My Jury Duty Story Can Beat Your Jury Duty Story
Thefirst and (knock on wood) only time I’ve ever been called for jury duty, I wasin my second year of graduate school. Believe it or not, I think jury duty ispart of one’s civic duty and one of the responsibilities that comes with havingthe world’s greatest, though not perfect, judicial system. It’s also one ofthe two excused absences at UAB (the other being military service), so I knew Iwouldn’t have to worry about flack from any of my professors.
ThatMonday, I packed a couple of books in my purse and headed down to thecourthouse fairly sure that despite my willingness to serve, my status as agrad student and the fact that I was a lawyer’s daughter would keep me off anyjury.
Ifound a seat in the large room where the few hundred people called for juryduty that week waited and started to read. (I quickly learned that no matterhow deep I buried my nose in a book, some elderly person would insist on havinga conversation at me. Yes, at, not with.) When the first foreman entered theroom and called my juror number, I was relieved to get away from the crowd andmy seat neighbor.
Iwas struck from the first jury after voir dire (when you declare your name, ageand workplace in front of everyone for those who've never had the pleasure), took my lunch break and went back to thecourt house for more waiting in the large jury pool room.
Around3:30 in the afternoon, a rather handsome* and somewhat familiar-looking youngman entered the room and walked over to the desk to pick up a list of potentialjurors. Seeing as he was cute, and I hadn’t had anything to do for the past twohours, I was kind of hoping he’d call my number.
Aboutmid-way through his list, he did.
Asmyself and the other 35 potential jurors made our way to the court room, I dideverything in my power to flirt with this guy, even under the restrictedcircumstances. I smiled. I batted my eyelashes. I maintained extended eyecontact when I said “thank you” as he held the door open for us. And since hekept looking back at me, I thought I might have been successful.
Whenwe arrived in the court room, we all took our seats in the rows for a trial’saudience, and the young man went to the court clerk’s seat.
“Welcomeladies and gentlemen,” the judge said from the bench. “Thank you for servingtoday. I’d like to introduce you to the players involved in this case before wemove on.”
Then,the judge proceeded to introduce himself, the prosecutor, the prosecutor’sclient, the defense attorney and the defendant. “And, of course, I can’t forgetmy court clerk, Tim Smith*,” he said. “It’s his second day on the job.”
Andthat’s when it hit me. I knew exactly why I had a) thought I recognized theyoung man and b) found him so attractive. Four years before that fateful momentin the court room, Tim Smith and I had made out.
Asa little background, for most of my life before 25, I liked bad boys. Ifsomeone was going to get hurt in any given romantic situation, that person wasgoing to be me. Unfortunately, there are two glaring exceptions to that rule,and Tim Smith was one of them.
Imet Tim when I was a senior in college, home for the holidays and celebratingNew Year’s Even in a now-closed bar. Tim was sweet and thoughtful and, if Iasked him to, he would call me when I was in town from Georgetown. But, between the distance and my“love” for one of those bad boys who actually lived in Washington, D.C.,I let him slip off the radar without much of an explanation. I just neverreturned his last e-mail. (I know, I know – shame, shame.)
So,not only am I now in a court room with a guy I used to see sometimes, I’ve alsofailed to recognize him even though we went out on multiple occasions, and I’veflirted with him after having already rejected him years before. And it’s onlyhis first week in the legal system.
Inshort, I’m a big, fat jerk.
“Now,if anyone here knows anyone in this court room,” the judge said, “we’re goingto need to get that out of the way first and foremost.”
That was when my heart started beating far faster than it should. Am I going to haveto say that I know Tim in open court? Are they going to ask how I know him? Ifso, can I say that we dated? Does three dates count as dating? Should I justsay we hung out? Will I have to acknowledge the making out? Will there be furtherquestions about the details? Are all of these strangers going to think I’m afloozy?
Theremight even have been a cold sweat involved.
Luckily,despite my many, many worries, it turns out that when it comes to jury duty, noone cares whether or not you know the court clerk. Only judge, prosecutor,defense attorney and suing parties matter.
Thankgoodness.
Iwas struck after voir dire again, and since it was 4:30 by that time, once wewere excused, I ran from that court house with a speed that probably rivals somenewly-released felons.
Thelesson here? I don’t really know. Be careful who you go out with? You neverknow who you’ll see at jury duty? My facial recognition sucks? All I can sayfor sure is, that with odds like these – finding myself in the one court room ofthe one person in the court house I’ve dated the one the only time I’ve everhad jury duty in his first week of work – I should have won the lottery by now.
* Not nearly as handsome as the SO, of course.
*Names have been changes because this story is embarrassing enough as is.