2003-10-08 - 12:49 a.m.
She opened her mail. It had been a long day at work and the pieces of junk mail failed to help her mood. She found the last little envelope. “Shit.”
Three months later…
The alarm was set for 6am. She managed to regain consciousness right before she hit the snooze button for a second time, which would certainly wake her roommates. A quick shower, the quietest attempt at getting ready, and she was ready to go. She stopped along the way to grab some breakfast; God only knew when she was going to be able to eat again that day.
Fighting her way through the cold rain, she made it to the T. Seven stops later, she reemerged from the warm underground tunnels and confronted a chilly morning in the heart of downtown. She looked at the directions she had been given, and then at the street sign at the corner. Directions. Street sign. Directions. Map. Street sign. She picked a direction and headed off.
Two blocks later, she stood confounded on the corner. The map was poorly drawn; the directions were seemingly backwards. A kind stranger guessed her plight. “Looking for the Courthouse? It’s right there across the street.” “Thanks,” she replied quietly, cursing her inability to correctly read a map for once.
“Please empty your pockets of all your change and anything else metallic,” the guard droned. Bookbag and purse placed on the x-ray belt, she walked through the metal detector. A loud beep broke the relative silence in the hall. “It’s probably my shoes. They have metal buckles…they always seem to set these things off,” she explained. “If you could please raise your arms?” said the guard. He waived the small baton around her. It emitted small chirps when it got close to her rings, watch, zipper, and sure enough, shoes. “You’re good to go,” said the guard mechanically.
She walked up the steps. Unsure of where to go, she approached yet another guard. “Jury duty?” she inquired. “Second floor.”
Another flight of steps and she found the appointed room. She handed in her paperwork, received her jury pool and individual identification numbers, found an empty chair and settled in with some assigned reading.
“All rise for the Honorable Judge…” shouted the bailiff. Everyone dutifully stood up, trying to look their best. The judge spoke a few words about jury duty being an important civic duty and how he was so pleased to see everyone, and on and on and no one was really paying attention; they were all looking at the clock and wondering how much longer they would have to be in the austere holding room.
The judge finally left and the bailiff put in a video explaining the whole jury selection and trial process. The video was narrated by a woman judge who sounded like a young Barbara Walters with a mouthful of marbles.
She could barely keep herself from laughing out loud. All she could hear in her head was the priest’s speech from the movie “The Princess Bride.” She kept waiting for one of the bailiffs to take her away, but by virtue of being in the back of the room, she escaped notice.
Finally, the video ended. The bailiffs asked if there were any questions. Seeing as there were none, they were told that they now had a 30 minute recess. Most people shuffled out the door, some to get food from the vending machines, some to make phone calls, some to go have a smoke. She stayed in her seat, willing herself to get at least a little caught up on her History reading.
The minutes and pages slowly passed, and people began to retake their seats. The recess was officially declared to be over and everyone was told that jury selection would begin soon.
Half an hour passed. Then another. Then fifteen minutes more slowly ticked by. A bailiff stood up and walked to the front and center of the room. “All jurors in Pool 6, please come to the front of the room. Thank you.” She looked at her little slip of paper with her identification numbers on it. She was in Pool 9. “Hmm. Thought they would have started with Pool 1, but oh well. Nine is still a pretty high number. I probably won’t get called” she mused.
An hour passed. The bailiff once again stood front and center, this time calling Pools 7 and 8 to serve their civic duty. “Shit. I really don’t want to be called” she thought.
Half an hour later, Pools 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5 were called all together. Her heart started to beat faster. “I’m next. There’s no way I’m going to get out of this without getting called.”
Once that collection of jurors had left the room, the bailiff made his final announcement. “Ok, that’s all for today. Thank you for coming down. Be sure to turn in your cards and to fill out one last form before you leave. Have a pleasant day.”
An audible sigh of relief swept the room. The remaining jurors packed up their books and newspapers, and headed for the door, all thanking their lucky stars that they wouldn’t be assigned to a trial.
She put her books back into her bookbag, wishing that she could have gotten more work done. Once outside the courthouse, she turned her phone back on to call her friend. “Yeah, I’m done. I didn’t get called. I’m on my way home. I’ll see you in a bit.”
And thus endeth the jury duty experience.
©2003By M.E. It's ok to look, but just don't touch. Or steal for that matter.
