It was the law clerks’ job to dissect the cases for their respective judges. In short, we read the legal briefs and case law before churning out mammoth bench memorandums, which were essentially book reports with a suggested solution at the end.

I hadn’t written a book report in two decades and summarizing Judy Blume was markedly less daunting than dissecting the so-called “work preservation doctrine,” a nearly extinct aspect of labor law. After three solid hours, I’d barely made a dent in the first brief, which seemed like a bit of a misnomer, considering it was close to 120 pages long.

I needed lunch.

“Hey Laura, want to head to the cafeteria with me?”

“No, I brought my lunch. Thanks. Must be nice to have the time to step out. I mean, this case is really tough.” She smirked.

“Wow, great. Good for you. I mean, good that you brought your lunch. Not good that the case is tough. OK, well then.”

She smirked again. I lost my appetite.

The cafeteria was on the second floor, and as soon as I set foot inside, I wished I hadn’t.

Inside was a Twin Peaks revival. Yet, even the show’s biggest fans wouldn’t have wanted to be on this set. To my left was a gaggle of Janet clones, each looking more unhappy than the next. One quick right turn later and yet another group of unapproachable middle-aged women masking their anger with apathy. I headed straight toward the food. My middle school cafeteria was better than this. Before me was a delectable smorgasbord of everything you’d never want: gristly pork chops, bony chicken-fried steak, limp broccoli soaked in a greenish oil, and poached Krab. With a K. I felt myself becoming fat and frail just looking at it all.

I forced myself to request the unimaginable. “Hi. I’ll take the Krab and some broccoli.” A wide-eyed man with a hairnet silently stared at me. “Um, hi, I’d like the Krab and broccoli, please,” I said. Stare.

“Could you please show me where that is, ma’am?” he earnestly requested. I wondered if, in addition to a clean record, one needed a staring problem to land a job at the federal courthouse.

“It’s right in front of you. You know, that fake Krab stuff,” I said, pointing.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, it’s just that I can’t see. I’m blind.”

Was this some sort of joke? From the horrified looks of everyone around me, I surmised not. Great, I was going to hell now.

“Oh my God! I’m so sorry,” I squeaked. But it was too late. Judging from the looks I was getting from the others, the damage was done. It didn’t help that the man then killed me with kindness.