When I received a jury duty summons, I thought I’d put in a day, two at most, before being dismissed. But in a matter of hours, I was chosen as Juror Number Three for a three-week trial (which I can not talk about, because I’ve been sworn to privacy. Don’t ask me questions!).

The 16-person jury (12 plus four alternates) was compiled from four rounds of group questioning. We were all in the court room together, listening to everyone answer the same questions. We knew eachother’s jobs (or lack thereof), where we lived (for how long; if we rented or owned), if we had any children, if we or anyone close to us had been charged with a crime or been a victim of one. Those lawyers really get to the good stuff.

We actually ran out of potential jurors on the second day day, so a new group had to be called in for the next day. The last five jurors were picked from the new pool while the rest of us waited in another room. It was weird when they joined us. We knew nothing about them. They were louder. One of them took my favorite chair. We were a jury divided.

One woman remarked that we were going to be family for the next three weeks. I didn’t quite like the sound of that. (Were we supposed to hug and share special life details? What did she even mean?!) Our room, which is basically our second home, is a bit pitiful. The magazines are from 2008. There’s a water pitcher, but we don’t know who refills it or how often. We can’t bring lunch, because there’s no fridge, microwave or place to eat in the courthouse. We discussed bringing in a grill and having a nice BBQ, but the court officer told us to not leave any valuables in the room. That’s Jerry, always looking out for us.

Sixteen of us share one bathroom, which makes it impossible for the five-minute bathroom break the judge gives us to actually be completed in five minutes. (But that doesn’t matter so much because the lawyers and judge always take five times longer than they say they will.) We pretend not to hear each other use the bathroom, though that’s impossible. One woman runs the water while she’s in there. I appreciate that, even though others probably find that wasteful.

When we’re not in court, we’re either waiting in our jury room or waiting in a hallway on another floor to be taken to the jury room. There’s a lot of waiting. But we’re never told why. At first we all kept to ourselves — reading, listening to iPods, napping (maybe that’s just me…), staring at the wall — because the one thing we all have in common is the one thing that we’re not allowed to talk about. But after 45 minutes of waiting turned into a couple hours, and we were all still just sitting there, we warmed up to one another. I suggested someone bring Twister, just so we can see the reaction from Court Officer Jerry upon entering the room to find right hands on red, left feet on green. I also thought it’d be awesome if the jurors performed a skit at the end so the judge, jurors and other court officers could see how they acted. Sometimes we take bets on how long we’ll have to wait. Regardless of the guess, we usually wait at least 15 minutes longer.

After spending so much time with the same people in confined spaces, I started trying to find celebrity counterparts. There’s John Locke (the character from Lost who started out as a self-appointed leader). Julia Stiles (slightly angsty). Ossie Davis (a kind, quiet man from Barbados with gentle eyes who always holds the door open for me). Jim from The Office (who not only looks like him but is equally funny). Kristi Yamaguchi (who has enough clips in her hair to prevent it from moving during a double-axel in a tornado).

Before I knew it though, we did start acting like family. People say hello as they trickle in each morning to the third floor benches. One woman shared her debate over honeymoon locations. We heard all about one mom’s preparations for her daughter’s birthday party (and then, the next Monday, how the girls all stayed up until 3 a.m.). And each night, as we all cram into one elevator together, almost half will say goodbye to everyone at some point during the short four-flight ride. We call it our group hug.

For something that so many people try so hard to get out of, I’m actually learning quite a lot. (I just can’t tell you about it.)

You’ll just have to get on your own trial to see for yourself.

One Response to “Civic duty”

1. Aimee Says:
   November 12th, 2009 at 9:26 am

   Jackalee- you give me chill bumps… you are such a talented writer. By the way, do they pay you to be a juror or do you have to do it for free?

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