Okay, so I admit it. I really did not want to be called for jury duty last week. Nor was I particularly in the mood for it the last time I was called—a mere nine months ago. Jury duty has a way of turning an otherwise good week into a rushed, unproductive, and chaotic mess.

One look around the room last Tuesday told me that I was not alone. Few wanted to be there, as evidenced by the harried looks at Blackberrys and cell phones. Most people seemed grumpy and out-of-sorts. Dislike of jury duty is as American as apple pie.

For a people that complain—very loudly—about outrageous jury verdicts and ridiculously high punitive damages awards, we Americans have remarkably little patience for doing our part to curb the abuse.

After several hours of waiting, I finally found myself seated as Juror No. 1 in Courtroom No. 8. Great. Just great. First in line. I felt doomed to serve on the jury, unless my law degree was enough to scare one side or another into striking me.

But others in the room seemed determined not to share in my fate. Anyone who has been called for jury duty will remember participating in a process called voir dire, in which lawyers question potential jurors, seeking to identify those who are too biased to serve on their case.

Now, there are real biases, and then there are the ones that potential jurors just make up out of thin air.

Question from a lawyer: "Please raise your hand if you can’t enforce the legally required standard of ‘beyond a reasonable doubt.’" Hands shoot in the air as jurors trip all over themselves, seeking to prove their unfitness for jury duty. One man in the room proclaimed with certainty that he would convict anyone if the police so much as suspected guilt. Where there’s smoke, there’s fire! Others took the opposite view. They argued that they would never, ever convict anyone, even if the only doubt left was an unreasonable one. As voir dire concluded, one woman stood up and declared that she had a fundamental problem with the mere existence of jury trials. Judges should dictate these conclusions.

Meanwhile, I sat. I certainly didn’t want to be on the jury. Book and column deadlines are hard enough to meet without sacrificing a week of my time to a criminal trial. On the other hand, I know that I am a perfectly fit juror. It would have been nice to lie, just to get off jury duty, but I knew that I couldn’t.

I am not trying to make myself out to be a saint. To the contrary, I was pretty grouchy (and somewhat bored) all day long. I have a definite libertarian streak, and I confess that I get rather irritated when any government entity claims the right to dictate my schedule to me. Far be it from me to propose a purpose for an all-new government bureaucracy, but shouldn’t we be able to schedule jury duty on days that work best for our calendars? Worse, having been called by both county civil and criminal courts within the course of the past year, I fully expect the federal versions of each to come knocking on my door any day now. I have proven, after all, that I will show up, even if I do so somewhat grumpily.

But here’s the flip side, and the reason that I will not lie just to get myself out of that jury box.

Lawsuits are spiraling out of control in our society. Plaintiffs with frivolous complaints are often able to pursue their claims, hoping that they will hit the jackpot. Any pretense to sue could be their lottery ticket. Hence, the rising cost of doing business and the continuous calls for tort reform in our civil court system.

And matters on the criminal side aren’t much better. While there are many good, fair prosecutors, others have let the power go to their head. If you were falsely accused of a crime by a District Attorney in the midst of a re-election campaign, wouldn’t you want honest, fair jurors sitting on your jury, holding that abusive prosecutor to account?

Sadly, you may not receive that benefit. During voir dire, too many people make up too many stories, seeking to prove their unfitness for jury duty. It is politically incorrect to say so, but all too often, the vast majority of the people left behind are the ones who need the $40 that they will be paid for sitting in a jury box all day. Why, then, are we surprised when businessmen go to jail for shipping lobsters in plastic, rather than cardboard boxes, or when a city settles with a criminal who got shot by the police, rather than risking a jury trial?

I did not end up on the jury on Tuesday. Of the sixty potential jurors, so many proved themselves biased and unfit that the lawyers did not have enough people left over for the next stage of the jury selection process. A 12-person jury was not emerging from that group. We were sent home, and the lawyers and judge started over with a new group on Wednesday.

Various versions of tort reform may have their time and place, but perhaps the real solution—performing our civic duty, even when inconvenient—has been staring us in the face all along.

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