It all started in gym class, the basis of so many things in life: Dodgeball.  All the kids line up while two team captains build their teams by selecting the fastest, most agile athletes.  For the kids who get picked first, it’s great.  For those still in line at the end…it’s an exercise in humility…especially for the fat kids, for they always get picked last.

My one saving grace was that I wasn’t fat kid.  But I was skinny as a beanpole.  A light breeze would send me flying down the street.  I never got PICKED LAST…but I was well aware that I was usually still standing in line towards the end of the picking…RIGHT BEFORE THE FAT KIDS.

But I knew strategy. I may not have been the best bladder-ball thrower, or catcher or dodger. But I knew EXACTLY WHO WAS.  Anytime there was a time out, our team captain would inevitably pull me aside and ask, “what should we do?”

I’d survey the opposite team, determine which of their surviving players posed the most danger, point at him and say, “Take out THAT guy.”

Today I’m serving my third time as a Juror in Orange County for the Ninth Judicial Circuit Court.  As I sit here in the waiting room, I’m reminded of the previous two times I’ve sat in this same waiting area.  The same blind guy is still serving coffee.  Now they have WIFI (yay…I can blog!).

In 2003 I was summoned and served, showing up 8am. Around 4pm they herded 20 of us into a court room. The Judge arrived and he gave us an overview regarding a case about a grandmother who was pressing charges against her granddaughter for stealing her car.

I don’t know about you, but IF YOUR OWN GRANDMOM is pressing charges against you, you’ve got some SERIOUS PROBLEMS.  I was all ready to serve my duty (and really ready to send this grandma’s car-stealing girl to jail), but I never got the chance.

The lawyers started asking questions of the potential Jury Pool. “Do you have Grandchildren?” “Have you ever had a family dispute?” “Have you ever BORROWED A CAR?”

They posed these questions to 19 people.

I wasn’t one of them.

The lawyers skipped over me, time and time again.  They were going from person to person, asking the same 3 or 4 questions over and over…and each time they came to me, they just skipped to the next person.  It was literally like I wasn’t there.

Maybe they sensed I wanted to be a juror too much. Maybe I was too young, too old, too white…not white enough…too male, too smart looking…whatever it was, they summarily dismissed me without so much as a peep and sent me packing.

As I congregated in the elevator with my fellow dismiss-ees I mumbled, “She was probably guilty”.

An uncomfortable laugh followed.

In 2006, again I was summoned, and again I showed up to perform my civic duty.  That time I never even made it up to the courtroom.  They just dismissed me from the waiting area after I sat around for 5 hours.

Now it’s 2010.  In the time it’s taken me to write this post, they’ve called three groups of people up to court rooms…well over half of the potential pool of jurors that arrived at the courthouse with me this morning.  It’s been two hours, and I’m starting to get the sinking feeling I used to get in gym class….

I never get picked.