When my daughter brought in the mail and announced, “Mom, you aren’t going to like this” I realized it wasn’t going to be good news.
Sure enough, I had received another jury summons. I should have been used to it; after all, I seem to get called every year. I’ve always thought it’s had something to do with my speeding tickets—I tend to drive with a lead foot—but I hadn’t gotten one of those in at least two years. Regardless, there it was: “Dear Ms. Corrado, please report to the Frank Murphy Hall of Justice on . . . etc.”
Several weeks later when I arrived at the court, I walked through security like a pro. I had been there so many times I bet they thought I was a visiting judge or an attorney. Anyway, I watched the novices come through, one by one, looking confused as they found out you can’t bring in a cell phone, IPad, hair spray or any other of the basic necessities of life. Veteran that I am, I brought a few magazines and a couple of snacks. My cell phone stayed home.
After I checked in I took my (self-appointed) usual seat right up front by the TV, and settled in for a long day. You see, not once in the ten or so times I’ve been called for jury duty have I actually served on a trial. Most of the time I never made it out of the jury room; when I did make it into the courtroom and by chance into the jury box, I would answer the attorneys’ questions and then—every time—hear “We will excuse juror number (me).” I had begun to take it personally.
On this particular day, I made it into the courtroom with 39 fellow jurors. We got down to 30 fairly quickly when they eliminated the four who spoke no English and six more who brought up medical issues or convincing job issues. Then I watched as the attorneys questioned individual jurors one by one, dismissing the majority. It was a game for me to try to figure out why each one got the boot or not. Some were easy to tell, some not so easy.
The minutes/hours went by. By 3:30 in the afternoon there was one seat left to fill and only two of us sitting on the bench. Finally they called my name. As I walked to the jury box, I exchanged glances with the gentleman still on the bench. We both knew that if I didn’t get picked, he would be automatically on.
I took my seat and answered the judge’s standard questions: my name, what I did for a living, if I was married, what city I lived in. Obviously, that was all they needed to hear from me. The defense attorney politely dismissed me.
They decided to take their chances with the unknown instead of me! What was it about me? Was it the way I dressed, the way I spoke? Why did they think I wouldn’t be a good juror when they knew so little about me?
And that’s when I began to think about how we hire people. I learned a long time ago in a training class that job interviewers tend to make hire/don’t hire decisions in the first 30 seconds of the interview. So you’ve got to take the time to get to know something about the candidate beyond what is on the resume and how she or he looks and sounds. I appreciate the pressure those attorneys are under to narrow the field and get that jury of twelve seated as quickly as possible. But how is that different from the pressure recruiters and hiring managers are under to get the job filled quickly? You must select the best, and every candidate you talk to could be the one. But you will never know that if you do not force yourself to get past basic demographics and first impressions.
But most of all what I learned from this last experience is what it feels like to be rejected. Keep in mind that I really didn’t want the job in the first place. But being told I wasn’t needed didn’t sit well with me. I cannot imagine what it must feel like for a job candidate to be turned down, sometimes over and over again. It must sting, it must do real damage to your self-confidence, and it must make you think (and say) bad things about the organization you were hoping to join.
I think everyone who conducts interviews should be rejected for jury duty. It is good for the skill set, and good for the soul too.