“So, a little excitement in an otherwise dull day.” Harry Tasker, “True Lies”

Last month, for the first time ever, I was summoned for jury duty. Unlike everyone I mentioned this to, I was very excited about the prospect. After all, I have a passion for writing, and I viewed this opportunity as a possible gateway to an experience I could parlay into a blog or maybe more, like a magazine article or even a book, depending on the trial. Little did I expect the setting of this story to be the women’s bathroom on the second floor of the Christian County Judicial Center.

The morning proceeded, more or less, like I was told it would. I wasn’t surprised that, out of forty or so jurors, I knew six of them (this is a very small town) so I felt comfortable despite this being my first time. There was a lot of waiting and a fair amount of boredom. After taking a while to get rolling, the show finally began with roll call, followed by the judge’s explanation that some of us would be called upon to serve on a grand jury, an assignment I did not wish for. Admittedly, it was because of purely selfish reasons: to be a grand juror meant a two-month commitment instead of thirty days, and it required one’s presence every Friday during those two months. I have Fridays off, and frankly, I love my three-day weekends. So when my name was not one of the fifteen called, I breathed a sigh of relief.

After those chosen for the grand jury were escorted out of the courtroom by the Commonwealth’s prosecutor, the judge explained that jury selection was going to be a little different because a trial was scheduled to start today and some of us would be called upon to serve immediately, which I would not have minded at all. Then he called for a fifteen-minute recess, a welcome break. I headed to the ladies’ restroom.

After finishing what I had gone there to do, I opened the door to exit the stall. What happened thereafter is a blur; all I knew was that there was a loud crash and somehow I ended up on the floor, my right leg in excruciating pain. The lady who was washing her hands abruptly stopped and came to my aid immediately. I looked behind me to see that the bottom hinge of the bathroom door had broken and it was the door that had crashed onto the tile floor and slammed against the side of my knee. I can’t even imagine what the women who were still in the stalls must have been thinking! Even though I didn’t think anything got broken, tears filled my eyes. I can be such a baby, but it really did hurt.

After ensuring that I would be alright, my savior went off to get help and before I knew it, two security guards appeared, one on each side of me. They asked if I thought I could stand, and I felt I could, though I was reluctant to put much weight on my right leg. One security guard was insistent that I go to the hospital, but I really didn’t feel that was necessary. And besides, I didn’t want to miss out on any excitement that might happen in the courtroom.

I was asked to fill out a report, and as I did I chuckled to myself thinking that some unscrupulous people might find this incident the perfect grounds to sue…and how ironic that there was a plethora of attorneys right here in this very building! Again it was suggested I go to the E.R., but there really was no need. Someone–I don’t know exacting what his position was–appeared while I was writing the report, broken hinge in hand, voicing his amazement that a steel-reinforced hinge snapped like it did and commented that that had never happened before. Well, considering my luck, if it’s going to happen, it’s going to happen to me.

Back in the courtroom, preparations were being made for the trial of a man accused of breaking and entering with intent to commit a crime, and although I was selected as one of the first potential jurors, I did not make the final cut. So I, along with the other twenty or so wannabes, was dismissed with the instruction to call back this afternoon after five o’clock to find out if our service was needed tomorrow. So even though it was disappointing not being chosen, my time at the Judicial Center certainly was not a waste of time…after all, I ended up with enough fodder to write a blog anyway. Que será, será.

“Bad door” being made to stand in the corner