I’m on jury duty (HA! I said duty!)

I was recently empanelled on a jury. That much I can officially tell you. I can also tell you that the trial is scheduled to last at least a couple of weeks.

What’s it about, you ask? BNNNNN! Officially, I am prohibited from answering that question.

Wanna know who is involved? BNNNN! Sorry. Again, the whole prohibited from answering thing.

Who’s the judge? BNNN. Can’t even tell you if she’s hot. Or if he’s hot. So don’t ask.

But, I know you’re curious, so I can officially tell you that I am officially empanelled on a jury and that the trial is officially scheduled to last a couple of weeks.

Unofficially, however… part of me needs talk about my experience.

So here it is:

Secretly, I love being on a jury. It gives me the sense that I am doing something really good and beneficial for society at large. It makes me feel important, and honestly, there have been very few times in my small little life when I’ve gotten to feel like the star of a show. And when you’re a juror, it’s like you’re part of an ensemble cast in a very successful show.

People move aside for the jurors. Hello, obnoxious lawyer! See my badge? That’s right—no talking to me. My mere presence makes attorneys look awkwardly askance and move away. SUCH POWER!

We the jury get our own lines and entry doors; we get fresh coffee (albeit Folgers) and breaks and smiles from bailiffs and officers in uniform. We actually talk to these uniformed individuals, and they are polite and talk nicely to us. This includes security guards.

I don’t know if I should be wowed by the fact that the police talk to us, instead of at us, but I am all the same.

Added bonus: There’s the whole get-to-see-sunshine thing--which in my day job, hasn’t happened in almost 8 years.

Overtly, I loathe being on a jury, because fitting jury duty into my life is like trying to shove the circus fat lady into a clown car sans grease. No worky.

To wit: This morning I had to rise at the butt crack of dawn, perform a half-hearted and sleepy job/walk combo; work on the computer; bathe (always a good thing after the jog/walk); wake 6 kids (not as easy as it sounds); pack 7 lunches (mine included); force 3 kids to brush their teeth, 2 to bathe and persuade one four-year old to wear clothing; and get 3 kids to schools each located in separate parts of town.

AND THEN I was ready to go to jury duty. I’m fairly certain I dressed myself at some point.

The jury waiting room is nothing but temptation. First there are the admonitions not to discuss the case, but I’m stuck in a small room around a conference table with upwards of 12 other people I don’t know, being asked to avoid the largest, stinkiest zebra that ever existed in any living room anywhere, ever.

Next, like a preacher in a cathouse, I must force my newly Weight Watcher converted self to avert my eyes and abstain from engaging in intimate relations with the sleazy, tawdry donuts lying seductively on the table. Naughty, naughty donuts.

Finally, and possibly worst of all, there is no privacy whatsoever in the bathroom connected to this place. I am absolutely convinced all the jurors can hear every move I make when I’m in there. Suffice it to say, I personally am not able to function properly when others are in earshot. That is a whole special kind of discomfort, right there.

But the one thing I was dying to tell someone—ANYONE— today but could not was that today, apparently, was Blue Day. Every official person in the courtroom was wearing a blue suit. This recognition was somehow important for me to note, if only in that Chandler Bing laugh-at-the-word-duty kind-of way (which they did say several times, by the way, forcing me to snicker inwardly).

Alas, I suspect no one else cared that it was Blue Day, because I bet no one else noticed that it was blue day, because I couldn’t share with anyone my keen observation. Because as a juror, I’m not allowed to share any observations. Not about the case. Not about anything.

Except… well… I am officially empanelled on a jury and the trial is officially scheduled to last a couple of weeks.