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The two of us were accidental cell mates for a long, idle day at the High Point courthouse this week, called for jury duty but rejected out of hand.

She’s in her last year of criminology at Guilford College, giving her an amount of knowledge considered dangerous to the defense. And I’m a reporter, making me a wild card neither table wants to bet the farm on.

The case involved a defendant whose first name and last name were the same (a little like “Roger Roger”) and, while he was already incarcerated, was charged with using “a bodily fluid” as a dangerous weapon, a felony in North Carolina.

When you’re in the curious position of being a disqualified juror — no job to do, no dog in the fight, but required to stick around by order of the court — you notice things. Things that didn’t used to be this way.

What people wear, for instance. Not only does the bailiff admonish the public about “appropriate” attire to reflect the dignity of the court, the “don’ts” are now spelled out in detail.

“This means no short shorts, no halter-tops, no skimpy or see-through tank tops, no micro-mini skirts or midriff-baring clothes,” a flier posted by the sheriff’s office begins.

“Thighs, navels, hips, and breasts must be covered. Pants must fit securely around the waist.”

Doesn’t this go without saying?

“Not anymore, not for the people we deal with,” said Capt. Gary McDaniel, a 39-year veteran whose courtroom deputies see it all — defendants who wear gang colors to court, or baggy pants with underwear showing.

“One guy last week went in front of the judge with a T-shirt that said something obscene. We had to send him out to turn it inside out,” McDaniel said. “People are different.”

Though prospective jurors get grilled about their favorite TV shows — “The Closer?” “Law & Order?” — McDaniel thinks defendants watch a different time slot.

“They watch 'Judge Judy’ and come to court thinking that’s how you act,” says McDaniel, recalling another recent defendant who was so insolent the judge ordered him taken to lockup. “He came back that afternoon with a different attitude. And he brought his mama.”

Maybe that’s the perverse entertainment value of district court. It’s the reassurance that, “There, but for the grace of God (and the fact that I didn’t huff varnish remover every day for seven years) go I.”

But nowhere are these foibles more on display than in Busted, a newspaper that has quietly gone on sale at some of the city’s finer gas stations.

The paper, which costs $1 and has no ads, consists of wall-to-wall arrest photos. Nobody seems to know who publishes the paper, not even our friends at the “Thrifty Nickel,” but maybe I’d want to be anonymous, too.

After all, people accused of drug trafficking and murder don’t necessarily want their picture in the paper. Also, when they’re unhappy, they don’t just send sarcastic e-mails.

Not that Busted is only for hardened criminals and registered sex offenders.

There are also pages laid out with levity: for example, the “Best Mullets” photo lineup, “Dude Look Like a Lady,” and my favorite, “Smiling Faces,” arrestees smiling broadly, as in their high school yearbooks.

And even though this is community journalism, there’s always room for celebrity news: “Mackenzie Phillips Busted” and a “Father and Son Busted” item about Ryan O’Neal.

In the back shop, I think they call those perennials “evergreens.”

Contact Lorraine Ahearn at 373-7334 or lorraine.ahearn@news-record.com