It's only 2pm and I'm already ready for bed -- and not in the fun "afternoon delight" kind of way... This day has been, I think, my first "real live practicing lawyer" day, in which I argue motions, prepare for more motions, answer phone calls, take deliveries, and in general become a fully-grown cog in this office machine, as differentiated from the old piece of the machine that comes in handy once a month or so when the machine needs (damn. this analogy was going to be clever and then it just died a sad death. moving on.). Anyway, all this hectic-ness has caused me some angst, which is best addressed by the following notices:
NOTICE TO THE AVERAGE SMALL CLAIMS LITIGANT: Before you come to court, you may want to consider observing a few social niceties that may help the judge take you more seriously -- or at least, won't cause your fellow man to want to move to the moon. Here are just a few rules to consider:
1) Shower. Not once a year. Not only when that cute trailer-repairman comes over. Not just for little Jayleen and Kayleen and Mayleen's birthdays. Every day. Or at least a few times a week. Equally important -- attempt mastery of the difficult "apply soap to body, rinse, repeat" event whilst enjoying the massaging spray.
2) If you weigh over 300 pounds and feel somehow elementally compelled to strut around in a dirty, wet white T-shirt, please at least CONSIDER wearing a bra to support your 58ZZs. Just play with the thought. Throw it against the wall and see if it sticks, to use my new favorite expression.
NOTICE TO THE HOT LAWYER-BOY IN THE ELEVATOR: Thank you, you have nice hair too. And I also like your suit. I like everything about you, in fact. I'm going to be you for Halloween. Let's run off in the sunset together. But first, let's talk about that suspicious ring. See, over there? Third finger, left hand? Yeah, that one. (WHY is everyone married? and on a related note, is there some kind of beacon over my head, visible only to "taken" guys, that calls the married, the engaged, the girlfriend-ed and occasionally the boyfriend-ed to woo me?)
NOTICE TO MY OFFICE'S SECRETARIES: When the thought arises that you want to consult me on something, assume I know nothing and act accordingly. If you come into my office and tell me that the motion I'm covering for your attorney has been joined by a co-defendant and it's ready-hold for 10am, do not expect me to know what to do with that information. In fact, I will more than likely ask you to define "ready-hold" for me. I will then ask you what your lawyer thinks I should do. Note that the correct response is NOT: "Well, he's not here, but you're handling this, aren't you?" For future reference, my answer to that is a permanent "No." I do not handle things. I cover things. There's a small, but vital, difference. At the moment, I am a guided missile of a larger spacecraft, much like yourself -- I do not decide where I will land or what I will do when I get there. That's what the spacecraft (aka Scary Senior Partner or his ilk) is there for. They give the orders, I follow them. A decision like "should I go to this motion to hang out with the other fifteen defendants so we can bill some hours or should I ignore it and stay in the office to do some actual concrete work" is not mine to make. You can ask as many times as you like, but the sad, scary and hierachy-cracking truth is: right now, you know WAY more than I do about the procedure of these things. Way more. Therefore, I expect you to have answers to my questions, not the other way around. The upside of this, however, is that although you've all been very cute in your newly respectful attitudes (seriously, I can still walk over to your desk if I need something. If you tell me just to wait in my office and you'll bring it to me, even though I was the pain in the ass that forgot to pick it up in the first place, it just makes me feel obnoxious and spoiled), they're not so necessary. Capice?
NOTICE TO MYSELF: Stop writing this damn post, jackass, and go attack those mountains of paper waiting for you, so that you don't a) turn in a billing sheet with only those 4 long and torturous hours in The People's Court, forcing everyone to wonder whether you really do just play solitaire all day, or b) turn up for both hearings tomorrow prepared only to make your appearance and then go completely mute, due to a total ignorance of both the facts and the law of your case. Now. Stop. Writing.