Violets for the Soul

A recent municipal jury summons provided more than an opportunity to exercise my civic duty. It offered fresh perspective on how we as citizens can make a positive impact on our democratic society through everyday acts of simple human kindness.

The night before my appointed day of service, I placed my juror’s parking coupon on my dashboard as the summons instructed and gathered plenty of reading material and a few crossword puzzles to pass the time, plus a phone charger just in case. The next day I awoke to an early alarm to prepare for the 30-mile drive to the City of Houston courthouse. I mapped my destination on a navigation app, intending to arrive 15 minutes early to allow time to find a spot in the juror-designated free parking lot and go through the building’s security scanners.

As I started the commute down Interstate 69, I hoped the rest of the day would go as smoothly as had the morning so far. But soon I felt like the main character in one of my favorite children’s books as I began to experience a grown-up version of Alexander’s “terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.”

As I drew closer to the city, traffic began to back up, as is typical on a Tuesday morning. The navigation app advised a detour that involved exiting the freeway and zigzagging along side streets to reach a less congested route. Other drivers must have been using the same app, I thought, as I joined the parade of vehicles inching along back streets and through stop signs toward an on-ramp to Interstate 10. When my turn to enter the freeway finally arrived, I grabbed the first opening and, saying a prayer, merged to take my place in the ongoing traffic. Now all I needed to do within the next half-mile, said the increasingly annoying voice on the navigation app, was simply take the far-left lane, three lanes over, to Interstate 45. One lane, then two lanes to the left I went, but the stubborn driver behind me in the third lane was not budging. He absolutely would not let me into “his” lane.

I missed my exit and proceeded to renavigate from another direction. I reached my destination via a street that, as luck would have it, was under construction. I was thankful I had not gotten around to washing my white SUV as my tires hit the rough grading and I traveled a narrow lane inches from workers in gray, wet cement. Looking for the jurors’ parking lot, I spotted the green sign for Lot H, blocks away from the conveniently located metered lot directly to my right.

Car parked, I made the jaunt to the courthouse, determining to shed my irritations and make it a positive day. I made it through security and followed the winding halls to the jury assembly room. Needless to say, I was not on time, but as other stragglers entered the room, it didn’t seem to matter. I found a seat and set to work on a crossword puzzle.

We watched a video of the presiding judge thanking us for our service, and the bailiff swore us in. Sometime later another judge paid us a visit and let us know that the eight courts had a bazillion cases that day. He regretted to inform us that we would likely be there well into the afternoon. We prospective jurors accepted our fate and settled in for the long haul, focusing on our various diversions – magazines, books, word games, phones and e-readers. The room became quiet except for the sound of someone snoring softly.

Suddenly a voice announced that it was time for lunch. Among our options was a food vendor set up just outside the assembly room. The menu consisted of a beef burrito, a chicken burrito and a taco salad, $11 each. By the time it was my turn to order, they were out of everything but the beef burrito. I avoid red meat, so I declined and began to eye the vending machines nearby. The picture was bleak. I asked the security guard if there were any restaurants nearby. “Depends on how fast you can walk,” she said.

So it seemed something prepackaged was my best bet. I headed back to the vending machines and tried to assess the least unhealthy choices among the salty, highly processed items on offer. After surveying my options a couple of times, I decided on a bag of Gardetto’s snack mix, with a pack of Grandma’s oatmeal raisin cookies for dessert. I found a seat at a table where three colleagues who had obviously been ahead of me in the food line were eating their burritos. Setting down my pitiful lunch, I pulled out my third crossword puzzle of the day and tried to make the best of it, reminding myself of my good fortune to have even this to eat.

A few minutes later, a tall gentleman dressed elegantly in slacks and blazer entered the room and approached the food vendor. Realizing there was no one behind the makeshift counter, he looked around at the diners for explanation. The woman to my right, who apparently had scored one of the last of the chicken burritos, explained that the vendor had run out. “I’m sorry,” she said, somewhat guiltily, though it was through no fault of her own.

The man repeated my reaction to the vending machine fare, wandering from one to the other until at last he selected a sweet bun of some sort. Once the machine released the little cake, I noticed he was having trouble with the window. I stood up to help, explaining I’d had the same difficulty: “You have to push down, not in.”

He thanked me and, after navigating the coffee machine, sat at our communal table and began his humble repast. I crunched on my snack mix as the sodium permeated my body and I felt my blood pressure rise. Soon it was time for dessert. The cookies were soft and chewy, not bad actually. As I washed a bite down with the water I’d brought from home, the woman with the chicken burrito stood up.

“I cut my burrito in half,” she said, to anyone who would hear. “I didn’t touch it. Please take it.”

My tummy already full of mini pretzels and bagel chips, I thanked her for her generosity. And with that, she was gone.

Somehow my day didn’t seem so terrible, horrible, no good and very bad after all, thanks to the thoughtful gesture of a kind stranger.

I finished my cookies and returned to the assembly room, picked up my book and proceeded to read for a couple of hours. Around 2:30, we were released from duty and declared free to go.

As I began the drive home, I thought of how a day of minor inconveniences had been a window on the inner workings of our democratic system, and what a privilege it is to serve. But it also had provided a lesson on the ripple effect even our simplest of actions can have on one another. Case in point: a stranger’s kindness to people she didn’t know and would probably never meet again. I don’t believe I’ll ever forget this simple act of humanity. I thought of the uneaten half of the woman’s burrito. Was it still on the table? I hoped it had made someone’s day, as it had mine.

Kindness like hers is what makes our society work, I thought. And then, as if in agreement, a nice person in the far left lane slowed down to let me in.