I received my first jury summons in the mail about a month ago. I’d always wondered when they’d catch up with me. I figured one day I’d be called upon to perform my civc duty in a court of law.

In the summons, Wilbur A Levin, the Kings County Clerk wrote, "I recognize jury service can be burdensome, as it may interrupt your personal business lives. Please be assured that we will work within the limits of the law to accomodate varying needs. Our goal is to make your service as a juror a rewarding and memorable experience."

Part of me was curious, the other part extremely nervous that I’d be picked for a trail, forced to spend days away from work and family.

On Tuesday morning, surely one of the most humid days of the year, I arrived at the Supreme Court Building at 360 Adams Street, feeling sweaty and rumpled, fully expecting to be discharged. Everyone I know gets discharged.

I sat in a large well air-conditioned room and watched a video narrated by Diane Sawyer about the Jury process.

After the video, there was a certain element of comedy as officials, in three languages (English, Chinese and Spanish), explained selection procedures over and over, and called out names on the loudspeaker.  One official sounded like Tony Soprano, another had great difficulty pronouncing many of the names. I hoped I’d recognize my own name. There was a trickle of laughter when someone named Keith Richards was called.

Is the Rolling Stone here for jury duty, I wondered?

Finally I was called to the impaneling area with a large group of prospective jurors. We were seated in a courtroom where a judge explained the nature of the trial and the fact that it would probably take up to three weeks to complete. He then asked if anyone would have difficulty making that kind of commitment. A large line formed.

I told the judge that I was self-employed:

"If I don’t work, I didn’t get paid. I am supporting a family of four. It will be very hard for me to take time away…" I said.

"All very Dickensy, I know," he said. "But if I dismiss you, you might be put on another jury and in this court, we only meet three days a week. Do you think you can commit to that?" His eyes got very big.

"I guess I can," I said.

17 of us were then seated in the jury box and interviewed by the judge and the lawyers. The judge was interested to know which Brooklyn neighborhood we lived in. Some people simply offered a street address but the judge pressed further, "What neighborhood?" Some people didn’t actually know the name of their neighborhood and the Judge would help them figure it out.

It was interesting to hear where people were born, what they did for a living, their level of education, whether they had ever been witness to or victim of a crime. A mix of white, black, Caribbean, Chinese and Hispanic, most were middle-aged, some were retired, a few were in their twenties. The group was made up of hospital workers, a math teacher, a Girl Scout administrator, a lawyer, two college students, sales representatives, and secretaries. A few were unemployed.  We really were a true representation of Brooklyn’s so-called diversity.

To my surprise, I was selected for the jury and told to report to room 527 to meet with the other members of my jury. In the small, badly air conditioned jury room, the other jurors, who had been waiting since 11 a.m. the previous day for the jury selection to be complete, looked hot and bothered. The table was littered with spread out pages of a New The York Times, a Daily News’, The Post, a Christian novel, a Vanity Fair Magaine, and copy of Phillip Roth’s "American Pastorale."

The trial was set to begin after lunch. I took off for an old favorite falaffel place on Montague Street, ready to begin by first experience in a court of law.