The Legal Intelligencer Blog

An Overheard Conversation

By Barely Legal
Special to the Legal

Back when I was still in school, my friend (we’ll call her Kristine) and I were having a bad day. And as 20-somethings tend to do, we decided we would drink our cares away. Sometime later, we were stumbling across the South Street Bridge back to our apartment when we passed a group of guys going the other way on the bridge. After we had passed, one of them made an observation about our inebriation that Kristine didn’t appreciate and so she turned, arms akimbo, and yelled, “Just because we’re drunk, doesn’t mean we’re deaf.”

I share this story not because I was recently drinking at my office, rendering myself deaf, but because I think it is a widely accepted misconception that when you can’t see someone they can’t hear you.

See, I was sitting at my desk; we’ll say I was working, and from my peripheral vision I saw one of the partners I work for pass by my office. Next, I heard him in the office of the partner with whom I share a wall.

“Did you see this crap?”

I stopped typing so I could hear better.

There was a pause, then an affirmative.

“Can you believe it? What am I supposed to do with this?”

He then launched into a diatribe about the uselessness of some document and I was so excited, anticipating the moment when he would reveal what idiot had wasted his time with such nonsense. That is, until it became clear that the idiot was me and the document I imagined he was waving around his head was something I had prepared for him earlier in the week.

“It doesn’t make any sense.”

“I don’t disagree with you.”

I wanted to scream, “What part?” or “What does that even mean – I don’t disagree with you?” But mostly I wanted to shout through the wall, “I can hear you.”

Instead, I just sat there, trying to block out all his nonspecific criticisms of something that I was quite proud of, all the while wondering just how I could possible hand in something more to his liking the next time when I had no knowledge of what exactly had offended him so greatly. How is anyone supposed to learn this way?

Then it occurred to me that screaming at his partner that just so happens to sit next to me might be his passive aggressive way of letting me know I have to do a better job next time.

So now I have decided to teach him a lesson about passive aggression and am going to just pretend I have no idea he was talking about my work. I’ll let you know how it goes.

Barely Legal offers humorous monthly musings on what it's really like to work for a law firm. Hint: It's nothing like it is on TV.

A Word of Warning

By Barely Legal 
Special to the Legal

My brother announced over the holidays that he is thinking about applying to law schools.

My brother is brilliant. He is also funny and charming and people tell me he is handsome, though I don’t see it. His good looks, charm and smarts have afforded him a pretty directionless life so far, but that has all been catching up with him lately as more and more of his friends settle down.

Still, I love my brother more than I love myself and so I did not take this news well.

In fact, I shouted “no” across the table.

My family all stared at me in stunned silence (we aren’t a large family, and I really did shout) and then my mother asked to see me in the kitchen.

As I walked around the table, I stared wide-eyed at my brother, pleading with him not to do it.

When I got to the kitchen my mother immediately asked me what the hell I was doing.

I tried to explain to her that the last thing she should want is her son to go to law school – that it is expensive and no longer guarantees a job with any security, not to mention if he does get a job, the hours are long, the work is thankless, it is soul crushing and most everyone you work with is a jerk because they don’t have a soul – but she cut me off, saying any direction at this point is welcome from her wayward son and she wouldn’t have me getting in the way.

I could hear my brother in the background explaining to my father that he wouldn’t even have to become a lawyer. He could become a sports agent, or work for the government – law school would just open so many doors for him.

“I just don’t think law school is a good idea,” I murmured, knowing I was defeated by the tone of his voice and the way my mom had crossed her arms over her chest.

“I think he would excel at law school. He’s very bright, you know,” she said.

Here we go.

“His IQ is higher than yours,” she said.

She loves reminding me of that.

She uncrossed her arms and tugged gently on the bottom of her sweater.

“You know what I think? I think you are afraid of him out-shining you.”

I rolled my eyes. Yep. That’s it.

Barely Legal offers humorous monthly musings on what it's really like to work for a law firm. Hint: It's nothing like it is on TV.

People-Watching and Dancing Machines

By Barely Legal
Special to the Legal

I love people-watching — I practically majored in it in college. It is not just the voyeuristic pleasure of spying on people that I enjoy, but it is also the insights into human behavior you can derive from an afternoon sitting on a park bench. I also like to make up little stories about the people I see, but that is for another time.

So, as a people-watcher, firm holiday parties are an absolute delight for me. I stand in a corner, with a drink in my hand, and disappear into the background as my co-workers party the night away.

From my vantage point I can see who arrived early, who is already drunk and who arrived fashionably late (and with whom).

I watch the attorneys chatting up each other, with the younger smart ones strategically placing themselves near enough to the head of their department so that they might get pulled into a conversation.

I also catch the IS guy checking out the HR woman, scanning the crowd for her face, and maneuvering himself so that he might just bump into her as she is on her way back to the bar.

It’s all so lovely in its predictability. But in all my years of studying, one class of co-workers I can’t wrap my head around is of the ones who dance at the holiday party. What possible motive could one have for showing all your colleagues just “how low you can go.”?

In the interest of full disclosure, I love to dance. I took dance lessons as a kid, I have been in dance-offs, and will often dance around my kitchen at night, sometimes even replaying a song so I can get my choreography just right.

However, I have never and will never dance at a firm-sponsored event. Nor do I understand those that do.

First, people dancing always look drunk. Even when they are cold sober, the assumption is that they are drunk because most people couldn’t imagine getting up and dancing in front of their coworkers unless they were intoxicated.

Second, almost all dancing looks dirty (and is meant to lead to dirty things). There is a reason it was banned in that fictional town where Footloose took place.

Which leads us to my next point: Third, by dancing, you are inevitably inviting that creepy partner or mailroom guy or guy who sits in the office down the hall and is always flashing you his wallet with the condom impression worn into the leather to do at best think nasty thoughts about you, at worst join you on the dance floor.

So why do it? What could your possible motivation be?

And don’t tell me it is to have fun, because no one has fun at firm holiday parties.

Barely Legal offers humorous monthly musings on what it's really like to work for a law firm. Hint: It's nothing like it is on TV.

An Uptick in Office Visitors

By Barely Legal
Special to the Legal

The strangest thing has happened to me since they moved Hottie McBeal (obviously not his real name) into the office next door. I have become the most popular girl in the office.

I didn’t put it together at first. When the younger associate that I have said “hi” to in the elevator a couple of times stopped by just to check out my office, I just thought she was bored on a Friday afternoon and wanted to get up and stretch her legs. OK, I also thought maybe she was fishing for a happy hour invite, but I already had plans.

When she stopped by again, a few days later, to tell me all about this really hard yoga class she took the night before, about all the bending and twisting she had to do and just how sore she was that morning, I was flattered. I thought she was hitting on me. I asked her follow-up questions about the class, dropping hints that I would be happy to join her – I figured I would let her down gently after a post-workout, decaf, no-fat latte.

She didn’t take me up on the offer.

She did, however, show up at my doorway the following Monday to tell me about her awesome weekend and the big meal she prepared for all of her friends. I watched her as she told me the story and noticed she was a) speaking really loudly, and b) kept turning her head in the direction of Hottie’s office.

That is when it all started to make sense. The Friday afternoon pass-by, the yoga class story, and now a lengthy lecture on her culinary prowess. This show wasn’t for me. It was for him.

And she wasn’t the only one performing in my doorway. There were a number of women, all ages and martial statuses, telling me things I didn’t need to know.

But no matter how interesting their story, Hottie stayed put.

I started to feel bad for these women. I wanted to give them hints on what to talk about – things I have heard him talking about with other attorneys. I didn’t though, for two reasons: 1) I was afraid I would embarrass them by pointing out their motives for suddenly friending me; and 2) I was secretly pissed it never occurred to me to talk loudly about how awesome I am.

Not that it was doing any of these women any good.

Barely Legal offers humorous monthly musings on what it's really like to work for a law firm. Hint: It's nothing like it is on TV.

Lessons I Learned During Last Month's Earthquake

By Barely Legal
Special to the Legal

As you are all more than aware, the East Coast experienced an earthquake last month, a first for many of us. I learned a lot in the minutes that followed -- most of which seem pretty obvious to me now. Still, I thought it would only be fair to share these “revelations” with you.

1.  East-Coasters Do Not Know What to Do When an Earthquake Hits.

I'm from the East Coast, born and raised, so I don't feel ashamed admitting I didn't know you weren't supposed to evacuate your building during an earthquake. Not that I did. I would never. I was too afraid of the wrath of the partners I work for had they heard that I evacuated. Instead I stood in the doorway of my office, shouting, "I'm pretty sure you are supposed to stand in a doorway during an earthquake," while my co-workers ran up and down the hallways, laughing at me.

2. Twitter is the Future.

From the doorway of my office I could see my co-workers scrambling around. There were a lot of comments along the lines of, "What happened?" and "Did you feel that?" and a couple, "Yeah, the idiot won't come out from her doorway." Assistants furiously typed on their computers, shouting, "Nothing on Philly.com." And so I carefully stepped back into my office, grabbed my BlackBerry and opened up Twitter. Got back in the doorway and announced, "There was an earthquake that affected the whole East Coast." This honestly didn't sound right to me and everyone that was near me stopped to stare at me in disbelief. I shrugged, "It's on Twitter," and immediately recognized that I sounded like an idiot. 

One of the attorneys that sits across from me smiled and said, "Oh, well, then it must be true." A few minutes later, a legitimate news source had finally caught up and we all listened to the assistant's computer as an important-sounding voice told us there had been an earthquake in Virginia that was felt from North Carolina to New York City and beyond. I felt vindicated, and by the look on my co-worker's face, I believe he felt old and unhip. 

3. Facebook Could Save Your Life.

While I had my BlackBerry, I decided to update my status from the doorway of my office. When I pulled up Facebook, I saw that every single one of my friends in Philly, New York and D.C. had the exact same idea. It occurred to me that if I was trapped in a collapsed portion of my building, my best bet wouldn't be to call 911 but to update my status with my location. All my friends would be on Facebook, one of them would read where I was, and I would be found in no time. Take that, all you haters that love to brag that you don't even have a Facebook page.

4. Finally, the last lesson I learned on Aug. 23, 2011, was: People Will Use Any Excuse to Cut Out of Work Early and Drink.

Barely Legal offers humorous monthly musings on what it's really like to work for a law firm. Hint: It's nothing like it is on TV.

Oddly Enough, Emily Post Has Nothing to Say on This Situation

By Barely Legal
Special to the Legal

One of the unique things about working for a large law firm is that you can go weeks, even months without seeing a particular colleague. This is great when you are trying to avoid that creepy co-worker, but not so awesome when you are desperate to accidentally bump into that hot, funny senior associate.

I'm telling you this not as an admission that I did little work this past summer, instead devising failed plan after failed plan to bump into the aforementioned hottie, but as a way of setting the stage for what happened to me one day after work recently.

I was headed to happy hour (and since I was on my way, I was still sober) when I saw a partner from my office standing about 20 feet away. Now, most partners at my office have no idea who I am or what I do for the firm, but since I had worked with this partner a few months back, and we had developed a rapport, he immediately recognized and called out to me.

And since I hadn't seen him since we had worked together but have very fond memories of the experience, it didn't at first register that he was a boss, and instead I thought of him as an old friend. Which is probably why I returned his hug and let him kiss me on the cheek in lieu of a more formal greeting. We then talked, I told him I was on my way to happy hour, and it wasn't until I was walking away that it occurred to me that I don't even greet most old friends with a hug and a kiss. 

So, now, here's my dilemma. What do I do the next time I see him -– as now that I don't want to see him I am sure to see him all the time? (Because that's always how these things go -- it's Murphy's Law.)

Am I expected to hug and kiss him every time I see him? Can we go back to the impersonal handshake? Have we gone too far to start high-fiving?

Should I send him an e-mail explaining that the other night was a mistake and that I really like and respect him and so I think we should just go back to the way things were?  

Or should I simply ignore the situation -- the way I do with all the other relationship mistakes I make -- I hope it (or he) just goes away?

Barely Legal offers humorous monthly musings on what it's really like to work for a law firm. Hint: It's nothing like it is on TV.

Had A Couple of Drinks? There Should Be An App for That

By Barely Legal
Special to the Legal

  I was at happy hour with some work friends last Friday, and after a couple of drinks, when we ran out of things to talk about, we pulled out our BlackBerrys and iPhones and started checking our e-mail and Facebook and Twitter accounts.

We all had an e-mail from a colleague that I can't help but find handsome, smart and funny. One of the girls I was with rolled her eyes at his e-mail and I, a little loose from the wine, immediately jumped to his defense. We went back and forth for a bit, until she eventually accused me of having a crush on him. Of course, I denied it.

Skipping all the boring details, next I'm in a cab. Just me and my BlackBerry and an e-mail from my work crush (about work, sent to multiple contacts). I contemplated all the cute, funny, flirty things I could respond back, but eventually made the decision to just put my mobile away.

The next morning I woke up, and in that early still-half-asleep haze I freaked out that I had actually sent him an e-mail. As I scrambled out of bed, located my work bag, and dumped all of its contents onto the floor, I actually started to wake up. I remembered that my phone wasn't in my bag, but plugged in to the charger, and that I never sent that e-mail.

I grabbed my phone anyway and discovered a quarantined message: a possible spam message about replica luxury watches.

That is when it hit me. If my e-mail can automatically prevent messages from being delivered, why can't they prevent them from being sent?

Obviously, not all of them -- that would defeat the purpose of e-mail. But maybe you could set up settings -- similar to the way you set up an out-of-office reply -- preventing any e-mail being sent, say, after 9 p.m. with more than two spelling errors in it, or something. Those messages would be held over until the next day when you can confirm that you really mean to send it.

I mean, what if I had sent exactly what I was thinking in the back of that cab -- spelling errors and all?

What if I had accidentally "replied to all"? (Because that never happens.) Instead of reading through a bunch of "all attorney" messages that have nothing to do with me that next morning, I would have been reading through responses to my carelessness, including at least one from my happy hour cohort celebrating the fact that she was right about my crush all along. Not to mention my boss asking me what the hell I was thinking. One from HR, I'm sure, and possibly several from the girlfriend of my crush, who I assume is the jealous sort that often sneaks out of bed at night to snoop through his BlackBerry.

But if my smartphone were equipped with this new technology, I wouldn't always have to rely on my own good sense. Which, let's be honest, has failed me in the past. I would see the e-mail sitting in my "confirm" bin, laugh, delete it and then make myself coffee, toasting my close call.

Sadly, I am not smart enough to develop the technology. But if one of my readers could write the program and then let me know where it is available for downloading -- it could save me a lot of future embarrassment.

Barely Legal offers humorous monthly musings on what it's really like to work for a law firm. Hint: It's nothing like it is on TV.

Something to Talk About

By Barely Legal
Special to the Legal

  I was running late for work, in small part due to SEPTA, but in larger part due to the fact that it was raining and my new foam bed is just so comfy. So , I was late before I got to the train station, but SEPTA made it worse.

I sent an e-mail to my assistant that I was going to be late in case anyone was looking for me. Of course, as soon as I sent the e-mail the train arrived, and if I didn't have to stop for coffee, I am sure I would have made it on time, but that is neither here nor there.

When I arrived, I smiled at my assistant and apologized for being late.

"That's fine," she called back to me. "Stew* just got here too."

For the record, Stew is the guy that sits in the office next to mine. He is always late -- except on the days when he is exceptionally early, and that only ever happens when he wants to leave early. 

"Maybe he was on the same train as you."

I sat down at my desk thinking, "Stew lives in Center City. Why would he be on my train? Does she know I was only sort of telling the truth about the train, or does she just not know where Stew lives?" 

A moment later, Jen*, who sits on the other side of me, came into my office. "Do you hear her out there?"

I shook my head. Allergies left me barely able to hear Jen's whispered tones, much less those of someone outside my office.

"She thinks there is something going on between you and Stew. Apparently you two arrived within minutes of each other."

I came in just after 9 a.m. I'm sure I arrived within minutes of lots of people. 

"Well, you two do seem to spend a lot of time together."

That made me pause and think. Our offices are right next to each other, we share support staff, and we are almost always working on the same projects.  So, yes, we do end up spending a lot of time together. In fact, one day, while procrastinating, I did the math and realized I have spent more time with him over the past year than with any other person presently in my life.

But there's the rub, my lovelies. It is never the two that are spending all their time together that are having the illicit affair. It is the two you never see together -- the two that you aren't sure even know each other.

Just ask Maria. She is probably slapping herself on her forehead about all the time she spent fretting about Arnold and his young assistant. Meanwhile, she never suspected the housekeeper who complained to her about what a slob he was and how he was always leaving his dirty shorts around the house. 

And, just for the record -- no, Stew and I were not together the night before. Lord knows why he was on time that morning. 

(*Names have been changed to protect the "innocent.")

Barely Legal offers humorous monthly musings on what it's really like to work for a law firm. Hint: It's nothing like it is on TV.

The Tell-Tale Ring

By Barely Legal
Special to the Legal

Working at a law firm, most mornings I have no idea what I'm walking into.  This was one of those mornings.

As I rushed into an elevator, my iPhone alerted me that I had a meeting in 15 minutes.  I was simultaneously annoyed and overjoyed.  Annoyed, because there was no real reason for me to be in this meeting, but overjoyed because in my rush to get to work, I hadn't had time to stop for breakfast -- and this meeting was sure to have that. 

Amazingly, I was first to arrive, so after grabbing a mini-muffin, some fruit and a cup of coffee, I sat down in the chair at the head of the table at the far end of the room.

Next to arrive was a co-worker I don't know that well, and to my chagrin, he decided to sit down right next to me.     

I doodled in my notebook as he dropped his notebook on the table, placed his smartphone down next to it, pulled his wallet out from his back pocket and tossed that next to his phone. 

When the head of our department came in, I straightened up in my chair, flipped the page on my legal pad (what doodle?) and smiled. Pleasantries were exchanged as he sat at the other end of the conference table.  

As the meeting began, I picked up my coffee and started to take a sip. From the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of my colleague's old leather wallet sitting on the table -- with a distinct wear pattern in the center of it. I turned my head to get a better look, because I couldn't believe what I was seeing. There was simply no way he had tossed his wallet onto the conference table with the condom side facing up.  

In my shock and disgust, mid-sip, the hot coffee pooled in my mouth, and I had to spit it back into my cup as I started to choke and cough. And cough. 

And cough.

The whole meeting stopped as I tried to hack up the coffee that had gone down the wrong pipe.  Tears welled in my eyes. Everyone was looking at me, but I couldn't take my eyes off that damned wallet. 

As I dabbed at the corners of my eyes, hoping my mascara wasn't running, I expected the grubby hand of my co-worker to whip into my field of vision and snatch the wallet away, or at least flip it over. But his hand never appeared. 

Our department chair asked me if I was okay.  I finally managed to look up, tears in my eyes, and assured him that my coffee just went down wrong. I apologized to him and everyone else at the table -- searching their faces. Wondering if they all saw what I saw. I then caught my colleague's eye and stared pointedly down at his wallet, but he either didn't notice or didn't care. 

I continued to stare at the ring for the rest of the meeting. I couldn't take my eyes off it.  I wondered how long someone had to keep a condom in their wallet before it made such a distinct impression like that? And once it happened, why wouldn't you get a new wallet? Is this somehow cool? A way of letting the ladies know that you are prepared, should the occasion arise?

Because honestly, the only thing it relayed to this lady is that you haven't had the need to use that condom in a really, really long time. 

Barely Legal offers humorous monthly musings on what it's really like to work for a law firm. Hint: It's nothing like it is on TV.

Finding My Very Own Jack of Hearts

By Barely Legal
Special to the Legal

You know how some women watch romantic comedies and think, "Why don’t things like that ever happen to me?" Yeah, I used to make fun of those women. Until I realized I am doing the same thing, only on a different and much more desperate level.

Instead of looking for my Lloyd Dobler, I’ve been looking for my Jack Donaghy.

It hit me shortly after discovering I had a crush on the head of my department. A workplace crush is normally something to celebrate, but I was disappointed. I couldn’t figure out why -- though I wanted to believe it was because he was already married.

Then, that Thursday night, curled up on my couch with a half-finished bottle of red wine, I watched as Liz Lemon and Jack Donaghy went at it as they always do on “30 Rock.” I sighed as I sipped, “Why don’t I have a boss like Jack?”

There it was. While I have a pretty firm grip on my romantic reality, it seems all I want is a sitcom work life. And while I have had my share of Jennas and Traceys and Franks and Toofers and even a couple of Ceries, I have yet to find my Jack.

I had a father figure at my old job and now fantasy-fodder at this one. But no Jack. No boss that I can come to with all my craziness, who will make fun of me and put me in my place, then secretly do whatever it takes to help me and then finally offer me a scotch at the end of it all. 

I think my work life would be so much better if it had more scotch in it. I think all my problems -- my boredom and dissatisfaction -- would simply disappear if only I had a Jack.     

So, readers, when times get tough, do you wish your life was a sitcom, or is that just me? Do you think finally finding my Jack would be a good thing, or would it just ultimately result in further damage to my liver? Are any of you worried that I wrote this blog while wearing a hooded sweatshirt during commercial breaks of NCIS? Comment at will!

Our newest blog contributor goes by the moniker of Barely Legal. BL offers humorous monthly musings on what it's really like to work for a law firm. Hint: It's nothing like it is on TV.