't have to come. I nearly break into tears and hug him. Instead I just run as the attorneys stay behind to bicker over jury instructions.
4:25 p.m. - On my way home, I am nearly side-swiped, rear-ended, and cut-off. I HATE driving!
4:50 p.m. - Having cleared it with appropriate parties, I have decided to stay the night with Mr. (W)right on an evening where I'm not spending the entire time fuming about a stupid trial I still have to attend. Figure I will wake up on Valentine's Day, have a quick "SMACK SMACK" happy kiss-attack, and then head to work to catch up with the terrifyingly copious quantities of emails stock-piling in my inbox.
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