Peer pressures

 This day will probably feel longer than most. I've prepared myself for it since the official, three-part summons arrived in the mail nearly two weeks ago.

I could have postponed. Life is always finding ways to gum up plans, now is as good a time as any to mark off days on the old calendar.

Instead, I find myself among a hundred people packed tightly into a narrow, high-ceilinged room on a Thursday. We are resigned to staring up at the ornate skylight as we wait to perform our civic obligation:

Jury duty.

It hadn't even started yet, but I had already failed twice. First when I left home with the aforementioned the tear-card printed with my name and official juror number affixed to the refrigeration; and second, when I wore a coat with so many zippers and snaps that magnetometer can't stop yelling at me even after I pass through. 

These are mistakes I needn't sweat. None of them are deal breakers or time-consuming to fix. 

Like most people here, I don't completely understand the inner workings of the process. Much of the administrative function happens invisibly or out of earshot. I try to follow the court clerk's explanation of complicated court calendars and judicial job descriptions before I change my attention to the hushed conversation behind me.

The most important instructions are simple and related in various ways repeatedly:

Ideally, we are informed, that we should know nothing, or have adopted no opinions but be willing to be objective and follow directions. We should not talk about any specifics of the case. The most important thing we should know in addition is that the accused is innocent until proven otherwise.

We are also shown a short film about understanding how to redirect our own implicit biases to ensure we are making judgments based on evidence and facts rather than beliefs or assumptions.

It is apparent to me that some other things have changed since last I sat here, discouraged from using a device or reading material of a periodic nature.

Namely jurors' relative comfort. They even let us work remotely during any downtime.

I want to put my feet up. Or curl into the folds of the quilt lying twisted on the couch, clicking through channels on the television. The familiar place I tend to be when summoned by technology to mark myself present on one specific social media attendance list.

It's silly, I know. But it's the game my globe-trotting daughter is willing to play, and even a brief glimpse into her life is worth the existence of my own demoralizing selfie.

I will be content to scroll the national headlines and work a crossword until we are asked to rise for the judge.

I am of two minds. One that is eager to embrace my civic responsibility: to experience the legal system up close and in person, and not be concerned about the duration, especially if it means the potential of learning interesting facts or strolling around city shops during hour-long lunches. My other mind hopes to be released back into a familiar routine, which will otherwise need reshuffling in light of this absence.

Of course, the enormity of the responsibility isn't something I take lightly. Someone is relying on a jury of peers.