It was a long day of sitting in the jurors’ box at our county circuit court – well, it wasn’t a long day. Really, it was kind of a short, but interesting, day on jury duty.

After waiting for my name to be called I entered the jurors’ box and promptly spotted someone I knew across the courtroom. Of course I waved and mouthed, “What are the odds?”

After listening to the judge’s list of instructions he then began asking questions. I answered them all correctly while staring at the prosecuting attorney; I knew her from somewhere, but where? It bothered me, but I didn’t let it take my attention away too long.
Of course I never meet a stranger, so I whispered “Hey” to the lady sitting next to me and said in my softest whisper, “I hope we aren’t going to be there too long, the Hillsdale College rummage sale is tomorrow and I don’t want to miss it!” She just gave me a quick glance out of the corner of her eye with a faint, insincere smile and I realized she was concentrating on what the judge was asking us, so I stopped whispering.

Potential jurors were coming and going while they sifted through who knew what about the case presented. When my newest acquaintance (I met her on the stairs of the courthouse after recognizing her from my daughter’s volleyball game the night before) made it into the jurors’ box, I refrained from giving her a high-five and instead just gave her a quick, friendly wave and smile.

When I glanced over at the defense attorney I noticed him staring me down, so I figured I had better pay attention. But I couldn’t help but think about who that prosecuting attorney was. It was bugging me and I just had to know where I knew her from!
Wanting to raise my hand and start an inquisition, I decided against it – after all, this jury duty thing was serious business, it was my civic duty, my chance to serve my country, and it deserved my undivided attention.

When the judge was done with his questions, the lawyers were given a chance to dismiss any juror they chose. The familiar prosecuting attorney said, “I have no one, Your Honor.” The next attorney said “None.”

Then it came to the defense attorney and suddenly I had a strange feeling my number was up. Sure enough, he stood up and said the words that would send me on my way, “Your Honor, I would like Melissa Hart dismissed.”

What? Me? Why me? Was I too friendly? Was it the bright orange shirt I was wearing under my jacket? Was it my red hair? The dangly star earrings I borrowed from my daughter? The wrong color lipstick? It said in the letter we were supposed to dress up.
What? Why?

I removed myself from the jurors’ box, waved goodbye to the bailiff across the room, who was a friend, and walked across the street to the neat little coffee bar where I enjoyed a carrot muffin, a good cup of coffee and watched the antics of several preschool children who happened to be there with their pregnant mothers for a play date.

Jury duty was really a great experience and I was home just in time for a much-needed nap … after a long, grueling day in court.

Readers with questions or comments for Melissa Hart may write to her in care of this publication.