Tuesday 15 October 2013

When you find yourself locked in a room because you’ve been trying to help people out then it is understandably frustrating. I think it is without hyperbole that I say as I sat locked in an office this afternoon I FINALLY understood how Nelson Mandela must have felt as he served thirty years in prison.

I’d seen that a room had been left unlocked that probably shouldn’t be left unlocked. I was going to the room anyway and thought it was probably best if I stayed in the room rather than leaving it. In a way I kind of saw myself as Al Pacino in The Godfather when he finds out the police chief has sent his father’s armed guard away and he pretends to be the muscle with Enzo the baker to prevent his father’s murder. Although slightly less heroic. Slightly.

Rather than stand in front of the door pulling my coat to make it look like I was carrying a handgun, like in The Godfather, I sat in a chair. Only someone walked past and shut the door, someone not seeing me and shutting the door. Now I was left in the room – that you can’t open from the inside unless you have a special pass. And all the computers were locked so I couldn’t find out anyone’s extension to ring them.

I realised that I could scroll through the recently called numbers from one of the phones until I found a phone number dialled in my team. So someone from my team came down (with someone else so they could laugh at me trapped in an office) and then found someone from the office and they came back and let me out.

Then I had to go back to my section where everyone would (rightly) laugh at me because the colleague I’d phoned had (rightly) told everyone I’d been locked in an office. And all this because I’d been trying to ensure no-one got in any trouble. Nobility gets you fucking nowhere.

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