I am Juror 4223

A potential title for my autobiography or at the very least a chapter title. Sorry for the confusion, allow me to set you straight as I tell you about one of the most formative events to ever occur in my life.

Despite being registered to vote and having a driver’s license since for as long as legally able, I have never been selected to jury duty. This was perfectly fine by me, in fact, I’ve never once complained about my lack of jury duty. However, this blissfully ignorant life of mine was about to change.

I recently moved, and even though I filled out a change of address card, my mail was not consistently forwarded. Luckily my previous landlord is an acquaintance and co-worker. This is important because my summons to appear for jury duty arrived at my previous address, and she was able to promptly pass along this important piece of mail. Originally, I was downcast and annoyed. I did not want to spend my oh-so precious time dealing with this crap. The fear of a fine, and no real reason to get out of my civic duty, drove me to answer the call for jury duty.

I arrived early to the city/county building. I blame much of this on my parents (trust me, this will be at least one chapter earlier in my autobiography). If you recall (see I’m writing this like you’ve already read that previous chapter), my parents rarely got me to any event in a timely fashion. Fashionably late was the mainstay. Anyway, I digress. I arrived early as I do to many things, as compensation for my late arrivals throughout my childhood.

I’m unsure what to expect and approach the counter with trepidation. I brought my summons and filled out questionnaire as instructed. The attendant asks for the summons. I hand it over and without another word, she tears off the questionnaire, scans the barcode and hands it back to me. That’s it. Nothing else. My unsuredness is far from relieved.

I looked into the vast room and take in a sea of chairs in tidy rows and some stylistic paintings on the wall. It crosses my mind that I really don’t get art. Why is it, that something it appears a 4-year-old did while watching Saturday morning cartoons is considered priceless? I can appreciate the classics, but what passes as modern art is beyond me. Honestly, I’ve seen paintings that look like a colored image of my windshield after a late night drive through the country. Sorry…off track again.

I wander over to a magazine rack and pull off a Newsweek. In my anxiety over serving on a jury, I chose not to bring a book. So, with my current dose of current events in hand, I make a lap through the room before choosing a place to sit. As is my usual, I choose a seat on the side in the middle portion of the room. This comes from my many years of schooling. I’m not the overachiever who needs constant attention from the teacher and sits in the front of the room. While I am a slacker, I fully realize that teachers like to pick on the slackers who sit exclusively in the back of the room. Therefore, the safest place is a middle seat, slightly offset so as to not be in the direct line of sight. Not that there is a teacher in the jury room, but I’m not taking any risks.

Over the next 45 minutes, the other unfortunate souls go through the same process that I did. Hand over their summons and questionnaire, then try and find a seat. I go about my normal process of people watching, while appearing to read my Newsweek. As a 20-something, single guy, I always make a point to mark the cute females that enter the room. The process is simple. Do a quick scan of the person. If they classify as cute, then I move on to the next step: the ring check. This is all important. If they are wearing a ring on their left hand ring finger, then it’s all over, and they might as well not exists (in the single guys world at least). However, if no ring is present, then feel free to dream up scenarios where they sit next to you and you kick off a wonderful conversation. The end result is some digits and the promise of future interactions. Then reality sits in and I realize I won’t say a word to anyone currently in the room, but I’m off topic…again.

I’ve finished one Newsweek, and still have some time before anything of import will happen. I head back to the magazine rack and pull another Newsweek (slightly less current events this time). Return to the exact same seat I just vacated. The interesting thing about people and choosing seats is how quickly they become assigned. It’s like once someone sits down, that becomes their personal seat. Doesn’t matter if you are in a public room where millions of butts have sat in that exact seat previously. For the next several hours, this seat is mine. No matter how many times I get up and move around, that seat belongs to me. I’ve never really understood it, but that’s how it works, and who am I to rock the boat.

The attendant from the jury desk now gets on a microphone and tells us we get to watch a 15 minute video about what jury duty is all about. It’s just a series of people telling how great an experience it was, and how everyone on the jury has this sense of duty and justice. Blah, blah, blah…or so I thought. About this time, there was a switch occurring in my disposition. No longer was I dreading the time serving my jury duty. I was becoming excited. The anticipation of sitting on a jury and dispensing justice was taking over.

The video ends and I’m nearly on the edge of my seat. The attendant returns and tells us that it appears to be a full docket in the courts and things could be busy. My chances of sitting are improving, and woe to the lawbreaker that has me dispensing justice. The first set of juror numbers are read off for a trial. Each time I hear “42”, my heart skips a beat as I eagerly hope to hear the number “23”. I would guess roughly 20 people are called, but alas, juror 4223 continues to sit, slumped, disheartened in the jury room.

The next hour and half passes without so much as a single court asking for a jury. If I make it to noon, I will be dismissed. This can’t happen. I am here for a reason. I wasn’t called just to waste my morning. It can’t be.

Another jury is called. The numbers are read off. Again, I’m eager and just hearing 42 gets me excited. A light sheen of sweat can be seen on my forehead.

“4223”

“Here”, I respond and head to the hall to view my fellow jurors. Finally, I get to be a part of the system. A John Grisham novel come to life. I am about to experience that excitement. I’m going to be like Batman bringing justice to those that deserve it, legally of course. Oh, I will be fair and impartial. I will do all in my power to ensure the truth comes out. Trust me, I can handle the truth. I am about to appear in my own personal Law and Order episode.

We are lead to the doors of the courtroom. Through these doors are where my destiny lies. I am meant to be here. I was called to be here.

We wait….and wait…and wait. Forty-five minutes, I and my fellow jurors stand around in the hall outside the courtroom. Twenty feet from the room that holds all my dreams, and we wait. We see the other citizens who were summoned exit the county/court building. Those unlucky fools who weren’t selected for a jury, but were dismissed at noon.

Our handler returns and directs through a side set of doors. Here we go, trial time. We hang a right. My confusion mounts. The courtroom is on the left…why are we going right? We enter another courtroom, but there is no judge, no attorney, no accused. We are seated on hard wooden benches and told to wait. Again, more waiting. We wait…and we wait…and we wait. During this time, I get to listen to some young guy (mid-30s) talk and talk and talk. He has an opinion on everything, and seems to consider himself an expert. I’m guessing he has read the same John Grisham books as I have, watched the same Law and Orders, and probably even a movie or two that had a trial in them. Because of these experience, he is a expert on the legal process. Blah, blah, blah. No one asked him a question…no one asked for his opinion. But he feels like he should be talking. Oh well, there’s one in every group right….so annoying.

Our handler returns…is it time? No, we get to return to the hallway outside of the courtroom. And we wait. Shorter this time however. We are finally lead into the courtroom. However, there are no attorneys, just the judge and his clerk. Again, I’m confused.

The judge introduces himself and goes through a little history on himself. Then he gets around to why we are sitting here, without a trial to watch. Apparently, “things” came up and the case was not going to be heard today. The judge seemed nearly as disappointed as I did. He apologized for wasting two hours of our time (all that bloody standing and sitting). It was a shame because he seemed like a cool judge that wouldn’t take much crap from attorneys or witnesses. It could have been fun. He then dismisses and thanks us for our civic duty.

That’s it. Nothing more. No trial, no motions, no objections, no deliberations, and no justice. My destiny was shot down. Through no fault of my own. I’m dejected and depressed.

Then the judge says some fateful words, “I believe this excuses you from further jury duty for the next 12 months.”

What? I don’t have to do this horsecrap again for at least 12 months. Hallelujah! I’m free from the tyranny of a free society. No more civic duty for me. This jury duty stuff is ridiculous and I pity the fool who gets summoned.

I am Juror 4223, and this is my story.