Jury of My Jeers

Today was to be my easiest blog.  I was notified months ago that I would be spending 12/12/12 fulfilling my obligation to serve at the invitation of Middlesex County.  Jury duty is an inconvenience, but it is also filled with anticipation.  You never know if you will be impaneled.  There is something evocative about sitting in the quiet waiting room.  Everyone is occupied with a hobby of choice:  a good book, an ipad, an ipod, knitting, crocheting.  The linoleum floor makes the room seem especially lifeless as footsteps and movements echo in the space.  On the monitor’s table is an old, retro phone; it’s occasional ring cuts through the silence and grates against the spinal cord.

In a place such as this we are not individuals.  We are not expected to make friends or socialize.  We are merely numbers, sitting in the shadows waiting for ours to be called.  Even then, you do not know whether the call to attention is good or bad.  Some are sent home; others are sent into chambers.  In my case, this is as far as I have ever gotten.  I have never seen the inside of a courtroom.  Nor have I been sent home early.  I am the lucky/unlucky individual who does not get picked but also must sit out the day to the bitter end, getting stiffer and crankier by the hour in the hard institutional seat.  I do not even qualify for the generous $6 compensation that my state offers for my time.   I am somewhat assuaged by the fact that I am not alone in my experience.  All over the country others like me are rounded up for similar duty and face similar fates.  It is small consolation that this is one of the trappings of a free and democratic society.

I like to imagine what it would be like to face an actual voir dire proceeding.  Specifically, would I be able to maintain my own personal bent against the questioning?  If so, which way would I bend?  I am torn about whether or not I wish to be selected.  It would be fascinating to participate in a real-life trial, which I am assured is somewhat less dramatic than what I see on The Good Wife, or Law and Order.  On the other hand, I fear getting caught up in a lengthy, publicized trial where jury tampering and vengeance might come into play.  I fear the glint in the eye of a murderer.  I fear falling victim to talented attorneys who advocate so zealously for their sides that it is impossible to draw the right conclusion when it matters most.

I am not one to be played; I want to fight against the manipulation of it all.  So do I dress the part of a responsible citizen, wife and mother?  Or do I feign a hipster appearance and make them work to discover my home address and my educational background?   I love to watch a prosecutor and the defense attorney wage battle, wagging their tongues at each other like medieval knights rattling their sabres before a duel.   I have imagined my own interrogation many times. 

“What is your favorite crime drama?”  My response: “The Merchant of Venice.”

“The defendant is being charged with the brutal crime of rape and violence.  Are you able to weigh the evidence objectively in order to come to a just decision?”  My response: “Anyone who preys on women should be hanged and eviscerated in the town square at noon.”

“Do you believe in the death penalty?”  My response:  “Yes.  Kill me now.”

But this was not to be.  Yesterday at 4:30pm I was unceremoniously dismissed by official email.  My services would not be required.  And despite forgoing a trip to San Francisco with my husband because I honored my commitment, I would not be granted immunity to jury duty for the next three years.  I have not served my duty, the email underscored.  I get no credit for my time spent as a bureaucratic placeholder.  I will not pass go or collect six dollars.  Instead, I should expect another such invitation in the near future.

I can hardly wait.