By Eileen Spatz
I cringed when I received the jury duty summons in my mailbox. I had always managed to wiggle my way out of prior summons using this or that excuse, but this time I knew the day had come to fulfill my civic duty.
I arrived at the Santa Ana courthouse with ten minutes to spare. This was good planning because I had no idea where the courthouse was in relation to the parking structure. With typical herd-like mentality, I followed a group ahead of me that seemed to know where they were going. I turned around to glance in the other direction, in case there was a bigger herd going the other way, but instead came eye to eye with a young lady looking to be in her early 20s who confirmed that I was heading in the right direction.
We fell into step together and made small talk on the way to the courthouse, agreeing that we dreaded sitting inside that sterile building for an entire day and hoped we wouldn’t be called to serve on an actual trial. We passed through security and headed up the elevator, getting our bearings. Together we helped each other follow the signs to get to the big giant assembly room where the jurors check in.
While in line we had plenty of time to chit chat, and I learned that she was a middle school teacher who was finishing up her master’s degree program at Chapman University. I shared that my daughter also taught middle school, and we talked about some of the challenges of teaching that grade level. I got to the check-in window first, and then walked away to claim my seat.
When she followed me to my seat, I was pleased. She even quipped, “Well if I have to sit here all day I might as well sit with someone nice.” I asked her name, and she replied, “Emery.”
Over the course of the long, tedious day Emery and I stuck together. We watched each other’s stuff for restroom or cafeteria breaks, and generally kept each other company. We had both brought our laptops with the intention of being somewhat productive, but I struggled to concentrate with all the noise and commotion in the room. This young millennial, however, was able to tune it out and work diligently on her lesson plans and updating her planner. It was obvious that she had a solid work ethic.
What made this day special were the things Emery and I learned from each other over our hours together. She mentioned that her students “couldn’t write at all,” and this was a source of concern for her. So, this opened up a conversation about the ways young people communicate today, and how they seemingly aren’t being taught basic writing skills. I mentioned that I was a writer by trade, and how important it is for kids to learn how to convey thoughts and opinions persuasively, and that spelling and grammar really do matter. She shared that she was just hoping to at least teach the students how to write a proper email. The differences between our two generations were evident, but we agreed on the fundamental concepts.
We segued into many topics while sitting there, captive at the courthouse. I shared my concern about kids becoming more isolated with video gaming instead of getting outside and playing. I told her I pined for Mayberry and she looked at me quizzically, when suddenly the guy behind us, who must have been listening, chimed in. We taught her all about the Andy Griffith show, Aunt Bea and Opie, and the simple life they lived in the fictitious Mayberry.
Later, we talked about career goals and I told her that at any time in our lives we can rebrand ourselves, sharing some of my own career transitions over the years. Emphatically, she stated she would always work in the field of education. She said that she enjoyed teaching, but would eventually love to work in a teacher training capacity. She had such passion in her voice that I knew she would someday achieve that goal.
Emery and I held our breath each time the guy would appear at the podium to call prospective jurors, and then let out a huge sigh of relief when our names were not called. When they announced the need for jurors for really long trials, we were thrilled to be in the non-qualified group (she a student and me self-employed). To kill time during the long lulls between these announcements we watched a cooking show together. Finally, it was announced that we were dismissed for the day, having fulfilled our duty.
Emery and I gathered our things and headed down the escalator and out of the dreary courthouse. On the way back to the parking garage we chatted about weekend plans and the Super Bowl, which led to sharing our opinions about the various half-time performances. We agreed that Jennifer Lopez looks absolutely radiant at age 50 and that the Latina show might be fun. We both dissed last year’s Maroon 5 performance, and I asked her if she remembered when Prince performed what I considered the best Super Bowl half-time show ever. Of course, she didn’t, she was like 11.
I told her that the older I get the fewer celebs do I even recognize in People magazine, immediately realizing that she would likely never even read People-and if she did it would be the online version. She then lamented how old she feels among her young adolescent students because she doesn’t know the groups or artists they refer to. That made me feel better.
As we approached the parking structure, I asked Emery what floor she was parked on. She said she had seen the sign instructing jurors to park on the 4th and 5th levels, so she was on the 4th floor. I sheepishly admitted to having, like a boomer renegade, parked on level 2. As we climbed the stairs, we stopped at level 2 and impulsively hugged. There were no phony claims to stay in touch or to follow each other on Instagram. We both knew that ours would be a one-day friendship forged within the walls of an uninspiring government building.
And then up the stairs Emery went to the 4th level, and I felt a little tug in my heart. Meeting this lovely young woman was a blessing, one received in a most unlikely place.
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