Adventures in Justice - Day One

6:30 a.m.
Bobby's alarm goes off since I don't know how to set mine. I try not to think about how early it is. I'm usually not up until 7 or 7:30, depending on our schedule for the day, so this is rough. For Maggie too -- she usually doesn't get up until 8-ish, but today we'll have to leave the house at 7:30 to drop her off at my mother-in-law's. I'd been thinking I need to force myself to become a morning person ... I'm off to a rousing start.

7 a.m.
Maggie is up early and on her own! Hallelujah! We hit a snag when Bobby tries to dress her; she declares she's "still waking up" and doesn't want to be touched. (Boy does she take after him.) I offer her the option of going to Mammaw's in her pj's ... she opts for clothes but forgets to brush her teeth. How do working moms do this every day?

7:30 a.m.
We're out the door on time! I fight flashbacks of the day we went to Normal Park for our tour -- it started at 9; I left at 7:45 and hit every school zone and got behind every school bus in East Brainerd. I was late for the tour. I don't think I can really afford to be late for jury duty.

7:45 a.m.
Traffic cooperates. I am in and out at Lynda's in precious few minutes -- I haven't eaten breakfast yet and want to stop for something. While contemplating whether to take the interstate or highways, I realize a huge problem with our city's coffee franchises. It is impossible to drive from East Brainerd to downtown in a remotely direct manner and pass a good coffee place. There are two Starbucks within a half-mile of each other, but they're both near the mall, and there's nothing on East Brainerd or Brainerd roads. No Starbucks, no Panera, no Stone Cup (OK, that one closed long ago, but I still miss it). I end up at McDonald's, trying to create my own latte with regular black coffee and lots of cream. While I'm at it, I order a meatless egg mcmuffin. I've never had an egg mcmuffin before. It's not too bad.

8:15 a.m.
I can't believe I'm downtown already! I circle the block a couple of times to make sure I know where I'm going. The courthouse where I'm to report is across the street from the West Building where Bobby works. (There's an east and a west; he's in east.) I wonder if he and I might work out having lunch together. My cell phone rings -- it's my friend Donna. I'd called to check on her; her precious corgi Fox passed away on Thanksgiving night, and it's been a heartbreaking loss for her. (Well, really for all of us who loved Fox.) While distracted on the phone, I turn right a block too early and soon realize I'm going the wrong way down a one-way street. Lovely.

8:30 a.m.
My only other experience with the local wheels of justice was last year, in civil court (a neighborhood lawsuit ... I was on our homeowners' assoc. board at the time and got subpoenaed). It doesn't take me long to figure out that the Jury Assembly Room is in the other courthouse -- the one that hosts our county's criminal courts. The clientele is a little, shall we say, different. I park in the parking garage across the street, vaguely uncomfortable at the thought of coming back here after dark.

8:35 a.m.
I sit in the bridgeway that traverses Cherry Street, connecting the garage and the courthouse. I'm still talking to Donna on the phone, and I'm more than a little grateful for the voice on the other end that connects me to my life outside of this place. I pride myself on being nonjudgmental, but most of the people going inside just look like they belong in criminal court.

8:45 a.m.
I decide it's time to go in. Donna says good-bye with a cheery, "I hope you get rejected," and I take my place in the line waiting to go through the metal detector. I've brought a tote bag full of everything I imagine is necessary to get through a boring day at the courthouse -- a good book, the latest issue of Southern Living, kleenex, wallet, my favorite lip stuff, weekly planner. I think about why the metal detector is there. People get shot in courthouses. A well-dressed lady is in front of me, talking on a cell phone and hurriedly speaking Spanish. Evidently she's had enough waiting, because before we make it to the metal detector, she detours to the left, enters through the exit gate, and walks down the hallway, seemingly unnoticed. I think I feel my blood pressure shoot up a few notches.

8:50 a.m.
I find the third-floor Jury Assembly Room, and it's packed. Surely we won't all be needed. I count 11 rows of 12 seats, split by a center aisle, plus extra chairs around the perimeter of the room. I choose an aisle seat about halfway up. TV monitors throughout the room are showing CNN. A clerk makes an announcement asking everyone to move down in order to free up aisle seats for latecomers. There's only one empty seat on my row, but we all dutifully slide down one seat.

9 a.m.
A guy wearing too-big basketball pants and cornrows in his hair sits in the empty aisle seat next to me.

9:05 a.m.
The same clerk announces that before we get started, we'll watch a short video detailing jury service. I perk up -- maybe this will explain how the selection process works and how long I might be stuck here. Instead, it's Tennessee's version of The Justice System for Dummies: The history of trial by jury, beginning with the Old Testament Biblical system, through the Greeks and Romans, through 16th century English law, through the American colonies to the system we have now. No one is paying attention. After the history lesson, we are educated in the modern courtroom -- a jury sits here, a defendant does this, an attorney may object. I wish I had a t-shirt that reads "All I know about the legal system I learned from watching Law & Order." I know all of this already.

9:25 a.m.
The video ends with the narrator promising, "We hope to make your jury service a great experience!", and the clerk announces that the judge has been delayed at a hearing and will be here asap. In the meantime, she says, we'll put the TV's back on CNN. The guy in cornrows leans over and says, "If they really want to make this a great experience, then that judge needs to get in here so we can get started and get outta here." I chuckle, and pretty soon we're chatting. His face looks older than his attire would have indicated. He's been called for service once before but was excused because of pending surgery the next week. We laugh about the meager $13 a day we'll get paid.

9:30 a.m.
I notice that court officials never use the phrase "jury duty," rather "jury service." I suppose it sounds happier that way. Judge Poole finally enters with a cheerful, "Is everyone happy to be here?" He explains that they'll be seating jurors for both civil and criminal cases and will first call for volunteers. The vols will be able to leave as soon as their numbers are recorded, as no juries are needed today. The lady on the other side of me steps over me. "I'm going to go ahead and volunteer. I've got to get back to work." My cornrowed friend and I debate the merits of volunteering vs. what might happen if we stay. I feel a tap on my shoulder -- it's a woman I used to work with at UTC. "You're volunteering?" I ask. "Are you nuts?" She tells me she served on a sequestered jury 10 years ago and knows exactly what to say to get out of service this time around.

9:35 a.m.
I decide to volunteer. I wish my new friend good luck and get in line. They are dividing volunteers into groups of 12 and then whisking them out the door. My friend laughs as I walk lockstep up the aisle toward the front of the room, but then he gets in line just a few places behind me.

9:45 a.m.
It's over -- I am done, at least for today. I'm the proud temporary owner of Juror Badge Number 48, and I'm to call the phone number on the back after 5 p.m. to receive instructions for the next day. I catch the elevator with Ginny from UTC. We chat briefly about work (same old, same old) and her previous jury service. "I wish I could hand-pick the trial I might serve on," I admit. "I really don't want to see crime scene photos or hear about terrible things being done to children or animals." She nods. Another lady in the elevator chimes in: "Yeah, I live in Eastlake, and we have shootings there all the time. I don't want to have to see my neighbors in court."

9:46 a.m.
I realize that I have much to be thankful for, not the least of which is the fact that I'll probably never have to worry about passing judgment on a neighbor in a murder case.

10:15 a.m.
I'm back in East Brainerd. Mostly safe, mostly secure East Brainerd. I realize my Bible study has just started, so I make a quick call to Lynda and then hang a left into our church parking lot. I don't even have my Bible with me, but I find an extra one in the classroom next door.

12:30 p.m.
I pick Maggie up at Lynda's, and we try to make loose, what-if plans for tomorrow. Being downtown at 9 a.m. and having Maggie to preschool at 9 a.m. simultaneously poses a problem. I can drop Maggie off at school early, but what about the carseat? Lynda suggests leaving it at school, but I don't trust anyone else to install it -- the one time I did this, it was wildly misinstalled and flopped dangerously around on the seat. We finally decide that she will come to my house at 8 a.m. and I will put the seat in her car. She will then stay with Maggie at our house until it's time to take her to school, plus pick her up afterward. I'll head downtown as soon as I get the seat moved over. Maybe I could look at a career in strategic planning.

5:15 p.m.
I make The Phone Call. "Jurors 1 through 36 ... that's numbers 1 through 36 ... please report to the Jury Assembly Room at 9 a.m. tomorrow. Jurors 37 through 96 ... that's 37 through 96 ... do not report but call back tomorrow after 5 p.m. for further instructions." I am off the hook, if just for one more day. I can stop the in-depth cleaning that always precedes a mother-in-law visit. I relax and watch "Little House on the Prairie" with Maggie.

9:53 p.m.
I finish first blog post about jury duty. Stay tuned on Thursday ... there may be more to report. I hope not, but I'm not holding my breath.