Serving Time on Jury Duty

I’m on my way because of a letter. It was one of those letters that leave you no doubt about the contents even before you open it. Black, block lettering on the envelope made things plain enough: “Jury Summons.” Hooray.

Arrive at 8:30, the notice said. Be punctual, it said.

But I left home late. The trains took longer because of construction. I took a wrong turn while walking to the courthouse. Excuses. Excuses. An hour and a half in transit wasted, and still haven’t arrived.

I quicken my pace. I rush.

beep beep beep

I stand waiting in the security line at the courthouse. Everyone has to go through the metal detector. All my hurry seems wasted. Why did I not pause to appreciate the pleasant fall day? Why did I not notice the leaves crunching beneath my feet? Why did I not savor my last moments outside for a while?

Ten minutes pass before I reach the front of the line and go through the metal detector. No beeps. I’m in.

Descending the stairs to the jury room I take one last look at the sun. “Are you sure I’m not the one going to prison?” I mumble to no one in particular.

shuffle shuffle shuffle

The clerk collects our papers. “Are you a resident of Cook County? Are you a citizen of the United States? Take a number. That’s how we’ll call you.”

I pick the number ten.

When everyone finishes checking in, the clerk shows a short video extolling the virtues of the American jury system and explaining the proceedings. If we get called, we’ll go into a court and answer questions from the judge and attorneys. If they approve us, we’ll serve on the jury for the case.

I hope I don’t get selected. Then I’d have to come back and serve on multiple days. One is bad enough as it is.

But before finding out, we have to wait. I take a seat in the smaller of the two waiting rooms.

tap tap tap

The person next to me taps her foot against the floor — each tap quicker than the tick of the clock. Maybe she thinks her taps will make time go faster. Then she can return home and get on with her life.

zip zip zip

I switch back and forth between activities — going in and out of my backpack. I try writing. I try reading. I try doing web-design work. I try reading. Maybe keeping busy will make time go faster. But I can’t concentrate. I’m too anxious.

hum hum hum

My head pounds with the noise of distant machinery — an air conditioner most likely. I long for some fresh air.

clink clink clink

Someone puts coins into the vending machine. Eat the money. Eat the food. Eat away the time. And it’s just 9:30.

I enjoy a fig from the snacks my wife packed for me. Each bite is worth savoring. Maybe life isn’t so bad after all.

yap yap yap

A lady nearby talks on the phone. Frustrated at the lack of internet, and with it the inability to do her work, she gives orders to a business associate.

“Will she just be quiet already?” I think to myself. We’re not supposed to use the phone in the jury waiting room. The clerk told us to wait till lunch break if we wanted to make a call. But rules never apply to us. They’re for those other people.

clack clack clack

Hard-soled shoes resound on the tile floor. Is it the clerk? Will I be summoned?

“Serving on a jury isn’t the worst thing in the world,” I think. “I would learn something from the experience.”

But the sound doesn’t come from the clerk. Someone just got up for a drink of water.

rustle rustle rustle

The man next to me turns the pages of his magazine. I turn the pages of my notebook.

My pen glides across the page. Words string together into sentences. Sentences combine into paragraphs. At last, I settle into a rhythm. I write.

Time picks up speed.

click click click

High heeled shoes resound on the tile floor. Yes, this time it is the clerk. She’s coming to make an announcement.

11:30. Lunch time. Already?

Putting down my pen, I think about the food I’ll eat. I think about how nice it will be to enjoy the fresh air. I’ve been looking forward to this moment all morning. And now it’s here.

“People with numbers thirteen, fifteen, and eighteen…” says the clerk as she gives instructions on where to go and when to be back. But I’m not listening anymore. She didn’t call my number.

scratch scratch scratch

Ink scripts across the page once more. I return to my writing.

echo echo echo

The larger of the two waiting rooms has two televisions. The same channel plays on both, but the sound is off sync. One follows the other by half a second. The show doesn’t look that interesting either.

Though moving to the smaller, quieter room wouldn’t take much effort, most people stick with the default. How many times do we put up with suffering even though the fix is small and easy?

drip drip drip

I wash my hands after going to the bathroom. My thoughts go to the people I passed in the waiting room. So many of them looked miserable. I feel sad for them.

For I started off the day with the same miserable outlook. But as it progressed, I shifted my perspective. I chose a different attitude.

There are times in life where we wish to be elsewhere or doing a different activity. We can suffer in those moments or we can see them as practice — opportunities to strengthen our discipline and patience. We can hope the end will come sooner, or we can embrace the current situation. It’s up to us.

step step step

I return to my seat in the waiting room. I am content.

And if I get called to a jury and have to come back multiple days, I’m OK with that too. I’ll serve with dignity. I’ll be the best juror I can be.

creak creak creak

The door opens. It’s the clerk.

She talks quickly, but I make out enough. “If you have numbers ten, fourteen … they reached a settlement … you’re not needed anymore … collect your checks … you’re free to go.”

crunch crunch crunch

Leaves, sunshine, and fresh air — I’m outside.

It is a good day.

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PS: One of the ways I’m saying thank you this year is giving up my birthday. Instead of receiving gifts, I want to give the gift of clean water to 27 people. Would you join me?