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What to expect when you get a jury summons | Confessions of a College Park Mom


It was Presidents Day at 7 a.m., and I was on my way to jury duty. I was feeling a little bitter that it fell on a day I already had off — 27 of our US presidents were lawyers, so the courts should probably observe it.

The last time I was called for jury duty, I was eight months pregnant. Apparently, the justice system doesn’t stop for breaking water, so they politely passed.

“Jury duty is exciting!” my mom had promised. I tried to get myself jazzed up to set someone free who had been wrongfully accused or help put a menace to society behind bars … But that didn’t stop me from choosing to wear my most judgmental-looking cardigan in the hopes I’d appear like I’d already made up my mind and be excused by 9 a.m.

I pulled into the garage around 7:15 — and realized I left my coffee at home on the table. Next to my AirPods. Now, if you are reading this in preparation for jury duty, don’t do this.

After walking through security, jurors are shuffled into a large auditorium-style waiting room. You get your parking validated, and then you wait — if you’re lucky — not AirPod-less or coffee-less.

Other than orientation, nothing happens for two hours.

(PHOTOS BY LINDSAY CHAMBERLIN)

Then the fun begins. Sporadically, 40 or so random numbers are called, and those people line up and head to a courtroom for the selection process. The first time, it feels exciting — like a contest. I decide that if they call my number I am going to jump up and down like it’s “The Price Is Right.” Might as well keep it interesting.

They don’t call me.

Another hour goes by, and the room is quiet except for a man on a mundane business call. It’s almost not worth eavesdropping until he says, “We don’t have any tigers.” In that moment, I decide I’m only giving my business to people with tigers.

A lady on the other side of me says to no one in particular, “This room is too cold. I’m from Arizona.” Florida is also hot (I guess no one told her), therefore people from Arizona are soft. I’m 50% sure this is called intrinsic evidence. I’m going to be a great juror.

The chairs in the room are leather, and so is my purse strap. At one point, I adjust my position to avoid bedsores, and it makes a loud farting noise that I spend the next few seconds unsuccessfully trying to recreate. I’m too sophisticated to yell, “I didn’t toot! It was my purse!” so I choose to just silently die of embarrassment instead.

I need to leave this room.

I get a Clif Bar at the cafe and find a little room with phone chargers. It’s late morning. The air conditioning is blowing 20-degree air at, I’m not even exaggerating this estimate, 70 miles an hour. This is karma for judging Arizonans. Right before frostbite sets in at 11:20 a.m., there’s an announcement: They have all the jurors they’ll need for the day. Our services are no longer required.

So, that was that my exciting day as a cog in the wheel of justice. While I hope your day has less frostbite and more tigers, may we all walk away from our day of jury duty with a small sense of patriotism and pride — and the reassurance that we have at least 12 months until we’re called again.

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