All that is great about America: Jury Duty

I completely wasted my day--not with the jury duty, but by staying up too late last night and being wiped out today. So I am briefly awakening from sleep replenishment to write about jury duty.

As I feared, I barely woke up in time to throw on jeans and a non-wrinkly shirt and drive downtown. I even eschewed my daily Starbucks coffee and croissant, hoping to be out of there in time for breakfast. Darting through downtown construction chaos, I pulled into the parking garage across from our city's large criminal courthouse just minutes before the 8:30 a.m. start time. I ran up the steep, steep stairs and, out of breath, made my way through the security line with my briefcase of work I fantasized about actually completing while there today.

Many of us realized we had forgotten to complete the juror information form and bring it with us, so we perched at narrow, high tables like those found at the post office while scratching out personal information such as our drivers' license number, employer and religion. Well, except for me, who has a problem identifying my religion or lack thereof to my government, so I left that one blank.

I entered the large jury room and took my seat among the 300 or so other folks who, like me, ran out of postponement opportunities. The "juror movie" was already in full swing, telling people what would preclude them from service. It was as if everyone had a thought bubble above his head that read, "I wish that applied to me." I looked around, bored already, and noticed a self-titled "Freedom Shrine" on the wall (the title was spelled out in very large black letters), which appeared to contain snippets from the Magna Carta, Constitution and other great documents (I assume these were reproductions). I thought this looked oddly placed behind a few rows of cheap plastic chairs reserved for those who arrived too late to get the comfy upholstered chairs and/or who are too large to fit in those chairs.

The sheer variety in the dress of those attending jury duty could have kept me amused for quite a while, had I put my mind to it. There was everything from the explicitly forbidden flip-flops (but they had rhinestones!) to suits to muu-muus to linen. I spent a good bit of time thinking about how I would size up each of my fellow jurors' predelictions based on their dress if I was the attorney choosing from a jury panel that included them. Then I found myself regretting not having worn my typical business dress (instead, I dressed for comfort in my jeans), thinking that I would let down my profession if I had to stand up in front of a judge, lawyers and fellow potential jurors and identify myself as a schlumpily-dressed lawyer. So I worried for a bit about my clothing, then moved on to wondering what was up with the woman sitting next to me.

She said she is a "home health worker," and I later heard her talking about being some kind of therapist. Her voice was like the voice of every meddlesome neighbor woman one would find in 50's era movies. She opened a conversation with me by inquiring about my cell phone/PDA. I now think she may have been wishing I would invite her to surf the internet on it, but I didn't realize that then. Seeking to liven things up, I turned the conversation to "things one might say if one did not want to be chosen as a juror." My personal favorite was, "I think it's best to let people do what they will do and permit God to sort it all out in the end." My neighbor laughed uncomfortably when I said this, and even more so when I said I was just joking and that of course one must honestly give their opinion when asked for it upstairs (meaning in the courtroom, not the figurative "upstairs").

Oh, yes, the jury duty. First, the deputy clerk read basic information to the group from a prepared text in a way that made it seem as if it was her first time reading anything, ever. I felt bad for her, worried that she had not had sufficient reading practice as a child. She then departed and was not seen again.

Next, a beautiful spokesmodel-like woman came out to announce to us what prizes we had won, I mean, to tell us about what would happen next, and to announce the groups of jurors who should head upstairs. She has developed a sense of humor working in this job, and shared a story about someone who was concerned about how to reach a courtroom on the 3rd floor in light of the fact that the "escalator only goes to the 5th floor," assuring us that we were welcome to step off the escalator at any floor of our choice, up to and including the 5th floor. The first groups of jurors she called reached only halfway to my juror number, but she told us we must continue to wait until after 11 am, when the courts have a deadline to call for any jury panels.

So wait we did, freezing our little tushies off in the very chilly room and entertaining ourselves by buying snacks and drinks out of the machines located behind the Freedom Shrine. The adventures with my seat neighbor continued. She was taking extensive handwritten notes that I tried not to look at; but she peered so intensely while I was writing in my Moleskine that I finally put it away, as she made me feel rude for not openly sharing my musings with her. She had the odd habit of turning while speaking as if she was talking to the people on each side of her, when she was actually only involved in a conversation with one person. This interfered a bit with my newspaper-reading, until I learned to immerse myself in the paper and not look her way.

While waiting, I realized that jury duty is one of the few events in Dallas without a Spanish-English translation. I realized this when an anxious man speaking broken English figured out several minutes into our wait that his number was included in one of the prior groups and that he was quite late getting upstairs. The rest of us spread out so we were not packed elbow-to-elbow in our chairs, reading newspapers and books. That is, except for Gladys Kravits, who informed her other neighbor that she has not read a book in more than two years.

The spokesmodel called a few more groups of jurors to head upstairs, but my number was just on the other side of those called to service. We were asked to wait for another period of time, after which she returned to say that no more jurors were needed today. And with that, I was returned to freedom. I met a friend and her daughter for lunch and contemplated going in to work, but opted instead to come home for a nap, then work at home, in light of my late, late night at work last night. But various events of the afternoon conspired to keep me from sleep and I wound up wasting the entire day. Argh! No rest for me this weekend.

Anyway, I hope this has been informative and educational for you: what it is like to have jury service without actually seeing a judge or a courtroom.