When I saw the letter, I thought it was a mistake.
Jury Duty? ME? NOW?
I read the summons at least 6 times before I decided it was legitimate, it was for me, and it begins September to December.
All kind of bad scenarios popped into my head.....What if they sequester me before my Bat Mitzvah and I can't practice? What if I'm serving jury duty when my family comes in? What if I'm involved in a long case ...day after day?
I read the reasons you could write to the judge and none of them included my worries.
So....I headed off to Jury Orientation. Maybe it was a good omen, because I got a parking spot right in front of the courthouse down town and I even had enough change for the meter.
I've never ever been on Jury Duty....so I wasn't sure what to expect or even where to go. I immediately teamed up with an older woman who had the same summons in her hand. "Don't worry honey," she wheezed (she was very obese and unsteady on her feet), "we just go upstairs and sit in the courtroom today for orientation."
I have never been in our city's courthouse. It has modern guts and old marble and wood bones. It was comforting in the way old buildings can make you feel continuity in a community. I handed in part of my summons to a woman so bored with her work, you almost felt sorry for bothering her. Then, I followed a line of people into the courtroom.
The bailiff directed me to a row of seats. When I hit the row, I paused, these are court seats?? It looked like row after row of seats had been pulled out of an high school auditorium. I slid down the narrow aisle and took my place next to a young man. He and the man next to him were complaining about the seats too. They were wooden, narrow, and without a cushion. We shrugged, perhaps the court system didn't really want people to be watching the trail for a long time because I'm sure after an hour in these chairs you'd be screaming out for mercy.
The room filled. I was shocked the the whole courtroom filled up. The bailiff, a rather handsome man, in a snug suit, started his spiel. He was funny and repeated things at least 5 times.
"On Wednesdays, you will call the number at the top of the neon green sheet and hear a message from me. I will tell you if you are needed the next day for a trail."
"Does everyone understand that?"
"So on Wednesdays, you will call the number at the top of the neon green sheet and hear a message from me telling you whether or not you are needed for a trail the next day."
He changed the words just slightly but kept on repeating.
"Son on Wednesdays, you call in, use the number at the top of the green sheet and listen to a message from me telling you whether or not you are needed for a trail the next day."
After the 5th time, I got it. There was not way I was going to forget that on Wednesdays I needed to call in and see if I was needed for a trail the next day.
He gave other important instructions including one he said with an absolute deadpan place. " You can ask me questions before or after a trail but do not ask me questions when I am escorting a man or woman in an orange suit with handcuffs."
"Again, don't ask me questions while I'm walking a man or woman down the hall in handcuffs and an orange suit."
"So you understand, don't stop and talk to me when I'm walking down the hall with a man or woman in an orange suit and handcuffs."
Okay, I will not ask questions when you're walking anyone around in handcuffs.
He must us laugh several times, telling us how lucky we were that the judge for this particular court was on vacation because his welcome speeches to potential jurors was known for it's length.
As he talked about some other details, I scanned the room. Whatever computer program they had that picked juries was good, real good. There was an amazing cross section of people from my city: old, young, black, white, oriental, students, businessmen, moms, professionally-dressed folks, t-shirts and jeans men and women. For some reason, the diversity made me feel good. Everyone was laughing at the same jokes and the crowd in general seemed to be in a pretty good mood. The bailiff stressed how few days you really had to work in the next four months (no more than 10 days and you would be exempt for the rest of the time) and not to worry about parking-simple park at any meter and get a ticket-because the court would negate it.
He allowed a few minutes for questions but encouraged folks without any longer questions and eligibility problems to stay behind after we were excused.
I laughed at the first guy who asked a question. White-haired, obviously retired, maybe late 60's, ironed shirt and looking like a very conservative guy. "I have a question," he shouted. "Will you ever call us? And if you do, what will it say on phone? Because I have caller ID and I don't answer the phone, unless I know who it is and I'm not going to talk to you unless you tell me what your ID is."
Everyone chuckled. It was so stereotypical this conservative looking guy sounding a bit paranoid and under no circumstances was he going to answer his phone unless you told him your handle because damn you could be a telemarketer.
The Bailiff chucked too. " We NEVER call you."
By the end of the session, I wasn't as anxious as when I came in. Unlike Court TV, most cases were over in a couple days, and the month long sequestration-type of case was more common on TV than in my city.
So I scheduled alerts on my computer and phone starting in September to remind myself to call in, because on Wednesdays I have to call the number at the top of the neon green sheet and see if the bailiff says he needs me the next day.
I repeat, on Wednesdays I will call the number.........
