I hurried to the back. To my left was a visibly confused guy who was staring at his blank computer screen, unopened case on his desk. Nostalgia. He reminded me of myself five days earlier. Hearing my footsteps, he looked up immediately and stood, revealing the first pair of flat-front pants I’d seen on a guy in the courthouse. His bluish green eyes sparkled a tad when he extended his hand.

“Hey, I’m Matthew. I take it you’re either Sheila or Laura?” He smiled, revealing a small dimple in his right cheek and, more important, perfectly sized teeth. My mother had always warned against men with small teeth (“not to be trusted, those men”). As for big teeth, they were unsavory for obvious aesthetic reasons.

“I’m Sheila. And as for Laura, you should know that she quit. But the judge doesn’t know yet. And won’t know until she reads the letter Laura left for her. So, just beware. And, don’t tell Roy or Janet. Let’s just see what happens.” I turned to my right, toward a guy I assumed was Evan. I was momentarily paralyzed as I’d not expected an African American. I had yet to spot a black law clerk around the courthouse (in fact, out of the three black law students in my class at Columbia, none had received clerkships).

Judge Friedman deserved some respect for hiring not one, but two, minority law clerks. Evan didn’t look up. Instead, he sat perfectly straight, arms bent, holding a blue brief close to his horn-rimmed glasses. He had been there for all of three minutes and was not only working but actually seemed engrossed in his case. He must have heard my conversation with Matthew, which had taken place about six feet away from him. Just in case he didn’t, I parked myself over his desk. He didn’t move, didn’t even flinch.

“Hi. I’m Sheila. [Pause.] Nice to meet you. [Pause.] Laura quit. [Long pause.]” Evan barely looked up, evidently unconcerned. No hello. No nice to meet you. No nothing. Eyes remained focused on prized brief. His loss. That legal eagle was about to get shot down and he didn’t seem to care.

Three clerks. Three strangers. Same fate.

DING! Thirteenth floor, going down.

“That’s her,” I whispered to nobody in particular. I rushed back to my cubicle, flung myself into my chair, and started staring. I heard someone breathing heavily behind me. Matthew had crept up behind me, just out of sight of the torture chamber.

“What’s going on?” He whispered.

“SHHHHHAAYYYLLLLLAAAA, get in here and bring Mike and Esther!!!!!!”