This is a week for a ‘first' for me, something that has never happened before.

I was selected for jury duty, one of a small select group of local residents drafted into the service to serve the court system.

I was considering asking for an exemption, based on the fact that I needed to be at the newspaper for deadlines on Monday and Tuesday. That was before the judge offered us a speech on how you can be deferred or released if someone (including a prospective juror) dies or needs a critical operation (not including plastic surgery, he noted) or if you have to care for a disabled or elderly person or if you are getting married the week of court. After hearing that I would either need to move in with my parents, get married again or have serious surgery, I considered the opportunity a blessing. Actually, I was planning on taking care of my parents if they need me to do so, so I shouldn't joke about that. My mother said she would rather go to the nursing home. I wonder what that says about how she feels about living with me? I am in need of caution here, as my parents read this column every week — I would hate for their will to be edited in short order. That not withstanding, either of those other two possibilities also seemed too unpalatable to consider. As for the other two choices, they are too alike in my opinion. Marriage is like death. Both are experiences no man should have to suffer through more than once.

Anyway, after going through a swearing- and affirming-in ceremony and missing the secondary ‘draft' lottery for grand jurors, I was sent away and ordered to return in a few hours.

The grand jurors are called on to serve for a year. In all seriousness, it is a solemn obligation to serve our fellow citizens when called. However, I guess juries (especially grand juries) are like asphalt plants: Everyone agrees that we have to have them, so long as they are located beside someone else's house. I have nothing but respect for all those who do their duty and take their time to help make this a safer and better community. Even so, I was crossing my fingers that the ‘fickle finger of fate' would point in another, less personal, direction.

All the while I sat there, sipping free coffee from the downstairs law library, I felt nervous. I had already put away the large cup of coffee I brought with me and then pandered the second cup, aforementioned. That didn't count the large cup I had already consumed at home. That might have contributed to my anxiety. One huge cup of coffee is enough for anyone.

One of my fellow jurors, a school teacher, reminded me of the commercial where the woman with bladder problems raises her hand as the singer laments, "Gotta go, gotta go, gotta go right now."

That wasn't exactly the information I needed to hear, considering that my stomach was fairly well afloat with milky caffeinated goodness well on the way to my nether regions. So, as I sat solemnly with that stupid commercial going through my head and the judge giving a 20-minute lecture to the grand jury, I tried to keep my squirming to a minimum. Thankfully, we were excused before I had to ask to be excused, so to speak.

I reminded my teacher acquaintance that somewhere a substitute was suffering because of his situation, most likely facing the ridicule of suddenly slothful local teenagers, if my own high school experience is of any indication. I admit that was a while back, but I do recall passing high-fives and big smiles when a substitute was to serve for the day. It generally meant that I would be on my worst behavior, which was fairly bad to begin with in those days. Perhaps local students are more scholarly and professional about their public education. I hope so, for the benefit of the substitute teachers of today.

As for the courtroom, I couldn't help feeling nervous as I sat there on the hard wooden benches among my peers. It was almost like I was the one on trial. In fact, other than covering trials for a newspaper and appearing once to contest a traffic ticket, my active court experience is basically nil. As for the traffic ticket, I represented myself and was actually disappointed that the judge reduced the charge to improper equipment without even hearing my complete case. I presented a speedometer calibration and a tire certification, along with a statement from the officer on what I had told him the day of the stop.

I was planning on calling character witnesses and claiming the cop had a bias against people who drove red Dodge trucks, not to mention the fact that red vehicles are pulled over more often than other vehicles, but the judge abruptly ruled in my favor. I suppose I was somewhat overly influenced by the movie "My Cousin Vinny."

As for my latest day in court, I had to return Monday afternoon and was eventually excused from the jury after the attorneys realized that I worked for the newspaper and had covered the case. I still could get called again later this week. To have a person's life in the balance, offering prison or freedom, is an awesome responsibility. Those who were selected certainly have my gratitude.

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