A few weeks ago, a jury summons came in the mail. My husband and I rearranged some plans for the day, I rescheduled my work schedule, and I told almost everyone in my life that I was headed off to jury duty.
I understand the value of jury service, but I didn’t particularly want to go. It was inconvenient—and I had this little bit of anxiety that I might get picked for a multi-day trial.
But none of my worries mattered. When you’re called, you go. So, off I went, ready to report as Juror No. 36.
They were ready for me.
I signed in, and the smiling lady who took my form told me to find a seat at the front of the room. Already, that sounded like they had great plans for me. I found a folding chair and watched a video about jury duty. Then I took out my work laptop and did some writing and editing and emailing while I waited for someone to summon me. Hours passed, as my phone battery bar got shorter and shorter.
From time to time, I would stop and look around the room. Other people seemed to be watching the movies they were showing. One woman was drinking from an enormous water bottle with enough water for a whole jury. Some people were reading actual paper books. Many ladies had worn sandals, so they must be shivering even more than I was. Many were scrolling through their phones.
We were all just waiting, sitting in seats that were carefully placed 6 feet apart on the linoleum floor.
As I sat, I thought about how I should have had more coffee that morning or brought a granola bar or three. I realized that I should have dressed in layers. With all of us sitting and facing the front of the room, I felt like I was sitting on an airplane, but without any movement or destination. It was easy to feel my presence had no purpose.
But, of course, it did. And the court employee who spoke to us assured us that simply by being there, we were keeping the wheels of justice moving forward. At the end of our time, when she dismissed us, she thanked us for our service. And she told us that it might not feel like we had done anything, but we had served, just by coming. When defendants realized that there were jurors on hand ready to sit on a jury, they had taken plea deals, and cases had been settled. Justice was served.
I never saw the inside of a courtroom. I didn’t see a judge, except in a video. I didn’t even have to answer questions about my biases or my ability to sit on a jury. I simply sat on a folding chair in a large, well-air-conditioned room with dozens of other people who were called to come on the same day.
As I drove home, I thought about what I did—which was nothing, and yet I suppose was also something. And I thought, as I often do, that sometimes we don’t know what purpose our presence serves, but we know that we play a role merely by being there.
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