The trials of Miss Conduct

Yesterday I had jury duty, at the new Superior Court in Woburn. Didn't get called, but I had to wait around all day--in the assembly room in the morning, and then in a courtroom in the afternoon. Came home exhausted, of course. Why is doing nothing so enervating? It's not unlike the way traveling by plane or train is so tiring. I sat in a chair all day and read, and I like sitting in chairs and reading; it's really my favorite activity, second only to lying on couches and reading. But I was completely drained by the end of the day.

However, that's not what I wanted to talk about; I wanted to talk about how utterly awesome the court officers were. They do this every day, guiding us newbies through the system. They gave us potential jurors explicit instructions, treated us with honor and respect and a sense of humor and humanity that seems rare in official transactions nowadays. At all times I knew where I was supposed to be, and what I was supposed to be doing, and why, and I knew that my presence was appreciated, and that yes, everyone understood that I could be doing more entertaining and/or lucrative things with my time, but jury duty is an important obligation of citizens in a free democracy. The officers weren't trying to pretend that this was fun--although they did their best to make it so--but to acknowledge that it was valued.

Most impressively, the officers were completely present with us. I could (and maybe will) write a book someday called "All I Ever Needed to Know I Learned in High School Drama Club," and one of the things Mrs. McClatchey always drummed into us was "It's always opening night for the audience." Meaning: keep the energy up. Don't phone it in. Don't expect others to "get" you. Your job is to make yourself gettable. And dang, these guys did. They might have been doing this for years, but they knew that it was opening night for us. They really conveyed the message that we--not yesterday's jury pool, not tomorrow's jury pool, we--were appreciated, and that they were there for us and not just going through the motions.

Thank you, officers. You said that my presence wouldn't be wasted even if I weren't selected to serve, and I believe you, because you gave a logical argument for that and I could tell that you believed yourself. And my decision to say I couldn't play by the rules in the trial I was called for wasn't a dodge to get out of serving--I opine for a living, and I very much wanted to opine on that case. But I knew I couldn't be fair and impartial in the way you had so clearly defined it. You did your jobs, I did mine. Thank you for making it such a good experience.