Story 34: The 2 Hour Verdict

The official letter from the Western Australian Electoral Commission arrived like an unwanted visitor….Jury Service. It was a massive "don't want" for me. But instead of letting anxiety take over, I decided to pivot.

Before I even set foot near the District Court building at 500 Hay Street that Monday morning, I sat down and anchored myself to a fierce, crystal-clear decision:

• I want to be overlooked for any cases.
• I want to be out of there in under two hours.
• I want my jury service completed today.

By 8:15 AM, I was swallowed by the grey, humdrum reality of the courthouse. I shuffled through security, emptied my pockets, and watched my belongings slide through the X-ray machine.

At the reception desk, a court official checked my ID, stamped my summons, and handed me a tiny slip of paper: my random identification number.

I walked into the Level 2 Jury Assembly Area, joining a sea of about two hundred other Perth citizens. The room was a cross-section of heavy human anxiety, all huddled under the low hum of fluorescent lights.

On the walls, daytime lifestyle shows played on a muted loop—a bizarrely cheerful backdrop to the collective dread in the room. Soon, the Jury Supervisor took the microphone. The room went dead silent. Five active court cases were scheduled for the day.

Then, the lottery began.

While others shifted in their seats, gripping their plastic cups, I sat there quietly confident. I completely refused to give a single watt of energy to what I didn't want. I simply held onto my initial intention, watching the clerk reach into the box.

Panel after panel of jurors were called, stood up, and were marched out of the room like school children.

After what felt like a long waiting game, the final numbers were drawn. The last case was filled. The supervisor announced that the remaining pool of us were free to go for the day, but we had to return on Wednesday morning for two potential cases.

I checked my phone as I walked out into the crisp CBD air. It was just before 10:15 AM. Less than two hours. The first two parts of my intention had manifested perfectly. I hopped into my car for the thirty-minute drive to my Mum’s place, eager for a hot cup of tea. As I drove, a wave of profound power washed over me.

I walked right through Mum's front door and onto the soft carpet. The exact second my feet touched the floor, my mobile phone rang. It was the District Court clerk.

"Hello," the voice said. "I'm calling to inform you that the two potential cases scheduled for Wednesday morning have just been cancelled. Your jury service is now officially complete. Thank you for your civic service."

Click.

I stood right there in Mum's kitchen. A massive grin broke across my face like a Cheshire Cat, and I fist-pumped the air in pure triumph.

In less than three hours, the universe had rewritten the schedule of the Western Australian legal system just to mirror the decision I had made in my kitchen that morning. My jury service was done, and I had never even seen the inside of a courtroom.