I remember right where I was when news of the Harvey Weinstein scandal broke in 2017 — sitting at my desk, wrapping up a day of work as a lifestyle editor, when a colleague said, “Oh, my God!” and posted a link to the New York Times story in Slack, and we — women, all of us — devoured it immediately, with equal parts horror and recognition and schadenfreude.

I will now also always remember the exact, sinking instant I realized I could possibly wind up deciding Weinstein’s fate, as a trial juror.

Between those two moments came days and months and then years of following the ever-unfurling narrative — of allegations detailing hotel rooms and bathrobes and showers, of #MeToo and codes of silence and loyal wives (some of which I even wrote about), and oft-heated discussions about consent and sexism at work and at dinner with friends and at family gatherings.

All of that baggage came along with me last week, as I clutched my red-and-white jury duty summons and arrived at New York City Criminal Court, an imposing collection of limestone art deco towers, fronted, on that morning, by a buzzing crowd of paparazzi. Though I knew the Weinstein trial had begun and understood that the crowd was awaiting his arrival — and even noticed a stable of camped-out reporters and photographers in the hallway of the very floor I’d been instructed to report to — I felt certain I’d have nothing to do with this famous high-profile trial. It would have been just too absurd.

It was only after an hour and a half of waiting around in the main jury room, when a court officer led over 100 of us down the hall, past the reporters and into a courtroom, that I fully understood what was going on. That’s when I stepped through the doors, noticing a wild-haired, bespectacled courtroom sketch artist seated to my right, in the back row, adding finishing touches to the colorful, pastel closeup of a face of a human who was by now unmistakable: Harvey Weinstein.

View photos One of the courtroom sketches — though not the exact one that tipped off the writer — of artist Jane Rosenberg. (Sketch courtesy of Jane Rosenberg) More

My heart racing as I took a seat in a wooden bench just a few rows in front of her, I peered around the other potential jurors’ heads up toward the front of the courtroom.

First, I saw the walker. And then, Weinstein himself.

He was seated with his back to all of us, facing the judge, surrounded by members of his legal team. He wore a dark suit, his pate was gray and balding, his pallor gray. He looked hunched and small and unwell. Justice James Burke addressed the room from high above, thanked us for our service and told us what case this was: “The People of New York v. Harvey Weinstein.” People gasped. A woman seated up front said, “Oh s***.” The mood in the room became decidedly strange.

“This is crazy,” I whispered to the woman on my left, who just closed her eyes and slowly shook her head. The man on my right had seemingly no reaction. I kept my eyes trained on the back of Weinstein’s head as the judge continued speaking, letting us know that that we’d be dismissed early and return in the morning, adding that simply having heard of the defendant did not disqualify us from service. Burke implored all of us, in fact, no matter what we knew or didn’t know, to spend the night “examining our conscience,” and considering whether or not we could be “fair and impartial jurors” in this trial. He waxed poetic on the virtues of jury duty, and how positive an experience it is for the majority of people who serve. He then shared with us the specific charges against Weinstein — four counts of felony predatory sexual assault, one count of criminal sexual act in the first degree and one count each of first-degree rape and third-degree rape — so we could let it all sink in.

View photos Harvey Weinstein and his attorney Donna Rotunno exit New York Criminal Court after the fifth day on trial. (Photo: John Lamparski/Echoes Wire/Barcroft Media via Getty Images) More