The ladies and gentlemen of the jury will be seated

Each time we filed into the courtroom and entered the jury box, everyone stood. The attorneys kept their eyes on their notes or on the floor; the lead detective was always smiling, like this was something he really enjoyed; and the defendant smiled and looked each of us in the eye, greeting whoever would meet his gaze. As one of the jurors put it, "It's like he's welcoming us to his backyard barbecue!"

I recalled something I'd read (or seen on a crime drama) that members of a jury would not look at a defendant if they were inclined to find him guilty. Perhaps this was some sort of reverse psychology -- "If they look me in the eye, they won't convict me."

Filing into the jury box ended up an elaborate dance. We were assigned to our numbered seats and invariably the people seated at the far ends of the two rows were the last to enter the courtroom, so those of us at the near ends of the rows would lean against the bullet-proof window that separated us from the gallery. Each time I stood there, the thought crossed my mind, "Does this jury box make my butt look big?" For the verdict, I wanted us to file into the jury box in order, so no one had to wait, but others didn't share my enthusiasm for choreography, so we did the daily do-si-do to the end.