Imprisoned Across The River From Boston

I lived for five years in Middlesex County in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts.

Someone in the county had playfully put the names of her husband, her dog, and herself on their doorbell.  Alert Middlesex County authorities made note of the names on the doorbell, and summoned one of the names to jury duty.  It was the dog. 

The dog, however, was excused from serving on a jury once Middlesex County found out it could not speak English. 

Since the county jury pool had been reduced by one, it was inevitable that Middlesex County would summon me. They did.

I had never been called for jury duty before.  I was ready to perform my sacred duty as a citizen.

The court, in those days, was located in a tall building in Cambridge.  All potential jurors were shown a video about jury duty.  We all swore to uphold the constitution of the Commonwealth.  We were divided into groups.  The court officials said that not every group would be seated at a trial.  Then we were told to wait.

As we waited, I looked out the windows and saw that we were directly across the river from downtown Boston. 

I could hear downtown Boston beckoning me, “Hey, come over here for lunch.”  I worked twelve miles from Boston and never had the chance to eat lunch downtown on a weekday.  This was a rare opportunity.  

I stopped thinking about my sacred duty as a citizen and started wishing for our group to be dismissed so I could have lunch downtown.

The court officials began calling group numbers. 

I watched the faces of the first group called; they were to be seated for a trial.  They were glum, sad, downcast as they walked toward the elevator.  They looked like they had been sentenced to be executed.  

The second group called was dismissed.  As they walked toward the elevator, they looked jubilant, happy, relieved.

It struck me: We, the jurors, were imprisoned in the courthouse.  There were only two ways out.  We could be seated at a trial or we could be released out on the street.

Our group waited a long time before we were dismissed.  When I walked out of the courthouse, my stomach told me that it could not wait for me to drive over the river to Boston for lunch.  I walked across the street to a sandwich shop.

I enjoyed my lunch; I was a free man.

- . - .- . - . - . 

NOTE: Doug's best stories have been collected into a book: Puppy Out Of Breath.  Price = $11.  You can purchase a copy at  http://www.puppyoutofbreath.com