The Quirks to My Jury Duty

We lived in a rural county for two decades, and not once did I recieve a summons to report for jury duty. After our big move to fat city, I've gotten two summons in the mail within a five- year period. As a crime fiction writer, I've found both times to be fascinating.

The first instance I spent most of the morning and afternoon chilling in the bullpen lounge with the other prospective jurors. Everybody was pretty relaxed. Many of us read. My book was an early Bill Pronzini Nameless PI title. Love that series.

We got our numbers called, and we had to schlep upstairs to the big corridor of courtrooms. But I never made it into the courtroom. Leaving after we'd been dismissed by the deputy sheriff, I figured I'd never get another shot. My wife just smiled at my prediction.

The second time round, things turned more interesting. It was the same drill as the first time, but I made it inside the courtroom. The defendant was accused of exposing himself to an old lady. Jeez. Okay, whatever. Anyway, I waited as they waded through the jurors selection process. One lady asked to be excused, and she was after a sidebar. I didn't get picked, and the judge sent us home.

I've heard or read somewhere attorneys don't like to select the well-educated jurors. Maybe it's bunk. I don't know. Maybe I'll get a third call up and number three will be the charm. If so, I'll take along a good Ed Gorman or Megan Abbott title, or who knows? Maybe by them I'll own a Kindle to read from.

Ed Lynskey
@edlynskey
Author of Lake Charles and Quiet Anchorage