Unlike 1.9 million people who spent Inauguration Day shoulder-to-shoulder on The Mall in Washington, I spent Inauguration Day shoulder-to-shoulder in a jury room.
The members of today’s jury pool watched Barack Obama’s swearing-in on a small snowy television. When Obama finished taking the oath of office, the room burst into applause. Here we were, already doing our civic duty, listening to Barack Obama urge Americans to take responsibility.
Were these folks surrounding me the same sleepy-eyed slackers who entered the bullpen three hours earlier? As I arrived, I looked around the room at the 140 adults gathered by random selection. Were these really my peers?
This is my fifth time on jury duty and the routine never changes. A large contingent lines up to give their excuses. Confident and superior, they don’t comprehend that serving is compulsory. The clerk announces the rules; very few excuses will work.
The clerk is always a man of a certain temperament, always sixty or older. He explains the rules in detail, knowing the questions the jury pool will ask in advance; he is patient, humorous, but not someone you mess with either. How does each county find this exact same guy?
I admire the clerk’s even tone dealing with 140 adults who can’t follow rules as basic as the rules they followed in grade school. Two Upper East Side pre-crones behind me talk over the clerk’s spiel. Could they have possibly just met each other this morning? A few people use their cell phones despite the warnings. They talk loudly about budgets, deadlines and other urgent matters to establish their importance.
Some, like me, just burrow in a book and wait.