It's a cloudy afternoon and I find myself sitting in a dully lit room with about
65 strangers. We are intently watching a video called "The
Cornerstone of Democracy" on televisions attached to the ceiling. Local
new anchors are stroking our egos, telling us how important we are to making
the state of Arizona and our country great. They empathize with and tell
us they understand we probably want to be somewhere else, however our
participation is crucial.

We have been summoned for jury duty.

The man sitting next to me is obviously retired. He's wearing the uniform:
sweat pants that look like slacks, power mall walking shoes and a knit golf
shirt. After the video ends we are instructed to wait. The Retiree
is fiddling with his cell phone. The loud beeps are piercing through the hushed whispers. Heads look up. Annoyed glances are
shot. We have been waiting for a while and it's starting to wear on the
herd.

Finally the first group is being called. I am picked to go with this group
of forty-five. I am relieved because it means I won't have to sit and wait
for the next group.

We walk up the stairs to a second floor court room and are instructed by the bailiff
to wait to be called in. We assume since we have already waited an
hour that they are ready for us and we will soon be ushered into the court room. Twenty minutes
later, the bailiff returns and begins to ready our names one at a time and
ushers us in individually. I
am Number 24.

The court room is very small and compact and wooden looking. After years
of watching the spacious grandeur of the court rooms on Law & Order
and The Practice. Once we are all seated, I feel very claustrophobic.

Even when we are instructed to "all rise" for his Honor, it seems
wimpy. His Honor, however doesn't. We begin the series of questions
used to weed us out. Immediately Number 31, a family court judge, is excused
due to his court calendar being full. So is Number 27 who understands and
speaks very little English.

Question after question is posed and I realize I have had nothing to say thus
far. I feel very milquetoast. I don't know any one here. I've
never participated in a trial before. I know no law enforcement
officers. I have no reason to prevent me from serving.

Then when the questions turn to crimes, I realize being milquetoast is not such
a bad thing. I don't know any one or have never been arrested or convicted
of any crime. I am surprised at the number of people who either have a
relative or have themselves been charged with DWI or DUI.

The judge tells us at this point of the jury selection, people are of one of
three mind sets: a) the defendant is guilty, b) we haven't heard any information
to decide guilt or innocence, or c) the defendant is innocent.

His Honor takes a poll. I, with a majority of the pool, raise my hand with
the second option. We are then told the correct answer it the third.
I want a do over.

The judge reads the law, verbatim, then explains that all people are presumed
innocent and no one should think the defendant is guilty. He asks if
anyone can't comply with the law and render a fair decision.

I hear a rustle of fabric from behind to my right. Some one has raised her
hand. I want to turn around and see who it is, but don't. Instead I
look at the judge. He appears to be surprised and not too happy. He
consults his seating chart and asks the woman to stand. He asks her what
her answer is. She responds in a hostile tone of voice I can only classify
as "Springer-esque".

"I dunno. Whut's the question?"

The judge blinks yet never stops looking at her. The staff looks up at
her. The rest of us try not to look at her, but we want to so much.
We instead look at the judge. He says says, "Based on the law that
everyone is presumed innocent, are you saying you couldn't render a fair
decision?"

"No," she said short and pissy.

"And still you are saying you couldn't be fair and impartial."

"No."

I see the judge stare at her. I want him to go full Matrix on her and
unleash a tongue lashing so cutting that David E. Kelley only wishes he could
write.

"Sit down Miss ________."

I don't think she got picked. Nor did the people who said the defendant's
race would affect their decision. Nor did the people who said the
testimony of a police office would bear more/less weight than other witnesses.

After a couple hours, I was in the final pool, however not chosen to be the
final 12 (or maybe it was less. It didn't seem like 12). I was sort
of relieved (Who wants to go to work!?) and sort of disappointed (Who wants to
go to jury duty!?). I'm sure I'll get another summons in 18 months on the
dot.