Yesterday morning I bustled and dashed, too busy to blog.
It was my third day as Juror Number Three.
I had a special badge that opened special doors, my own designated parking spot, my own special stenographer’s notebook with ‘3’ written on the front, my own chair and a personal restroom I need share with only a few other women.
Yesterday, whenever I approached the courtroom, the bailiff would demand ‘All Rise for the Jury’, and indeed, all, including the attorneys and the judge, would rise.
I listened to testimony. I observed, pondered, took notes, kept an open and impartial mind.
I made friends with fellow jurors, I drank coffee prepared by my own personal bailiff.
The plaintiff and defense rested. All that remained: Instruction to the jury and final arguments. But first, it must be determined which of the 14 of us were the 2 alternates.
This was decided by picking 2 names at random from a bowl.
The first name was called and it wasn’t mine.
I now had a 12- in-13 chance of not being the second alternate.
Please note:when there is a 1-in-13 chance of my name being chosen as winner of anything, I lose. Regularly.
The second name pulled from the bowl was mine.
Immediately everything changed. I was hustled from the courtroom and directed to have no contact with my ex-fellow jurors. I was relieved of my badge and my steno notebook, reminded that I now had to use the public restroom, and shown the front door.
I was ex-Juror Number Three.
This morning I am just one more prude amongst millions, wondering how my ex-fellow jurors are doing, if my ex-bailiff made the coffee stronger and if the defense attorney wore a different tie.
Mostly I wonder how the jury will find. How the verdict will change life for some of the people involved.
It was a privilege and honor and daunting responsibility to be Juror Number Three.
I dislike being Ex-Juror Number Three.
But life as a Prude is pretty good, the sun is shining and I hope someday I’ll be able to serve again as Juror Number Something.
