“…”

27 Sep

(A  snippet of my more recent life, as story)

Friday morning I walked into the city court building, through the metal detectors, down a hallway, through a door on the left and into the large room where I was handed a form to fill out. Exciting.

I looked out over the room. People were scattered in chairs, heads bent over papers. I picked a spot close to an outlet, so I could, if I was there all day, plug in my laptop.

But I wasn’t.

At 9:30 a.m., they called my name, and with about 30 other people, we went into a jury-picking room. Two lawyers asked us, each individually, questions about whether or not we could be fair.

After an hour, my turn came. I hate speaking in front of groups, perhaps more than anything else in this world. My hands get clammy. My heart pounds. My face gets stony, expressionless.

“Miss Spencer,” the lawyer began, “Are you, by any chance, Jeffrey Spencer’s daughter?”

I nodded. The heads in front of me turned backwards, and I felt hot eyes on me. I hoped being Jeff Spencer’s daughter was a good thing.

“Everyone down town knows Jeff Spencer,” he said, smiling.

Phew, I thought.

He continued, “Will the fact that your dad is a court attorney affect your judgment in this case?”

I thought of my dad, at that moment only an elevator ride above me in the court building, probably sitting at his desk in his office.

If it did, I wasn’t sure how. I said, “No.”

“I see that you’re a reporter, for the Bee Newspapers?”

I nodded.

“Do you write about any…criminal stories?”

“More feature stories,” I said. “Human interest …”

“I see. Do you think you can offer a fair and honest judgment in this case?”

“Yes.” I felt his eyes boring into me.

“Are you a good judge of character?”

This, I honestly didn’t know. I certainly hoped I was. But who even really knows?

“I hope so,” I squeaked out.

Luckily, break time came, interrupting my interrogation.

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