The courthouse was already busy that morning. Attorneys hurried through the main hall carrying files, court employees prepared for upcoming hearings, and visitors waited quietly for instructions.
Among them was an older Black woman pushing a cleaning cart across the polished floor.
She wore a simple custodial uniform and worked quietly, carefully cleaning an area near one of the courtroom entrances.
Then an attorney noticed her.
Instead of simply asking why the cart was in the main hall, he approached her with an impatient tone.
“Hey! Stop!” he called out. “What are you doing in the main hall with that cart?”
The woman looked toward him.
“I’m cleaning,” she replied.
The attorney pointed toward a service corridor.
“Then clean and disappear,” he said. “Use the back door.”
Several people nearby immediately turned toward the confrontation.
The custodian remained composed, but she made it clear that his tone was unnecessary.
“Watch how you speak to me,” she replied.
The attorney continued insisting that cleaning staff should remain away from the main courthouse traffic.
“Do it where you’re supposed to be,” he told her.
As the disagreement continued around the cleaning cart, the woman became firmer.
“I do this job with dignity,” she said.
But the attorney wasn’t finished.
He confidently announced that he knew exactly who belonged in that part of the courthouse.
The woman looked directly at him.
“You met me just now and already decided you could mock me?” she asked.
The attorney laughed dismissively.
By now, other attorneys, court workers, and visitors had stopped to watch.
The woman reminded him that she worked for the court, but the attorney continued challenging her presence.
Then the conversation took an unexpected turn.
“And you still don’t know who you’re shouting at,” the woman said.
The attorney showed little concern.
“I don’t care who you are,” he replied. “Stop standing there acting like you’re some judge.”
The hallway suddenly became quiet.
The woman calmly reached for her identification.
“Judge Williams,” she said. “This is my courtroom division.”
The attorney’s expression immediately changed.
The woman he had assumed was simply a courthouse custodian was actually Judge Williams, a senior judicial official assigned to that division.
She had temporarily taken on custodial duties as part of an internal workplace exercise designed to observe how different members of the courthouse staff were treated during an ordinary working day.
The attorney immediately attempted to apologize.
“Judge Williams, I’m sorry,” he said.
But Williams reminded him that his behavior had happened publicly.
“You mocked me in front of everyone,” she replied.
The attorney tried again.
“Please, I misunderstood.”
Judge Williams rejected that explanation.
The problem, she explained, wasn’t that he had failed to recognize a judge.
The problem was that he believed someone wearing a custodial uniform deserved less courtesy than someone wearing judicial robes.
“A cleaner deserves respect,” Williams said.
After the incident was reported to courthouse administration, Williams requested that the attorney be removed from his courthouse role effective immediately, subject to the applicable employment and administrative procedures.
Her decision wasn’t based simply on an uncomfortable disagreement. She believed the conduct raised a serious question about whether someone working in an institution built around fairness could treat another worker with such open disrespect.
The encounter left the surrounding employees with something important to consider.
Courthouses are places where facts should matter more than assumptions.
Yet the attorney had reached a conclusion about another person before knowing anything about her.
Judge Williams’ title created the dramatic reveal, but her final message was much more important.
A custodian should not need to secretly be a judge to deserve dignity.
Respect should apply to everyone—from the person cleaning the courtroom floor to the person presiding over the courtroom itself.
