Excused!

I showed up at the county courthouse promptly at 9 a.m. this morning, ready to do my civic duty along with a few dozen other people. I had to surrender my cellphone (which felt almost like I was giving away my kidney!) to the guards inside the imposing double doors of the courthouse, and I climbed the stairs to a second-floor courtroom (I'd never imagined courtrooms would be on a second floor!).

The courtroom looked like it was taken out of a TV series or feature film (I know, I know, it's the other way around), with dark wood paneling, a huge, raised bench for the judge, and wooden, church-style benches facing the judge for all of us prospective jurors and the few spectators. The judge's door, to the right side of his bench, had a glass window with the words "Judge's Chamber" inscribed on it in black, and when it was ajar I could see a large ceiling fan whirring slowly, reminding me again of some movie. The jury sat in comfy red, but oddly swiveling chairs to our left.

The first 13 prospective jurors were promptly called, and about 2 hours into the process, after the prosecution (a 20-year veteran of the law) and the defense (a 2-year newbie to the bar) had talked to them (and to us) about some of the concepts they (we) would be hearing in the criminal case they would try, the process of voir dire began. This is basically the procedure through which each side selects and rejects jurors to make up the actual jury that will try the case in a balanced way (so the prosecution and the defense both pick and choose who stays and who goes) and it's foundational to the U.S. system of trial law.

Sitting on the bench, quietly observing the process, I was taken back to my 18 months at Georgetown Law School, a time I don't remember much of because little of it was pleasant or exciting or very interesting. But, as my husband often likes to point out, I've forgotten much of what I learned in that year and a half, so it was fun to review a lot of it as I watched first the prosecution and then the defense do their thing.

Three or four jurors were excused before the deputy shuffled the cards with our names on them and, in calling it, mispronounced my name in the way many Ohioans tend to, by giving it a mid-Western twang that has little to do with its French-based spelling and which reveals to me those who can't possibly conceive of the "i" in my name rhyming with anything but "eye."

I promptly occupied the chair for the 13th (or back-up) juror, but when the judge asked me if there was any reason why I could not serve in the jury, I asked to meet him in chambers (how simultaneously cool and intimidating that was!). I heard a collective groan come up from the jury pool since everyone was eager to get the case started and every delay meant a later, and later start.

As I whined about yesterday, I felt there were many reasons for me not to have to serve that day, but when push came to shove, the reasons I gave the judge had nothing to do with my comfort but with my ability to serve impartially and well. The judge, who like everything else around us looked like a character from a movie with his well-appointed white hair, his bow tie, and his nice yet imposing demeanor, promptly excused and thanked me, after instructing me: "Say no more."

The experience, as the juror's information sheet said, proved to be a lot more interesting and revealing than I had imagined. I was truly moved by how seriously my fellow jurors took their roles and how thoughtfully they answered the questions posed to them by the attorneys and by the judge. They all really seemed to believe in the concepts of "innocent until proven guilty" and "reasonable doubt" as the standard the state had to meet. It was like a different world within those wood-paneled walls.

But, in other ways, it wasn't that different at all, since I was the only person of color in the entire room, and certainly the only non-native English speaker (as far as I could tell). So that was my experience this third time around with jury duty, but, if the past is the best predictor of future outcomes, I bet I'll get called again. Still, one woman there said she had been called to serve six times!

"The first time I was excited," she said. "But on the sixth? Not so much."

She was no minority so maybe my theory about quotas is not correct after all. Still, I hope that the next time I get called to serve I am really able to do so, although I'm pretty sure that any defense attorney worth her or his salt would get rid of me right away. Especially after she/he finds out that I did 18 months of law school and dreamed of being a federal prosecutor. That should make for a pretty quick voir dire adiós for me!