On My Lunch Break

Recently, I took my camera – the big, bulky Fuji – into work.

The past couple of weeks (!?) have been beautiful and sunny; the light lovely and golden for most of the morning and most of the afternoon. And now, as it is lighter in the evenings, the light is quite perfect as I am cycling home. Close to home was a spiral staircase that I had never before noticed until it was illuminated in the golden light of the setting sun. It was a darn pretty spiral staircase, despite its insalubrious surrounds (the back / industrial end of a large hospital). I decided the following day that I would take my camera to work and make some photographs.

Just before lunchtime, I took a phone call which bled into my lunch hour. By the time the phone conversation finished, I was (a) starving and (b) short of time: there were only 20 minutes left of my lunch break. Scoffing down my salad (cous-cous with purple sprouting broccoli, grapefruit and haloumi), I rushed outside with my camera around my neck, forgetting to throw a coat on.

It was a little overcast, so instead of trying to capture the way the light shines on rows of identical terrace houses, I looked at all the beautiful spring flowers in my workplace’s neighbours’ yards. Some of the flowers were teeny-tiny and I, of course, wanted to macro the heck out of them. However, I was very, very cold. And shivering. This seemed to somewhat magnify camera shake (strange, I know) and I had to contort or prop or lean or hug myself to minimise the problem. Still I managed to capture a few nice shots (per me).

I find it hard to forget this forget-me-not.

I had intended to take some snaps and return to finish off my lunch well before my other workmates returned from their lunch. Unfortunately, I tarried due to the various challenges of macro-photographing flowers while shivering and not trespassing.

I was crouched beside a low brick fence, trying to capture a close-up of Southern England’s Last Snowdrops of 2010 when I heard my boss’ voice, “Oanh! What on earth are you doing?” He could not see that I had a camera. I leapt up. “Photographing flowers!” He laughed, a warm and amused laugh. “The daffodils?” “Nah, not them, they’re a bit boring. But the snowdrops! Aren’t they sweet? And I bet these are this year’s last ones!” As he was returning to work, I turned the camera off and trotted into the office with him. Lined up outside the office door were the firm’s smokers, taking their last few puffs before returning to work. I smiled at some of them but most were staring with slight frowns on their faces at the camera around my neck. I suddenly, and uncharacteristically, felt self-conscious.

Blushing, at least, warms you up.

Not actually the offending snowdrops - those photos failed. These were taken a day later in one of my town's central city parks.

Back at my desk, I put the camera into its bag and returned to work. My phone rang – it was the trainee in the department.
“Hey.”
“Hi! What was happening at lunchtime?”
“Sorry?”
“I saw you rush out of your office with your camera and then you and Boss came back from lunch together? What was going on?”
“Oh, nothing. That was just coincidence.”
“Was there something exciting happening? Why did you take your camera?”
“Um, actually, I was just out for some photos of flowers in the neighbours’ yards. Boss caught me out. Like you obviously have as well!”
“Oh, so no bomb? No celebrities?”
“Er, no. Though I could make something up if that would be more interesting?”
“Yeah!”
“Okay. I heard – um, name a celebrity for me, um – Bear Grylls – yeah, him – was coming down to film a segment about that unexploded ordnance they found on L— Road a few weeks ago. He was going to dig into the pavement with his bare hands and -”
“Ha ha!”
“Sorry, nothing more exciting than some flowers. It’s Spring! And they’re so pretty!”
“Oh, right. Well, um.”
“Have I sparked gossip?”
“Yeah, we were just wondering, that’s all.”
“Nah, I’m boring.”
“Yeah. Okay, back to work! Bye!”

Most of my workmates already think I’m quite bonkers and odd and weird and nuts, but somehow, still pretty boring. Just rack this one up as another one.

A little field of forget-me-nots.

Oversharing

I accidentally told a few of my workmates about a curious habit I have. (Accidentally in that I was talking to keep things lively and found myself relating an anecdote and thinking, “Oh dear. How do I change the ending on this one? Oh well, at least make it funny.”) And now, I’m afraid one of them is going to tell my boss ….

My curious habit is to sit under my desk. After a bad phone call, or uncovering an issue that feels insurmountable, or because I feel bad for some reason (e.g. a few weeks ago, I got some not so great news from home), I crawl under my desk and sit there for a few minutes, knees to chin, breathing deeply. After that, I can face the world again.

This habit started because one day something happened – I don’t really remember what – and I put my head into my hands. It all felt too much. And I thought, “I wish I could just disappear under my desk.” It occurred to me, well, why the hell couldn’t I? So I got onto my knees and crawled under my desk. It was nice down there. Quite spacious, really. Rather comforting. Dark. Quiet – the only sound was the hum of my motherboard and that was a reassurring kind of purr. I felt much better. I crawled out again and continued to work.

Calling it a habit is probably overstating it somewhat. My days at work are not so bad that I crawl under my desk with frequency. It is a rare occurrence (i.e. it’s happened twice this year and maybe three or four times last year).

As a child, I definitely hid in small spaces when I was not feeling so good. My mother chided me whenever I was unhappy, so if I was unhappy I had to be unhappy somewhere she would not find me. Under the bed. Under the stairs. In a corner of an unlit room. Once, when I was about 6 years old, I crawled into a chest and fell asleep there. I was missing for so long my family went searching for me up and down the street, and out to the park. I think my brother found me.  Thankfully, I’d been missing for so long that my mother’s relief washed out her usual desire to berate me for most of the wayward things I did.

I mused aloud to my workmates about what would happen if one day someone walked into my office while I was under my desk. Would it be better to stay really quiet and hope they don’t see me, or crawl out and own up? It would be quite easy, I think, to expect they would not see me, because that involves walking into the middle of my office and looking under my desk for me. I suspect, however, that I am the ‘own up’ kind of person. As it is, at least 7 of my workmates now know that I am wont to crawl under my desk when things are not going so well. All of whom now say that if they come to my office and I’m not there, they are going to look under my desk for me. And most people at work think I’m odd anyway so they can just file my crawl-under-desk habit away with “Oanh’s Quirks” (includes cycling to work, eating salad sandwiches, knowing words like schadenfreude and not watching TV).

Judges’ Little Helpers

Justice Kirby writes in praise of Judge’s Little Helpers.  I was one such, and what a wonderful year it was for me.

I’m intrigued, somewhat, by the diminutive word little before the word helper.

The judge I worked for had, prior to me, two very tall associates (the more official name, in Australia, for judge’s helpers).  We had joked about my height and how the judge would have to find someone else to get things off high shelves because I’d be no use in that department.

One day, the judge called me into chambers and asked if I could reach something that had fallen down behind a large sort-of hall table / sideboard piece of furniture.  The something was a photograph in a frame, and there were heaps of other photographs in frames sitting on top of the sideboard, together with pot plants, vases, trinkets, mementoes and a glass head that was home to the judge’s wig.  I looked behind the sideboard: the frame was too far in to reach from the side, and the sideboard too tall for me to reach down from the top.  I cleared a few things from the sideboard, clambered on top and then hung my arm down between the back of the sideboard and the wall.  I did not even come close.

The judge said (something along the lines of): “Never mind.  I’ll retrieve it eventually.”

When you’re short, you have lots of little ways to get things that are too high or too far away or just somehow beyond your reach.  I’m always happy to jump for things if they’re not too heavy or fragile.  I like to have a little step in my kitchen so I can get at the things stored on the top shelf.  Coathangers are fantastically useful for hooking and pulling towards you things that have fallen behind other things and cannot be reached from the side.    “Give me a moment,” I said and disappeared.

I came back from the kitchen sporting chopsticks, short tongs, long tongs, and a long handled spoon.  With the spoon, I held the frame steady and captured it with the long tongs.  (The chopsticks were just a back up.)  I flourished the retrieved frame and the judge commented that neither of the last two associates would probably have gone about that quite the way I did.  I took the compliment, replaced the judge’s sideboard set-up and returned my miscellaneous items to the kitchen.

So, you know, little, well yes I was (still am).

*****

As a caveat, I did heaps of incredibly intellectually challenging and interesting work.  Working for my judge was excellent.  I’m just not going to write about the substantive stuff here.

If you come a-reading here law students: apply to be a Judge’s Associate.  It is very much worth it.