The File Room tried to kill me

When I started working this summer on domestic violence and other sensitive cases, there was a teeny-tiny part of my brain that was somewhat nervous that after zealously and brilliantly representing a client, a somewhat disgruntled ex might be angry enough to follow me on a dark and dreary night, whereupon horrible things would happen. The odds are slim, to none, but I have a very active imagination and this was a very real concern during my first naive weeks.
Now that I've been at this job for a while, I've come to learn that the only thing that ever consistently threatens my well being is the file room.

The clinic file room is this closet that probably was decent sized until 8 ft tall, ginormous metal file cabinets were squeezed in configurations designed not only to maximize efficiency, but to create a mini labyrinth of tiny, enclosed spaces. Even with file cabinets fighting for every spare inch of space, they are still overflowing, leading to file upon file being haphazardly stacked with little concern for organization or safety. With only a dim, flickering light to guide your way, once you key into the room and shut the door behind you, its hard to know when or if you'll ever find what you need and emerge safe and sound back into the light.

As creepy as it is, usually the worst hazards actually faced are just a surprise file avalanche, or an almost tipping over cabinet. A little nerve-wracking, but deal able.

So this morning, when a 6 inch thick folder jumped at me, it just seemed like a normal excursion to the file room. What is less normal is me actually having a valuable file of my own in my hands. A very important file, that was now scattered into the corner, which is only accessible by a small gap between the mammoth file cabinets. A small gap that is barely wrist sized.

So I did what any one would do, squeezed my wrist on in and began the painstaking process of gathering papers. It went fine at first, until I realized that my efforts to get most of them had resulted in one piece being continually pushed farther and farther away. So I reached, and I bended and I grabbed until finally, finally! I managed to make contact with the last elusive document. Document in hand, I moved to pull it out and get out of there. At this point I had moved around in such away that I couldn't really see what I was doing anymore, so it came as a bit of a surprise when my wrist moved, and moved and then clang! hit the cabinet and would not move anymore. Some how amidst all the contorting, I had managed to get myself good and stuck.

I really had no desire to spend my last days wasting away in file purgatory. I had even less of a desire to call for help. Even in the off chance that someone would actually hear me, I gaggle of legal interns that I have to see every day trying to extract my wrist does not seem like the best option. Besides, we're all nerds. The physical world is not really our thing.

I think the panic of having to be known as the girl who got stuck in a filing cabinet was enough for me to pull through the pain and finagle my wrist out of there. Still after almost being eaten, I'm keeping my guard up next time. I'm onto you now, file room.

 An artistic rendering of today's events, modified from here.