Debra Rilea

See You on Monday February 2, 2012

See You on Monday
You must report to the court house and become our prisoner. Once you are our prisoner we’ll hold you for an undetermined amount of time. See you on Monday, have a nice day.

Juror Summons
Admittedly the postcard I was holding did not actually say that but I felt like it did. Receiving that juror summons in my mailbox was like receiving a poisonous snake. I held the single white postcard gingerly by a corner and grimly read the instructions. Potential jurors are required to call on Friday to learn if they have to report on the following Monday. Of course when I called my bad luck continued as I heard my lot number needed to report on Monday.

List of Excuses
I immediately began to make a mental list of the legitimate reasons that I could not serve on a jury at this time. My husband and I were in the last few weeks of teaching at our massage school. Every day I had final hands-on massage practical examinations scheduled. There were classes to teach, documents to prepare, boxes to pack, all while worrying about my husband who still wasn’t completely recovered after a serious illness. Additionally, I would have to cancel clients and lose income.

Inconvenience or Hardship
It was an extensive list. Yet even with this list I really felt that serving would be more of a major inconvenience than an actual hardship because with some shifting of responsibilities we could pull it off with me being out of the office for a few days. Suddenly my long list of excuses was lame and pointless.

Cold Driving Rain
Monday came quickly and I was off to the court-house in a cold driving rain, a rare summer occurrence where I live. It was a perfect dreary backdrop to my moody attitude. Dragging myself, wet and cranky, into the check-in office, I was ten minutes late. Not to worry, the check-in line was long and I just joined the end pretending, if only to myself, that I had been on-time.

Crowd Control
Then the process of crowd control and waiting began. I was impressed with the ability of a handful of staff members to handle hundreds of potential jurors in such limited space; they divided and corralled us in different areas. The staff then began moving us in groups into new separate spaces. My group had thirty-eight people but we were comfortable waiting in an unused court room. Good thing too because we waited and waited. And while an hour doesn’t seem that long, it is a long time when you are sitting with thirty-seven other people, the majority of whom don’t want to be there either.

Any Questions
A staff member came in and tried to explain the reason for the delay and to answer any other questions, the most common ones being, “Any idea how long this will take?” Answer, “No, sorry.” and “If I get chosen, how long will the trial last.” Answer, “In this court, probably two to three days.” Some people moaned, I breathed an audible sigh of relief. Inconvenient, sure, but I could do two to three days. Besides, I still might not get picked. After all there were thirty-seven other people here. What were the odds?

The Threat
My calculations were interrupted by the staff member adding, “I can give you a postponement but you have no idea what you might get in the future, like a six-month murder trial.” With that threat nobody was asking for a postponement. I am sure some of them were thinking it would be easier to talk to the judge.

Into the Courtroom and the Hopper
After about another hour we took a walk upstairs on a very narrow, steep staircase, this is an old court-house. Once inside the court room, which had thirty-six chairs for the thirty-eight of us, we settled into the available chairs with two men standing and listened to some formal instructions given by the judge. Our names were drawn from a hopper in random order, sorta like bingo, to be asked questions by the prosecutor and defense attorney, as well as the judge. It was interesting and an amazingly thorough, intense civics lesson.

What are My Odds
Several people were dismissed and I found myself trying to recalculate my odds of being chosen. In the end, as the names for the jury were announced and they got to juror number twelve, I thought, “Sweet, I am outta here.” But wait, the alternate juror was announced and it was me. What? An alternate? I didn’t know there was an alternate! So there I was juror number thirteen. Somewhat like a spare tire, essential if you actually need it but mostly just baggage otherwise. I went through the motions, listened to everything closely, took notes, did not make any decisions, and did not talk to my fellow jurors, family or friends about the case. It was mental work and the hours of sitting were hard.

An Hour and Forty-Five Lunch
On the second day, the trial was moving along briskly, so I was surprised when the judge announced an hour and forty-five lunch period. “Oh no!” I thought worrying about returning to work, “This could have us back here on Wednesday morning.” Still I really enjoyed my long leisurely lunch, walking by the river and sitting in the sun. Weather-wise, it was certainly a different day than the one before. Against my will I had been ripped from my routine twelve-hour work day and I felt like I was on a mini-vacation. It was nice.

Into Deliberations, Out the Door
And later that afternoon, it was over for me, the jury went into deliberations and I left with strict instructions to not discuss the case, be available if I had to return, the judge even said, “Don’t leave town.” I stifled a giggle and nearly skipped out of the place. All in all, a positive experience, for me anyway, the excused prisoner known as Juror #13

Best Advice EVER! January 31, 2012

Best Advice EVER
Many years ago, a co-worker shared this story with me and others during a slow time at work. Her mother was a southern belle with a strong accent who had advised her daughter, “Don’t ever do anything one time that you don’t want to do the rest of your life.” Admittedly, it sounded much funnier coming from her mocking daughter in a slow breathy drawl with full body emphasis.

My co-worker went on to explain that this advice, passed down from generation to generation, meant that her mother had never mowed a lawn, raked a single leaf or even so much as changed a light bulb. We laughed loudly as she told us this, each one of us twentieth-century women completely unable to fathom that type of deliberately helpless life. However, there was a deep truth to that simple statement and I began to see it everywhere in my own life.

Simple Statement Deep Truth
At the time, I was the single mother of a strong-willed toddler and I knew that I couldn’t mess up, even once, consistency was critical when it came to caring for my young daughter. “No” had better mean “no” every time or the relentless struggle for supremacy would begin. It was a lesson hard learned from having lost more than one or two battles of will with, yes, I said it before, a toddler. So while I laughed heartily with the others at her impersonation of her southern belle mama and the unimaginable life she led, I also knew the statement was truer than any one of us would care to admit.

Long-Term Thinking
The beauty of the statement lies in the implication of long-term thinking. Sure it might have been much easier to give into the tantrum of a tired two-year-old especially when I was also tired but what was I teaching her in the long term? Throw a fit, get your way? Over time, I began to apply my new found philosophy to all areas of my life: relationships, work, finances, and recreation – you name it. It helped reduce the anxiety of decision-making to have this strategy of moving past the immediacy of any situation and thinking what the decision would mean long-term, whether long-term meant an hour or a year from the moment of deciding.

Decades Later
It has been literally decades since my co-worker shared her funny story with us. I don’t even remember her name but she changed my life with that story. I adopted a simple profound philosophy that has worked for me and through teaching I have shared it with thousands of others. You just might find it helpful too. One last thought here, when it gets hard to apply and it will, just remember that it works best to remind yourself in a slow breathy southern drawl, “Don’t do anything one time that you don’t want to do for the rest of your life!”