Jury duty
I love jury duty! I’m here in the King County Regional Justice Center (sounds better than “courthouse”, no? I’m sure they did a focus group on it) with my fellow citizens awaiting jury selection. We’re a bit like cattle, really: each of us sports a barcoded tag; we’re packed in a room just tightly enough to avoid a stampede, quietly mooing in the polite conversation of strangers, and we’re given pacifying food in the form of movies and free wireless (700kb both ways by my measure - not bad for local government. I’m beaming with civic pride).
This is my sixth jury cattle call, yet I’ve never actually gotten on a trial. The closest I ever got was the first round of voir dire on a case that was later moved to non-jury trial during lunch. Afterwards, the saint of a clerk gathered us in the hallway and in a hushed voice told us, “Technically, I should bring you back for another trial, but it’s 3pm, so I’m going to let you all go home” (may she find hapiness to the end of her days). Most of the time, I just use the waiting time to catch up on things. One time, I brought about three years of financial records and spent the day entering everything into the computer and ballancing all the accounts. It’s easy to be productive when you’ve got nothing better to do.
Still, I’ve never been in a jury box. I guess that means I’m due.
I’m always amused by the call for jury selection. All day, people have been milling about, talking to each other, pounding on laptops, reading books, etc. A voice calls from above and all is silent. The Voice of Duty begins calling names. The tension in the room soars. I look around, but everyone avoids eye contact. People look worried; even guilty for some reason. The Voice continues. We sit, anxiously awaiting our doom, praying that the next name will not be ours, knowing it will be, then being surprised when it’s not.
The Voice pauses. People glance around in confusion. We know they’re calling 35, yet only 15 have been called. Why did they stop? Did they change their mind? Am I off the hook? Or is some sadistic clerk, who proudly checked the Control Freak box on their job application, just toying with us?
The Voice continues. It speaks slowly and clearly, choosing phrases that cannot be mistaken. “David Smith, you are number thirty two.” Finally, the Voice announces the last name and the room enthusiastically returns to killing time.
I wonder if this is what it’s like before we were born…
Wait! The Voice of is speaking… We’ve just been given a 20 minute break. Wow, good thing too! This lounging for a whopping hour is gruelling. I feel tired already. It’s about time we got a break.
I’ve gotta get me a government job.
Gee, can you tell I’m reading a Dave Eggers book?
