In Defense of Jury Duty

Stephanie Hayes
Fri, 01 May 2026 21:00:00 -0700
Lifestyle

I was called for jury duty. Upon arrival at the courthouse, a bailiff handed every juror a comment card. I thought I'd fill out some of it here.

Juror No.: 37

Date of Jury Service: April 27, 2026
Updated: Sat May 02, 2026

I was called for jury duty. Upon arrival at the courthouse, a bailiff handed every juror a comment card. I thought I'd fill out some of it here.

Juror No.: 37

Date of Jury Service: April 27, 2026

Were the instructions on your Summons for Jury Service easy to understand? Yes. They made sense after I overcame a cursing tirade upon remembering I had jury duty.

Were you selected to serve on a trial? No. And I weirdly wanted to be. After the hissy fit, I decided to tackle this civic duty with a shining attitude. On this, my third summons, I progressed further than ever, surviving multiple eliminations. I messaged colleagues on bathroom breaks, declaring quite glamorously that I might be serving on a trial for the next few days. Hold my calls!

Alas, I was cut in the final round, a dozen or so of us languishing in the hard pews as Judge Julie Sercus welcomed the chosen ones down the aisle like the next contestants on "The Price is Right."

In hindsight, I probably didn't get picked because I do things like fill out jury duty comment cards in the newspaper.

What comments do you have on the facility (safety, personal comfort etc.?) As a taxpayer, I would kick in a few pennies for those little shelf-stable coffee creamers in lieu of powder, an atrocity. Notice how you never see that stuff and cement in the same room at the same time? Furthermore, I purchased a "Cheesewich" from the cooler at lunch. What is a Cheesewich? It's a piece of salami encased in sheets of waxy cheddar. A processed hockey puck of salt. A frisbee of saturated fat. It's not anything anyone should eat, but at least I pounded untold grams of protein in preparation for three more hours of sitting still.

What was your impression of the process? Honestly? It was kind of beautiful.

I, and maybe you, spend a lot of time thinking about things that are broken. I think about systems held together with chewed gum, civic railcars teetering off a track with no superhero on the way. I think about the vitriol of this era, the differences that keep neighbors sequestered in online silos, the minor lies we tell on sports sidelines and office elevators to smooth our messier truths.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying the justice system, or even the sometimes manipulative jury selection process, is beyond reproach. What I'm saying is: Jury duty offered a reminder that certain things still work. That many still care about fairness and democratic ideals. That humans of all stripes will show up at 8:30 a.m. on a Monday to uphold the sacred vibes of the Magna Carta.

And people are just interesting. In my courtroom, potential jurors spoke Spanish and Vietnamese and Bulgarian and Tagalog and Belarusian. They were doctors and paralegals and social workers and speech pathologists and restaurant servers and teachers and mechanics. They were grandparents and new parents and dog dads, some sleep-deprived and begging to be released. One man had been called to jury duty seven times — he was understandably over it. But he still came.

How rare to sit in a room full of strangers and undergo voir dire, which literally means "to speak the truth." How unusual to see people forcibly unencumbered by daily grinds, made to turn off their phones and self-reflect.

The lawyers and judge peppered us with questions, sussing out how we might lean in deliberations.

Could you put aside your biases and focus on evidence? Have you ever broken a bone? When did you fall out of that tree? Can you move your doctor's appointment? Who else can pick up the kids? Do you only get paid when you repair boats? Are you distracted because your students are in testing? When did your mom die? How long have you been speaking English? Would you trust a police officer more than a regular person? Do you speak for yourself or go along with the will of the group?

Could you sit in judgment of someone else?

Do you have any suggestions of how we could improve the level of service or any general comments? I would suggest you hire an editor because some of these questions are a mess. Otherwise, I would say this: Everyone should go to jury duty if called, not just because no-shows may be subject to a fine. Once in a while, it behooves strangers to unite over sore butts, acrid coffee and a Cheesewich (or not) and remember that systems are only as strong as we agree, together, to make them. You're dismissed.