North of the Hill South of Heaven

A K Street Paralegal's Plummet through Purgatory

  • Oh, And A Big BTW

    • 5 Mar 2011
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    As I am just learning the ins and outs of this new blog platform ever so slowly, I have completely foregone sharing my online paralegal friends with the rest of the Interweb. Some other real life, no bullshit, no "hey this job smells like roses and beaches" para sites are:

     

    Paralegal Hell - Have to give my love to this blogger. I could not have set this site up without her immense support. Check her out!

    A Paralegal's Life - Another hilarious take by a paralegal who knows the daily warfare of absurd requests, annoying office supplies, and the sugar-coating-not-added life of our job. Check out the blog!

    Mom-alegal's Blog - Should I say anymore? A paralegal. A mom. And a blogger? And it takes me discipline to brush teeth, floss, and put on my socks before my shoes.

     

     

    Okay, I swear that's the last post of the day! Everyone have a great and long-lasting weekend before it starts all over again :-) 

    Spacemonkey

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  • Balto Bowler

    • 5 Mar 2011
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    Since it's the weekend and the Attorneys That Be aren't feeling particularly sadistic, I've actually got the day off. Like a normal person. So this is where I try to, as Johnny Mercer sang to us, accentuate the positive. I am a true believer that any given day can be stranger than fiction... and it may just put a smile on your face. Charlie Sheen has made me laugh more times in this past week than probably all his movies. I know some of you think he's lost his mind while some of you think it's an act. Personally, I think he's hit some sort of transcendental moment of having the celeb status all his life as well as having a far-leftist dad whose teachings and actions have saturated poor Chuck's life (Martin Sheen still holds the record for top celebrity with most political protest arrests) have set his blender on frappe. He's not psycho. Trust me. He's fucking funny. Since he's now saturated every TV talk show and magazine cover, I'd like to hear what you guys think of him.

    I'd also like to think I'm an observer of my environment. In a town where Point A to Point B is an utter race and everyone on the street focuses on their next step, never looking up, I like to take in what's going on around me. People tend to miss this stuff. This is especially true when you are stuck in your own 'iPod Bubble.' But when you look up and around, remembering you are in fact a member of this environment, you catch the unique and often hilarious things that nobody else is watching, making you feel like the sole, candid audience.

    As an example, I give you Balto Bowler, some guy I taped in my own covert iPhone video ways on the Baltimore public transit:

    (download)
    Click here to download:
    Balto_Bowler_-_clip.m4v (33.31 MB)
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  • I Am Better At Hiding Than They Are... At Vision

    • 5 Mar 2011
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    • Dossier Pear Bottom attorney
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    That’s a quote from perhaps my favorite workplace TV character of all time. Dwight Schrute. In the context of this, he refers to hunting deer with his dad and, inevitably, spins the idea into some sort of twisted workplace metaphor. I relate to this, though, not because I've ever been deer hunting (most people from my home state of Texas shake their head when they hear this), but because in my job position, ears and eyes are open and gunning everywhere down these halls. And the owners of them will use them to their own great advantage. I recognize now the importance of laying low to keep your sanity and sense of self worth from not melting into marshmallow fluff. At least for a few hours.

    When I first started working here… God, that seems so long ago (14 months to be exact), I actually was a really excited guy. I thought that this would be a great place for me to learn about the inner workings of how law firms work and get a glimpse of what life could be like after law school. Well, if I went, that is…

    In any case, I was that like that overachieving little snot you hated in high school when I first started working. Wow, how time can change things.

    So, the first vulture to catch onto my eagerness to work was Bitchy Boss. Do you remember me touching on him from my last post? Well, his name really isn’t Bitchy Boss. It’s actually Pear Bottom. You see, the etymology of Pear Bottom stems from the rather obvious. His structural integrity forms like the fruit of the pear persuasion near his nethers. The circumference down there, I’d guess, is perhaps twice as large as it is near the top of his torso. If you still need a mental example, think when Danny DeVito playing Penguin.

     

     

    Penguin_1

     

     

    The first couple of months I worked at the firm, I got a nice little cubicle that reminded me of being at the zoo, but on the other side of the bars. It was situated on the same row as my practice. By fate, Pear Bottom's also in this practice. I remember he was the one out of all the others I got the most work from. And it was actually interesting in the beginning. A lot of it was research, which I actually find fascinating most of the time. He would always ask if I pulled the article off of Lexis (even though I found it on NYT.com) as if that was the only website that existed. When galactic apocalypse occurs, Lexis/Nexis will be the only one left pinging.

    But I digress. The research soon tapered off because the one case came to a settlement. I was then introduced to something that has become an inextricable part of my life.

    The three-hole puncher.

    I do not think I would be shocked if one day I woke up and found my right arm had been replaced with this vile office tool. So, I'm on binder duty. Indefinitely. I realized how I never had time to even breathe between one binder project and the next. He sat down the hall from my cubicle-cage and would CONSTANTLY walk back and forth, eyeing my general vicinity. The pieces came together when I saw him eyeing the five large D-ring exhibit binders (even with incredible front pages designed and printed out by moi) that were waiting to be picked up by Office Services. Next thing I know, I get the phone call.

    Pear Bottom: “Can you stop by?”

    Just one side-note on one of the major annoyances I hold with attorneys. I said that Pear Bottom walks constantly back and forth by my desk. Is it really necessary for him to call me on the phone to come into his office? Especially when I am getting reverb echoes through the speaker because I can hear his actual voice talking. Like when a guy calls into a radio station while the same station is playing in the same room he’s in. I know lawyers like to feel important, but just tell me to stop by when you walk by one of the twenty times you do before lunch.

    So I knew it was in the interest of my mental survival to get far, far away from this attorney. But, these guys are smart, I think, so you have to be subtle. Subtle and crafty. Over time and by growing strong relationships with the right people in the office (e.g. office supervisor, IT dude, office manager, all of office services staff, etc.) I had built enough confidence that I could begin asking favors. I made up some ridiculous excuses, like I'm allergic to something in this part of the office, or I broke my toe during a softball game, I was able to acquire an empty office (AN OFFICE) in the back of the library where nobody goes all to myself closer to the elevators and further away from Pear Bottom.

    I think for three months, Pear Bottom knew I was still in the building, because I would respond to his messages, but did not know where I was sitting. One day while I was chatting with him about how the Texas Longhorn football team was going to suck this year (last year), he tried to tactfully interject, “So, where, uh, where did they exactly stick you?” I told him, the library and he looks at me with little empty eyes and says, “Uhhh, where’s that?”

    I am a legal chameleon

     

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  • Some Days, Drinking Apple Schnapps Under the Covers Would Do

    • 3 Mar 2011
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    The wind was blowing way too hard this morning. The kind that knocks your earbuds out of your ears and chills your soul. That was probably my first hint that this day was going to be a Monday falling on a Tuesday. On my route to the Metro, I am accosted by a worker/custodian inside the pharmacy I used for a shortcut. I believe his rant stems from the point where my attaché inadvertently hit a bunch of neatly stacked lady wipes. Well, what are lady wipes doing on display in a store anyways? And why is this guy so angry?? Doesn't he realize I could be a... I don't know, a mystery shopper or something??? I really didn’t used to be this… negative.

    The train was inevitably late. Tack on another 20 minutes to get to the office. 10:25. I get to work and already see that my pseudo-fancy office phone says I have missed 3 calls. The welcoming red light on the receiver tells me that there is a message awaiting my attention, but honestly, I let that shit pile up. If you need my attention, send me an email or a text. Don’t make me jump through hoops (i.e. press four or five buttons) to let me hear you say, “Can you call me back?” I look through Missed Calls on my phone's display for the list of needy attorneys. This is odd, nobody normally calls me before, like, eleven. That’s why I’ve started coming in no earlier than ten. While the workday supposedly starts at nine, what the hell am I gonna do for two hours while I ‘patiently’ wait for one of my bosses to urgently call me?

    So, I have these three calls. They’re all from one attorney. I’m not sure which is worse in the life of a paralegal: Arriving at 10:25 to find 3 missed calls from one boss all after 9:45, accompanied by an email asking “WHERE ARE YOU???” or another boss candidly telling you that you have a nose hair drifting down towards your upper lip in front of your colleagues. I’ll probably go with the latter, but I should tell you that just by using the second person shouldn’t necessarily incriminate the author of this blog.

    Aside from that point, it still is a shitty position to be in. Already yelled at by some stranger before I get to work, now I’m preparing myself to be bitched out by one of the bitchiest associates in the firm. I really wish I knew it came with the territory that becoming a paralegal didn’t mean you would be working for life-changing causes, that you would have some sort of deep relationship with these cases and lawyers, that you would become an Erin Brockovich. The reality is that you unwillingly forfeit your pride and respect for a salary and benefits. You gleefully swing around on the lowest rung on the legal ladder. Like a monkey wearing a fez.

    After filling up my 20 oz. mug with three single-serving pods of coffee from the friendly Flavia machine, I decide I have enough courage to press redial. The first thing I hear after I say hello, sorry I didn’t get back to you, I was [fill in suitable lie,] is “I know you don't really get in after 10, so I didn’t think to call before then.”

    Pat yourself on the back for that one.

    “But this is actually important. We need you to go down to the DC Court of Appeals to file an emergency pleading.”

    “Okay, when?”

    “Five minutes ago.”

    I should have expected that one. This is the first time I’ve filed at this courthouse and after a year of working as a paralegal, I have too much pride to ask where it is. Instead, Google Maps would be my savior. I gather the pleadings and documents from my boss and head down to street level. I take out my only friend, the iPhone, and plug in “DC Court of Appeals” into the Maps app. That’s funny. Two different locations pop up with the exact same name. I guess it’s time for Russian Roulette. I pick one randomly and hope it’s the one that won’t lead to my head being blown off in the end.

    I call for a cab and tell Mr. Driver the address. He takes me there and I walk into the huge courthouse. I am taken through security, which is just as strict as airport TSA except that along with the ability to strip search you, they also confiscate your phone and lock it up. As normal protocol, I ask the completely uninterested guard where the Clerk’s office is and he kinda points down the hall for me. So I stumble aimlessly down this half-mile long corridor, looking both ways every step until I see a small door saying “clerks office.”

    I walk in, unload the big box and present all the items in an organized fashion. The lady, just as knackered as the guard, looks at me after going through everything and mentions I’m in the wrong court. Not even knowing where I am (remember, I was suppose to be somewhere 5 minutes ago) I ask her where these pleadings are suppose to go. She says, the DC Court of Appeals. I say I thought that’s where I was. She says, nope, wrong office. Fuck!

    7 minutes until deadline for filing.

    Since I don’t have my phone and I’m now completely lost at what to do next, I run back to the security station and have to beg the guard to give me the phone behind the 38th Parallel so I can call my boss. He asks me which building I’m in, I tell him I thought I was in the Court of Appeals.

    “DC Court of Appeals or Court of Appeals of DC??!?”

    I should remark that off the bat he is screaming at me. Not yelling. Not barking. Screaming. So loud that I hear two other voices suddenly in the background having to calm him down. While one attempts to alleviate this erupting volcano, the other voice coolly asks where I am and confirms I am in the right building, but funny enough, the Appeals Court happens to be on a different level. Another pat on the back, Mr. Paralegal. So I, again, run through the courthouse until I get to my final destination. I get to the Clerk’s office and for the first time that day I encounter some decent people. They help me with the documents and then look at me and ask me for the fee.

    The fee? What fee? I wasn’t told about a fee…

    “Okay, how much is it?” As I start pulling my wallet full of one dollar bills out of my back pocket.

    “$400.”

    2 minutes til deadline.

    That, in a nutshell is the life I lead every day. People wonder why I sleep throughout the weekend and drink vodka nonstop.

     

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  • About

    I am a paralegal at a large undisclosed law firm in Washington, D.C. Am I lucky to be in this position? Sure, why not. Am I completely jaded? Absolutely. Do I figure that everyone else around me is, too? Abso-fuckin-lutely.

    So, I guess that touches on the first rule of NOTHSOH - This blog isn't and will never be anything less than rated R. It's not that I am by nature profane or that I want to make the populace sick, I just have a lot to get off my chest. If you don't like it, shit, there's about sixty two zillion other blogs on crocheting.

    Also, for you paralegal-hopefuls and paralegals looking for advice. Well, sorry. Unless you're really good at reading between the lines, this blog mainly consists of the absurdity I endure on an almost daily basis as a legal assistant in the nation's capital.

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