I woke up around 6:30 am and got ready for my day of jury duty. After showering, I started to prepare myself for the security checkpoint.
As I mentioned yesterday, I normally have a lot of stuff in my pockets and I wanted to thin it out. So I just took my keys, my wallet, a couple of pens, some medication, and a baggie full of change. (I put the change in a baggie so I could pull it out of my pocket easily at the checkpoint.)
I normally start my day by caffeine-loading with a Double Gulp of Diet Coke, but I didn’t want to have to go to the bathroom every half hour while I was at the courthouse, so instead I made sure to take one of my 12-hour Claritin pills, chock-full of pseudoephedrine. If it’s good enough for meth-heads, it’s good enough for me.
I made it to the court pretty quickly, but the parking situation was a bit of a puzzle. I eventually figured it out and made it to the building with a few minutes to spare. Then I had to wait in the long security line. I started to worry a bit when I realized the line was segregated into men and women. Just how closely did they want to search us?
Not that close, as it turns out. However, when I emptied my pockets into the little basket at the metal detector, the guard seized on my wallet. It’s a trucker’s wallet, which means it’s attached to my belt with a short metal chain. I had taken it off and put it in the basket, but the guard told me he was going to have to take the chain. He took the one end off the metal ring, but the other end was twisted through a washer in my wallet. I started to explain that the metal was pretty soft and he could probably pry it open, but he apparently decided the little 10-inch chain wasn’t a threat after all and just handed my wallet back.
I hate security checkpoints.
Having cleared the checkpoint, I went downstairs to stand in line to get into the jury assembly room. The deputy at the door took my summons and handed me a Juror sticker, an information sheet about jury duty, a sheet of parking rules, and a little piece of paper telling me I was on panel 4. It turns out whoever did the court’s web site is a dirty little liar: You can bring a cell phone. You just can’t have it on in the courtroom. That’s a much more sensible policy, and one I wish I’d known about.
We watched a videotaped message about jury duty and began the long wait. I grabbed a soda and read one of the books I had brought. Around 11am or so, they called panels 1 through 4, so I lined up with everyone else and we marched upstairs and into a courtroom.
And that’s where my story must end, because I was picked for a criminal case that will probably take three more days to finish. The rules forbid my discussing the case with anyone until it’s over, and although the judge didn’t mention blogging, I’m pretty sure it’s included. I imagine I could discuss peripheral matters, such as the demeanor of the judge or how the deputies treated us or what the lawyers were wearing, and I might even be able to describe the jury selection process, since none of those things involve the facts of the case. I might be able to tip-toe up to that line without crossing it.
But I’m not going to. My arms are too short to box with a judge.
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