When a Good Idea Fails the User: Lessons From Virtual Jury Selection

A few weeks ago, I was called for jury duty and experienced a powerful example of how innovation can go wrong when the user journey is overlooked.

Because I was going to be in Europe on my original date, I could postpone my initial date of service online and select a new week that worked for me. That felt like thoughtful innovation: easier for jurors and, presumably, more likely to increase participation.

Then, on the Friday before my new date, I checked the court website and learned that my group would report by Zoom.

Again, I thought: great! No commute, a more convenient first day, and potentially a more accessible process for many people.

But what followed showed how quickly a good idea can fail when the practical details aren't designed around the people using it.

At 9:00 a.m., 148 potential jurors joined the Zoom call. Many were confused by the instructions, unfamiliar with Zoom, or dealing with internet and camera issues. We were asked to rename ourselves on our Zoom screen by entering our juror numbers, which created another hurdle for people already struggling to get connected.

At 9:15, the orientation began.

We learned that jurors would receive $50 per day after the first day, plus transportation costs.

Then the court played a video explaining the jury process. For a while, we could not hear the sound.

At 9:45, we were sent on a 10-minute break. When we returned, we waited about 40 minutes without any information about what was happening.

At 10:35, the judge joined the call and told us that we would be considered for a trial expected to last up to three months.

Yes, you read that correctly! Three months.

I understand the importance of jury service. But I immediately wondered how people with jobs, caregiving responsibilities, health needs, travel commitments, or self-employed work could realistically participate for that long. For anyone whose employer does not provide paid jury leave, or for independent consultants like me, the immediate question was clear: How can someone afford to serve while being paid $50 a day?

Those who believed they could not serve in a 3-month trial were asked to complete a hardship form and a detailed questionnaire. The hardship form was relatively straightforward and covered areas such as medical issues, being the sole caregiver, being a full-time student, having prepaid vacation during trial, language issues, or extreme financial burden. But from what I read, they don't automatically accept your hardship.

While the hardship form was easy to complete, the questionnaire was not. At 11:27 a.m., we received a SurveyMonkey link, but the survey was in review mode, so the system didn't save responses. Some people had already completed the first page before their answers disappeared. When the issue was eventually corrected, the survey still sometimes failed to save a page, requiring people to re-enter their answers.

I began my questionnaire at about 11:45AM and spent more than an hour and 15 minutes completing 100 questions, including redoing several pages when my responses didn't save.

I worked in marketing research and am very comfortable with surveys. Even so, several questions required close reading and careful thinking. I could only imagine how difficult this would be for someone unfamiliar with online questionnaires, less comfortable in English, dealing with a weak internet connection, or simply stressed by the process.

Yet attorneys use these answers to help select a jury. The issue with completing the survey is much bigger than a frustrating online experience. If potential jurors are confused, unable to complete forms properly, or discouraged by a system that does not account for their realities, how representative can the eventual jury be? And that's before you even consider who can become a full-time juror for 3 months!

The afternoon became even more difficult.

People who had requested a hardship exemption were told to return at 2:00 p.m. About 108 people came back online. We waited for 30 minutes with no update, then were told that the court was still reviewing the requests.

They read names aloud for decisions, didn't post them in the chat, and didn't use juror numbers. Some people were excused; others' hardship was denied, and to come to court the following Monday.

After that, we were told the judge needed to speak with many of us individually. When our turn came, we were moved into breakout rooms.

I waited for hours.

By 5:00 p.m., only nine people remained on the call, including me. I had no idea what was happening, but I started to get seriously worried. At 5:26 p.m., only four people were left online when the court clerk appeared on the screen.

First,, she told three of the people that if they wanted to discuss with the judge why their hardship was denied, they would have to come back on Zoom the next day.

Then we told me that my name had been called earlier and that I had already been excused. I would never know why (was it me being an independent consultant? my trip planned for October?),, but I I felt both enormous relief and the frustration of the experience.

I wondered how I had missed my name that afternoon. Was it mispronounced? Had I briefly stepped away (there was no official break for the 3 ½ hours, so I had to step out for 2 minutes a couple of times)  ? Had I simply not heard it amid hours of waiting?

Thinking about this whole experience with my innovation hat, I thought that, if this new zoom experience for jury selection had included a user-centered approach, it would have been much smoother with simple safeguards:

• Displaying names and juror numbers in the chat when decisions were announced.

• Sending a private chat, email, or text notification when someone was excused (which they told us they would do in the morning but never did)

• Checking the participant list before the end of the day to ensure no one had been left waiting unnecessarily.

• Scheduling clear breaks during a process that lasted more than eight hours.

• Testing the survey and instructions before asking more than 150 people to rely on them.

Virtual jury duty has real potential. It can reduce travel, make participation easier, and possibly improve attendance.

But technology alone is not innovation.

Innovation succeeds only when the full experience works for the people expected to use it—especially when the process affects their time, income, stress level, and ability to participate in something as important as the justice system.

This experience left me wondering: if the system makes it so difficult for people to participate, particularly in a three-month trial, how can we ensure that the resulting jury is truly fair and representative?

What examples have you seen of a promising innovation failing because the user experience was not fully considered?