A good day for me is one when I go home and don't feel like I stuck my foot tooo far into my mouth. The following is a bad day I had last week.
I take a fair number of criminal appointments. I've mentioned this...When one receives one's appointment, one goes to City Hall and copies the records. These give you not only your client's contact information, but also the other necessary information about the charges. The open file policy of the City is one of the reasons I enjoy representing people there.
So, I get a bunch of appointments in the mail, make my files and trot off to City Hall to copy. I should insert here that I try to walk everywhere I go. Its just plain healthy, better for the environment, and good for the soul to get up and move about.
I get to the records room and they buzz me in. All the files are stacked on the wall sorted into Court dates and I go through pulling the ones I need. (Pointer: if you pull the file out an inch or so next to the one you're getting, it makes it much easier to return the file) I get to the copier and ohhhh shit, its a new copier.
*I can cope with new technology. * I can cope with new technology. *mash touchscreen* I manage to make it work. Yay! Good job. We're copying now. (Smurf song: La La La LA aLA la)
I set a record on the edge like I used to with the old copier, except when I pick up the top to make the next copy, whoop, the file falls behind the machine.
So freaking typical.
Ok, how to solve this problem? On the right the machine is up against the wall. It is not on wheels, so I can't move it out. I look to the left edge of the thing, and decide I can contort between the two feeder slides to reach behind and get my file.
Ok, I have a plan. This is ok. Luckily I seldom wear skirts, and that day was no exception, so I just start slithering in. I do it! I get in ! I get the file! I get the file on top of the machine and now its down to extracting myself from behind the machine. The easy part, right?
You know- the best way to get out is to reverse what you did to get in. In Theory.
I'm backing out slowly. Did I mention I walk everywhere so I'm in pretty good shape? I'm also apparently getting old because as I back out slowly I bend my knee just wrong and it pops out of joint.
This has not happened for years.
It wasn't pain exactly-- more that nauseous feeling of a pinched something. Grating down deep in my knee. I push off the wall, and flop onto my side holding my knee and trying to make it pop back in. I manage not to scream or make too much noise. So far I have not attracted too much attention, but I am wallowing in the floor of City Hall which is not exactly an inconspicuous place.
Just then a detective comes along. He immediately wants to call an ambulance. No No No I'm fine its just out of place and I just have to get it back in. I am whimpering because I keep trying to straighten it so it will... Whew...pop back in.
Ok, I am now on the floor and ready to try to stand. I cannot bend my leg. I feel like a fool. I mean, I didn't actually touch anything when I did it. I had my weight on the other leg. And now there is a large detective standing over and people are starting to notice.
Detective reaches down and helps me up. He is giggling at me. Detectives like to do that.
I feel almost as dumb as when I was reading a brief and walked straight into that steel pipe hanging off the back of the truck in the parking lot and knocked myself out. Yeah, I'm one of those cerebral types.
Now, that actually wasn't the worst part. Here's where it gets bad. It must have effected my brain-- like a car wreck or any other traumatic event. I am trying to be cool about it. I am managing to not cry which is hard for me when I get real embarrassed like that.
Now the copier is not working.
The detective and the officer-who-wants-to-fix-things start helping me figure out what is wrong with it. Detective makes some joke about shooting it. I said, "You know I've found that sometimes just showing it your revolver can put the fear in it and get it working again."
He looks at me and says, "I don't have a revolver."
Well fucking duh. Duh duh duh. I have guns. I grew up with guns, I know his piece is not a revolver its a pistol. Now I feel like an idiot and want desperately to explain that I know the difference between a revolver and a pistol. So I do. and then I really just want to cry. Duh duh duh.
A revolver BTW, holds separate bullets in chambers that rotate as the operator cocks the gun or pulls the trigger. You use a revolver to play Russian Roulette, because if there is no bullet in the chamber the firing pin strikes it will not fire. A Pistol has a clip that holds the bullets and as each is fired, the spring moves the next into place so it is ready to fire. If you play Russian Roulette with it you will die- every time.
I have to sit there. I can't run away. I just pretend I never said it, after my initial duh, I know that's a pistol. The fall must have effected my brain. He'll probably not think any more about it-- I'm a chick and chick's aren't supposed to know anything about guns anyway. Its like a guy not knowing the difference between a pump and a stiletto. I will resort to stereotypes to relieve my irritation : )
But still, I hate hate hate making stupid mistakes like that. Almost as much as I hate being the center of attention, which you'd think might be an issue with being a lawyer and all, but somehow its not. I love public speaking so go figure. Surprise birthday parties make me ill, but put me in front of a jury and I'm happy.
At any rate, that's the story of why I was limping last week.
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