Duty Now For The Future

The ordeal is over now. I can begin to sort out my feelings about being part of the judicial system for a few days this month. I have written before about the massive ambivalence I harbor about jury duty. The public servant in me is gassed up and ready to go. I am happy to be a part of "the system." That's the part of me that loves to vote and watch the State of the Union address. I prefer to be an active member of my city, state, and country. If nothing else, it gives me the moral high ground when I do start to complain.
Then there's the weaselly part. The one that sighs mightily at the prospect of spending any sort of unstructured time. It's the waiting that kills me. Sitting in the jury room is painful, but offers the distraction of a number of television sets and the opportunity to catch up on my reading. Once called to a courtroom, however, all that preoccupation ends. A sign in front of prospective jurors reminds us to turn off our cell phones and not to read while court is in session. We wouldn't want to miss a word.
So for a day and a half, I sat there and listened while those around me were summoned. Some were excused. Others were seated in the cushy chairs of the jury box. And the process ground on and on. Each time a juror was cut loose, we all winced in anticipation of the next name to be called. They never called mine. I sat there and memorized the layout of the courtroom. I remembered the judge's apology at the outset, for while the courthouse had received many renovations in the seventy-plus years that it had served the county, the seats we found ourselves in were the same as they had been in the Roosevelt administration. Being selected for the jury offered the mild release of a comfortable seat.
And I stared at the attorneys. Long after I stopped listening to their importantly repetitious questions, I stared. I was casting the movie of my day. The defense featured James Whitmore, Victor Buono, Philip Seymour Hoffman, and Zach Braff with a twenty-dollar haircut. The district attorney was played by a clean-shaven Ryan Gosling. As I drifted in and out of full awareness, I considered all the questions those who went before me were asked: What biases do you bring to this proceeding? Can you weigh all the evidence before making a decision? Do you understand the concept of "reasonable doubt?"
I spent that time mostly in my own head. I'm more comfortable being able to share my thoughts with others. Sitting there in silence for so very long gave me a strain in my neck and a pain behind my eyes. What would they ask me? What would it be like to serve for six weeks or more with the peers I saw in front of me in the jury box? Would it be me who caused the deadlock, just like Henry Fonda or Aunt Bea? What is it about being "ordered" and "summoned" that feels like authority that I want to rail against? Would I be one of those whiners whose job was so very important that I couldn't possibly take the time to participate fully in bringing justice to this case? Could I just unclench for a few minutes?
Then, suddenly, it was over. The third alternate was seated and those of us in the gallery exhaled as we were told we could "go home or about our business." The courtroom cleared quickly after that, and the elevators going down were full. I chose, along with a number of my fellow excused jurors to take the stairs. Suddenly we were free to discuss and converse. The guy behind me said something about how it had been twenty-two years since the last time he had been called. I was surprised, considering the regularity with which I find jury summons in my mailbox, but it made me think: Would I be sad if it took another twenty-two years before I sat on a jury?