Paranoid Encounter

So, it was nothing, right? Even though I didn't stop shaking for an hour afterward. Who knows why, maybe because I have been reading Dave Cullen's spellbinding book, Columbine, but today I felt I had a brush with terrorist-instigated mortality.

It was a day like any other. Except that today I had to fulfill my civic duty by showing up for jury service. Now, I have never served on a jury, during my 38 years since I relocated here in San Francisco, though I have often answered the summons from Superior Court to do so.

I have no particular aversion to such service, but the only times I've made it past the screening process to actually sit down in a judge's room, I have been rejected during voir dire, due to my background as an investigative reporter.

Anyway, today I joined the line of citizens waiting to enter one of our local court buildings, when a nervous-acting man ahead of me caught my attention. He was a white man, balding, dressed in formal clothes, with a pot belly, large, dark-rimmed glasses, and an extremely nervous manner about him.

To enter the building, one has to clear security. Two places in front of me was a younger woman, pleasant-enough looking that she probably sometimes has had to fend off unwanted physical attention from the kinds of creeps who grope, "bump" or otherwise invade her physical space.

One place in front of me was this suspicious-acting man.

As she started to go through the security device, he pushed into her rear end. She turned around, and confronted him. "Excuse me?"

She cleared.

His turn.

He didn't. All sorts of alarms went off.

"Maybe it's your belt, sir, try taking that off," the security guard, an attractive African-American woman offered.

He did that but he also pushed through again, still triggering an alarm.

At this point, she waved me through, and I glided through effortlessly. As I turned to pick up my cellphone and keys, the suspicious man was exploding.

"What is your name?" he was screaming at the security guard. Clearly, he was trying to intimidate her, as if he were above being challenged for the right to enter the court building.

I proceeded into the central jury pool room with another hundred of citizens or so. Then began a long, boring, two-hour process of being excused from service. Halfway through, something extremely disconcerting occurred.

That same man, now looking whiter than ever, entered the jury room from the back of the room. He sat for a moment, then walked toward the front and exited. Along the way, he deposited a book on a table in the precise center of the facility.

From that moment on, I was sure we were all dead. This was certainly a terrorist, angry at who knows what (there are so many injustices in our courts, almost anyone could turn into a mass killer, right?).

The next hour was one of the longest of my life. At first, I tried to find someone to alert about that book. Why would such a strange acting man do what he had done? Is there a "bomb squad" around to secure the item?

But no, here in the bureaucratic belly of the beast, I was stuck. No cops. Nobody but a nice young woman who said I couldn't leave until my name was called.

Fine, I thought. I'll die this way if it comes to that. After all, who ever heard of an exploding book? Probably the guy is just the kind of madman who drops crazed literature in public places.

***

That's pretty much it. Nothing happened. I was excused. And I scooted out of that place, gratefully. As I glanced back over my shoulder, however, the book was still there.

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