A Genius Like No Other

You know this guy, you do.  Every Big Firm has at least one. You started hearing the lore about him your first week at the firm and you admit that you were part intrigued, part terrified.  You’ve seen him in passing in the halls, usually after most of the firm has emptied out after dark.  Perhaps you’ve even tried to speak to him, only to be met with a distinct lack of eye contact and a half-snort as he scuttled away.  He’s more socially awkward than any mental patient, not fit for human—no less client—interaction.  But, word on the street—and that word’s always mentioned in hushed, reverential tones—is that he’s brilllliant.  Like, crazy genius smart.  That’s why the firm keeps him around.  The brilliance.  He’s the resident Big Firm Savant.  And I’m here to tell you firsthand, the whole “genius” thing is a complete and total fraud. [Read more]

Strike!

Please just tell me, once and for all: Do I have something stamped across my face?  No, really.  Is there some sort of watermark, a scar, a sign that screams “Only Social Deviants and Hostile Nerds Need Apply”?  Because that’s the only thing I can think of to explain why, within minutes of walking into the “Year-End Cocktail Bowling Bash!” for the firm’s corporate department (I know, no words), I’m cornered by a guy who is easily the most aggressively awkward partner at the Firm.  Let’s call him Les Metz.  Les Metz, who’s been divorced twice at 41, who has a sleep apnea mask hanging on the back of his office door, who brought his own bowling ball to this ersatz holiday party, and who’s made it his apparent mission to teach me how to bowl tonight.  Oh, and who just returned to the Firm last week from a month-long leave for a case of shingles.

Jealous already?  Just wait. [Read more]

A Rose by Any Other Name

Even in this crap economy, one heavy with associate layoffs, slashed bonuses, and a general sense of fear leaking through the halls of law firms coast-to-coast, one vestige of BigLaw life still seems to be holding strong.  You’re familiar with it, even if you don’t realize it.  You’ve seen it before, smelled it before, openly admired it before.  Hell, you may even have it on your desk right now.  It’s been around as long as the billable hour and not even a recession can kill it: Whore Flowers. And if my firm’s a decent indicator, they’re not going away anytime soon. [Read more]

No Laughing Matter

I used to be a lot of things.  Funny.  Creative.  Limber.  Up for a good time.  It didn’t take much to make me laugh.  And when I did, it was genuine.  And then I became a lawyer.  And last night, I found myself at a hole-in-the-wall vodka bar with a group of fun-loving, actor-writer-creative types, and I realized that I had nothing to say.  I couldn’t form the words in time to jump into a good riff or a joke.  I had no cool work anecdotes or funny stories.  I couldn’t relate to 98% of what these people were laughing about and I actually felt bad for anyone who had to sit next to me.  It’s official: I’m no longer funny or interesting. [Read more]

Lawyer-Hot or Hot-Hot?

I should’ve known better. I should’ve just left the pimping to the professionals and none of this would’ve happened. But it did. It started this past weekend when I was having brunch at City Bakery with my newly single, ex-BigLaw friend, Max, and I suggested a perfect set-up for him: She’s a fourth-year in my firm, cute, funny, just transferred in from the Paris office and doesn’t know anyone. Max’s first question, of course:

“Is she hot?”

“Well, I guess. Yeah. Definitely. She’s adorable.”

“What, like, a 7? Or are we talking 8, 9?”

Gross. “I don’t know, Max. A ‘7,’ maybe? Whatever. She’s hot.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Yeah, but is she lawyer-hot or hot-hot?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Is she hot for a lawyer or hot for a, you know, real person?” [Read more]

Online Dating for Lawyers: A Primer

I get it, people—we’re Big Firm Associates—it’s not easy to find dates, no less get laid on a steady, or any, basis.  Of the cool professions guaranteed to elicit flirting at a bar, “lawyer” is right up there with mortician and actuary in terms of its panty-melting effect. (Believe me, I’ve had to find out the hard way. Just ask this guy.) So, as much as it pains me to admit it, if you’re anything like me and you want to go on an actual date anytime in the next millennium, you’re probably going to need to enlist the help of the world wide internet. Sorry. And my immediate mission is to help you do it without looking like a total loser when your senior associate—nay, every associate you’ve ever met—sees your online profile.  And then sends it to everyone you know. In other words, I want to spare you the humiliation I went through a couple of weeks ago. [Read more]

Hindsight Is 20-20

You’d think that nothing could be more pathetic than primping for a welcome-the-new-associates cocktail event sitting at your desk, touching up your makeup using some tissues, cherry chapstick and a hand mirror that’s balanced on top of a bound copy of ’34 Act. You’d be wrong. Because I’m sitting here doing just that and in an attempt to blend the chapstick onto my cheeks more efficiently, I just put on my new glasses—the ones that I only wear “for the computer”—looked into the tiny mirror and reached a new low: I realized for the first time what I actually look like to people with good vision. And it’s a problem. [Read more]

Sweet Dreams

When I popped my BigLaw cherry, I expected it’d hurt. I figured that working in a Big Firm would screw with my social life, my love life, my life life—basically, I assumed that most of my waking moments would be your standard-issue bucket of corporate misery. Christ, was I off the mark. Don’t misunderstand—the effects of Big Firm life do indeed poison all aspects of your waking life, but they don’t stop there. They also infect your dreams. No, not your dreams of a classic six on Park, being the next Marty Lipton or having a foursome with Brangelina and…Marty Lipton, but your actual dream dreams. The ones that happen when you sleep. [Read more]

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