There's an old joke that goes: "You better be honest, because you wouldn't want your fate to be put in the hands of someone too dumb to get out of jury duty."
I have been called to report for jury duty three times. The first was about twenty years ago. I woke up that morning not feeling well, but I went to the Montgomery County Court House anyway. I sat in the jury marshaling room in a veritable daze. I was called to a courtroom with a group of fellow prospective jurors, but I was not selected for the jury. I returned to the jury marshaling room and was soon dismissed for the day. I drove home, feeling like crap. Later that day, I was admitted to the hospital with cellulitis.
My second time being called for jury duty was a doozy! I was selected as an alternate on a federal grand jury. I was told that, with a pool of 22 jurors, it was very rare that the alternates were ever called. Two weeks later, I was called to federal grand jury duty. I served every Thursday for two years. It was an experience that I would not wish on anyone. (If you are so inclined, you can read about my time as a member of a federal grand jury HERE.)
The third time I was called for jury duty was this morning. I woke up at the usual time, but instead of driving to work, I drove to the Montgomery County Court House, a trip I hadn't taken in over twenty years. I parked and followed several other folks who had parked in the designated garage at the same time I did. Obviously, we were all there to fulfill our civic duty. Me and my small group trudged around sidewalk construction as we silently made our way up the steep incline of Swede Street. We crossed the street and followed the large directional signs, most of which were no more details than a bold black arrow and the word "JURORS" in equally as bold capital letters. We all filed in through the heavy wooden doors, where we were immediately ordered to empty our pockets of any metal object and then pass through a metal detector. Surprisingly, no one set the mechanism off. I collected my belongings from the small plastic tray. The "officer" heading up the metal detection operation wasn't giving up my insulated water bottle too quickly. He shook it and squinted at it and shook it some more. Satisfied that I was not transporting anything that posed a threat to the building and its occupants, He handed the bottle over to me without explanation.
I found a seat in the so-called "Juror's Lounge." Despite it's name there was no jazz combo, no cocktail waitresses and no bowls of mixed nuts. Instead, the room featured several small round tables usually found in a shopping mall food court, each surrounded by some very uncomfortable-looking chairs. I sat at a table in silence. As a matter of fact, everyone sat in silence. Soon, a woman announced that we would be assembling in the jury marshaling room. Everyone was required to present their jury summons and a photo ID. One by one, we were ushered into the room, where another woman seated behind a plexiglas shield scanned a barcode on the jury summons. By the time everyone had passed through the doors and selected a seat, the room was about half full. At fifteen minutes past 8 o'clock (the required time to report), a few stragglers wandered in.
The first woman made some brief introductory announcements and told us that a judge would be stopping by to thank us for coming in and serving (as though there was a choice). As promised, said judge arrived and addressed the jury pool as though he was a comedian entertaining a club full of patrons with a "tight 5." He sprinkled his spiel with a few corny jokes as he explained the importance of juries and the importance of serving on a jury and the importance of democracy and the importance of a few more things I don't recall.
The first woman reported that there was one trial on the schedule and a decision for jury requirements would be made shortly. In the meantime, we were given a "break." She turned on two large televisions and we were forced to watch a couple renovating a home on HGTV. A few people in the room worked silently on laptops. Others, who came prepared, opened dog-eared paperback books and read silently. One woman, seated two rows in front of me, pulled a large hardback book from a tote bag resting on the floor by her feet. It was a cookbook. From my vantage point, I could see the glossy photos of prepared meals on beautifully appointed tables as she turned the pages. I thought it was an odd choice of reading material to pass the time while waiting to see if jury service was in one's future... but who am I to judge? I did not read or watch the home renovations. I dozed.
Over two hours later, the woman announced that another judge would be down to talk to us. A collective grimace waved through the room. Within a few minutes, a second judge introduced himself to the room and expounded on the first judge's sentiment. This judge, however, dispelled some myths about jury service and the whole judicial process. He noted that all of the "surefire" ways of getting out of jury duty that you heard on social media are baloney. Changing subjects, he explained that the case on the schedule today was set to be a jury trial... until it was settled before jury selection began. The overall sense of relief in the room was palpable. "Hmm...," the judge questioned rhetorically, "maybe I should have led with that." Then he added, "I didn't because I didn't want to get trampled by the rush to the door." That said, we were dismissed.
Everyone, traced the same path back to the parking garage via the steep hill and the sidewalk construction. I located my car and joined the line of cars inching towards the exit. An attendant took my parking ticket and the county-issued "free parking" voucher. As the gate rose, allowing access to freedom, the parking lot attendant smiled and informed me that the strip clubs in town open at noon, so I still had plenty of time.
Yes sir. That's what he said, because some people have to always say something.
I wished him "a good day" and made a right turn on to Ridge Pike towards home.
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