The case

I thought I'd update everyone on my jury duty experience.

I had to report to Superior Court on Dec. 10. I figured it might be a routine DUI, burglary or drug case; maybe take a few days or a week at most if I had been chosen. 

But no.

Judge Anderson was seating jurors for the case of Marjorie Orbin, a former Las Vegas showgirl accused of killed art dealer husband Jay Orbin, sawing off his limbs and head, stuffing his torso into black garbage bags and a garbage bin, and leaving him in the desert. The state is seeking the death penalty.

(What is it about these Scottsdale wives sawing up their husbands? Remember hair stylist Valerie Pape, convicted of killing her husband and cutting him up?)

There were a few articles about Marjorie Orbin's case when she was arrested, and I read them, but I didn't remember Orbin's name. One reporter wrote that a close friend of Orbin's said a few years ago she "started making threats to kill Jay by shooting him, wrapping him up and leaving him in the desert."

Yes, good plan: share your pre-meditated murder M.O. with friends. Now, I routinely threaten to kill my husband in his sleep, put him through a wood chipper and bury the remains under a sidewalk if he does not stop his off-key singing. But we both know that OF COURSE I would never do that. I'd do something totally different and unexpected, like shooting him, sawing off his limbs and head, and putting him in a trash can in the desert.

Just kidding, Honey.

Anyway, the trial was supposed to start last week and run through the end of May. I was almost in a panic. Five months! Egad! 

Even though trial hours only would be 1:30-4:30 p.m. weekdays, with some days off for holidays and judge's time off, that would severely hamper my ability to earn a living. As fascinating as it sounded and as much as I take seriously my civic duty, I simply couldn't do it.

I'm estimating here, but there were well more than 100 people called, probably more like 150, and I'd say at least 80 percent of us claimed hardship and were dismissed. We had to fill out a form explaining our reason, which the judge and attorneys reviewed. Other judges choose the jury differently, my judge friend told me, but this is how Judge Anderson did it.

In any event, I hope that the media continues to cover the case as it progresses so I can watch the highlights and read about it instead of having to hunker down in a jury box every day. At lunch break, I ducked into the courtroom where the Serial Shooter trial was happening, and let me tell you, it was boooorrrrriiinnnng that day. Evidential minutiae, ad nauseum.

The wheels of justice can sometimes resemble a shiny new Maserati, especially if you just see the sensational parts, but in reality, they're more of an old Ford Fiesta with a mis-matched front quarter panel.

Still, it's our Ford Fiesta, and I'm just glad we get around in it the best we can.