Then He Cried

Office Manger worked for Turkey for ten very long years. She worked for him while she moved her parents into her home as they came to be unable to care for themselves and each other. She worked for him while her daughter and grandson moved in with her. At one point, four generations were living under her roof. She worked for him as, one by one, her parents died. She worked for him as she was diagnosed with, and then learned to manage, diabetes. Office Manager worked for Turkey while more than ten secretaries came in and out of the office.

Back when I temped for Turkey, Office Manager handled all human resource-type things. In April, as I was starting, Turkey closed his office door to tell me he was taking that over from Office Manager. So what exactly was Office Manager supposed to be doing with all her time? How much managing did our office really need? Office Manager had also been promised some number of paralegal (a.k.a. billable) hours each week, and it was in her contract that she'd get paid for them, whether or not Turkey was able to bill out for them. So if he didn't have the paralegal work to give her, he still had to pay her anyway. He almost never had the paralegal work to give her. Why? Because he has a crush on the (straight, and married) architect, so he gave him almost all the paralegal work.

So back in the fall, Office Manager gave five weeks of notice, per her contract. Then, in the first week of December, her last day came, and sadly Office Manager was gone. A few weeks ago, since I open all the mall, I became aware of the fact that Office Manager filed for unemployment, claiming constructive termination. I had to look it up.

When I thought about what it means, how it can be applied, and the truth of things that happened with Turkey and Office Manager, I smiled. She had a shot. When Turkey saw the mail he asked if I'd read it. I told him I never read the mail, just look at it enough to see who it goes to, with the only exception being when Turkey is out of town.

Turkey is a guy who overshares. He tells me every time he's going to the bathroom. He slams family members and co-workers to me (and other co-workers). Turkey also lets me (and others) see what would seem like incredibly personal documents regarding his life. It's almost like passive-aggressively showing off, to let everyone in the office know how much you paid for your second home.

Today something came in the mail basically saying that Office Manager submitted paperwork proving her claim of constructive termination and while Turkey can appeal, they will begin paying her. Turkey asked if I'd read the documents, and I told him no, that I just open and date-stamp everything before distribution. He folded the pages back up and tucked them under his arm. His cheek twitched, and Turkey told me he needed to take a few deep breathes. I asked if he wanted me to come back, but he said no, so I sat and waited.

It was awkward. Turkey sat, looking down, breathing, while I sat in silence. In my head I'm quite fidgety, but lawyers don't want someone fidgeting on the other side of their desk, so I force myself to sit still. We probably sat, breathing, for about 45 seconds before Turkey resumed opening his mail. What? Don't you sit with your boss providing moral support while he goes through his mail each day? What do you mean that's a waste of time?

Turkey asked once more if I'd looked at the mail. Once more, I gave him my standard reply. We continued on with the mail. It was clear Turkey wanted to be finished quickly, and when we were, he told me to close his office door on the way out. I reminded him that he had to leave in 45 minutes for a meeting. Turkey immediately got on his cell phone, and the WASP and I could hear his tone of voice through the wall. It wasn't pretty. The two of each other looked at each other in shock as we heard the noises he was making. I've been a legal secretary for 15 years, and this was a first.

Open the Windows!

My slumlord is cheap and doesn't pay for garbage pickup on the weekends. He also didn't want to pay for garbage pickup at two ends of the building, so it only goes into one place. That place sadly, is right below my apartment. This means unfortunately, that by Sundays my apartment smells pretty gross and by Monday mornings, the smell is so bad that I worry I smell badly. On Monday mornings after the trash goes out for pickup, the maintenance guys mop the hallway floors. I'm not sure what chemical it is they use on the floors, but it reeks horridly, and the smell of course spreads to the apartments.

There are windows in the hallways, but there have been signs up next to them from the landlord saying they are not the tenant's windows and as such we do not have the right to open them. Furthermore, we will be fined if he catches us (there are cameras all over the building). Recently a notice by the City was posted right outside the front door to the building, telling the landlord he was in violation of a bunch of laws.

One had to do with not allowing us to open windows. Today, as I was walking back to my apartment after dropping off rent and requesting my landlord fix my kitchen light fixture, a guy was frantically opening all the hallway windows while yelling "Open the windows! Open the windows!" He was trying to get me to agree that it's not healthy for us to have no outlet for the chemicals used to clean the floors. Telling me the landlord isn't allowed to refuse to allow us to open the hallway windows.

I was wearing a hoodie, jeans and flipflops. In no way did I look at all official. Although it turns out my landlord has hired attorneys who happen to be sub-tenants at my office, I do not work for them. I don't work for my landlord. There was no reason for this guy to get me on his side. I hold no power.

When the maintenance guy came to fix my kitchen light he asked if I'd heard all the yelling. I nodded and told him it was about the windows. Hector then spilled the gossip about the Yeller. Apparently he had a back injury and got hooked on painkillers. Hector went on to further explain that the guy is also an alcoholic, and the combination of the two is not good. Well! Thanks for all the gossip on the guy who I formerly only knew of as the guy who had a bike and always holds the door for me.

Are we now free to open the hallway windows without fear of getting in trouble? I don't know. The important thing is though, now I know who to go to when building gossip is needed. Hector!

The Repeating of History

So that Indian single mother lawyer got fired. I knew it was coming, because first Turkey wasn't giving her any work to do. This by the way, is a sign you're about to get fired. Then he handed her a binder full of articles he's written, and told her to memorize them and he'd quiz her on them the next day. Now, if someone did that to me, I'd cry. She did not. Apparently she went to law school and was familiar with memorizing large amounts of ridiculous information and was actually preparing to take the binder home and cram all through the night. But she got fired and it was the day after she signed a lease that locked her into paying rent for a year.

So now Turkey has a new baby lawyer starting Tuesday. She's like a preemie baby, because she hasn't even taken the bar yet. So she'll work for a month or two, then take a month or two off to study for and take the bar, and then come back. My prediction? Based on the fact that we don't even have enough work right now for the employees currently working, once she's left to study, she will get a call telling her not to bother coming back.

This poor girl is going to show up on Tuesday all bright and shiny in a new suit, with her hair blown out and shoes polished, ready to smile big and make a great impression on everyone. Meanwhile she has no idea she's about to begin working for a pathological liar who takes great pleasure in playing psychological warfare and driving people crazy.

It's not my place to say anything to this new girl. There's nothing to say, really. I mean the WASP has been there for over five years. I didn't get fired after two months - I've been there since April. The billing guy just got a huge promotion - he took over 75% of what Office Manager used to do. So some people do succeed at this firm.

The first person to arrive in the mornings is always me. Except for when there's a new eager beaver baby lawyer around - then they like to show up before me to appear enthusiastic, ready to work both early and late at the drop of a hat. I must make sure to not make any negative comments to her about working here. If it goes anything like it did with the single mom lawyer though, at some point she'll come to me with the comments. Not necessarily negative, but more confused. Turkey loves nothing more than having meetings with people, saying he'll discuss things with you during said meetings, acting stressed about all the meetings he has, and then giving conflicting and incomplete instructions during said meetings. One day last week he had three meetings with Billing Guy. In ONE DAY. This'll be interesting.

Changes Keep Coming

As of last night a cold has joined me, so I need to get to bed soon. But first, just wanted to get out a few things. Here are the gifts I got from work:

1. A dark red wine-colored throw, which I exchanged for a light blue/gray/silver one instead. It is so much better having this on my bed as a second blanket instead of my shower towel!
2. $50 from one of our sub-tenants. You might ask, "What do you do for them?" Here's what: I put all their mail aside for their guy to come pick up, I reserve conference rooms whenever they need one, I receive their clients whenever they show up and sometimes help them.
   
3. 2 really funny drinking glasses from one of my favorite stores from the hot gay sub-tenant with a cute note.
4. A bonus from the Turkey that's more than one paycheck but less than two. He must have used some sort of formula to decide how much of a bonus to give, but I can't crack the code for the life of me.
   
5. A small box of chocolates from the sweatpants-wearing corpulent guy who (apparently) still has a crush on me.
   

Talk about making out like a bandit! This is the first year in ages where I've gotten a bonus, and it's an awesome feeling.

Our office manager is still sorely missed, but the billing guy has taken over most of what she used to do, and seems to be doing a great job. He's super-easy to work with, very straight-forward, no mindfucks of any sort, which is fabulous and exactly what we need.

Turkey and Personal Assistant are in some sort of awful power struggle. I will have to blog some back-story for you on her, but I think she'll wind up fired soon. Which will suck since all the random shit she does will get passed to me.

Next week a new baby lawyer starts. Which is weird, since there's barely enough work for our WASP. It's also weird because she hasn't taken the CA bar yet, so she'll work for us for a month, then leave to study for the bar for a month or two, then come back. What is that? I don't see this working out well. My prediction is that she'll work for a month and then while she's out studying the Turkey will tell her not to come back. Next week will be interesting. Baby Lawyer is super professional, and I anticipate her going into shock at Turkey's shenanigans.

It's Not Only Jews Who Get Lonely

A couple of years ago, a local bookstore was going out of business. This is before Borders died, and they couldn't slash prices low enough. I wandered through the store, picking books up and putting them down, trying to figure out how I could incorporate an 18-foot rolling ladder into my shoebox of an apartment. After a while I stumbled across a slew of stationery and cards, and as I dug through, found a bunch of Hanukah stuff. A boxed set of cards, a group of gift cards, and I haggled the price down and then bought it all up.

I think of sending out holiday cards as something families do, not single people. What would I do, send a card with a photo montage of me all over it? Write a little blurb about how I vacationed above the Castro a few times, and in Spring took a trip out to the Mission?

But I'm sitting on these Hanukah cards. What am I supposed to do with them? Take them out of the drawer, admire them, then put them back until the next time? Except I don't live in New York anymore, Land of All People Jewish. I live in a world full of people who celebrate Christmas now. Is it rude or disrespectful to send a Hanukah card to someone you know for a fact doesn't celebrate it?

So today I was deliberating buying some less ... denominational cards, more winter-themed, for the non-Jews. The WASP and I were chatting about cards. Obviously, she's not a MOT. She told me something surprising - that she has a few Jewish friends (that's not the surprising part), but they never send her Hanukah cards, and she'd love to get some. Her whole face lit up telling me this. ORLY?! Well, it won't be a miracle on 34th Street, but it will be a miracle near 3rd and 4th Streets and that counts, right?

She's got a couple of little kids, so I am thinking some Hanukah gelt taped to her Hanukah card might be the way to go. It truly never occurred to me that the Christmases might want to receive Hanukah cards. Is the WASP the only one who feels this way? If you're a Christmas, please let me know what your feelings are on this.

I'm Not Josie Grossy Anymore!

Last year I was really poor. Food stamp poor. Literally. Having friends mail you tampons poor. Literally. I have now been working for more than half a year. I've built up a small savings. I've taken a couple of people out finally, people who've held me up financially and emotionally.

While I was poor, I did a very good job of it. That thing where you write down every single thing you spend money on to see where your money goes? I didn't have to, because I knew, down to the penny. I spent nothing unless it was an absolute need. Even then, I went without several needs.

Now that I can fulfill all my needs and even some of my wants, turns out I still think like I'm poor. Can't seem to stop. While I was poor, I remember wondering how it was changing me, and if once I got a job I'd snap out of it, or if it was a permanent thing. Maybe this is like losing weight after having a baby? Where it takes as long as you were out of work, to get comfortable spending the money you now earn at work?

So I have this ugly, heavy black bag. It's so ugly that it's barely even appropriate to be bringing into a law firm every day. But I use it because it's what I have. For the last I don't even know how long, I've been looking for something nicer. Not hundreds of dollars nice, just like, nice-yet-inexpensive-since-it's-now-at-Marshalls nice. I love nothing more than finding a good bargain. Yet I couldn't pull the trigger. I couldn't bring myself to spend $80 (or even $40) on a bag. Even when my mother tried to buy me one last month, I couldn't commit.

Too much time was spent convincing myself I didn't need things when I couldn't afford them, that I didn't need to buy anything that struck my fancy because "the world won't stop creating awesome stuff" that I couldn't move away from that thinking. $50 is NOT AT ALL a lot of money to spend on a bag, especially a black one that would get used every day. I'm not one of those people who has 30 bags. I have fewer than half a dozen.

A couple of weeks ago I was talking with Golden Boy, and this came up. He said something to the effect of this not being a life-long commitment. That it's just a bag, and if I wind up hating it, I can get another one at some point. He didn't actually say anything I didn't know. Sometimes you just need to hear things out loud. Today I found a bag. The leather feels soft, not plastic-y. It was 60% off, at a discount shoe store. There are pockets, it's black, and I spent less than $35. Pretty sure I won't wind up hating this.

Turkey is ... well, an odd duck. I mean, no. He's a narcissistic asshole who shows hints of being a sociopath (an honest to goodness, fitting the definition one). It's not like you can't classify that. It's just so unusual, and so different to spend so much time with someone who's terrible traits affect so much of our interactions, that it strikes me as odd. But for a sociopath, he's totally normal. It's just not normal to run across many sociopaths. When you're not a shrink, or in prison, I mean. Anyway, he likes to call from outside the office and when I answer the phone, say, "Guess who!" I am tempted to answer with, "My worst nightmare?" or at least just respond, "John?" when we all know his name is Turkey.

Anyway, he likes to always ask how I am, or how my weekend was. I just say fine or good, because I don't want him knowing any details of my life. It doesn't matter though, since he doesn't actually care about me, or my life. He only asks because the proper response is to ask me. He always gives a pathetically dramatic sigh before telling me how hard things are, how tired he is, how he worked so much. Last week he tried to get sympathy from me by claiming he works 12-14 hours a day sometimes. If you know anything about lawyers you know a 12 hour day is completely average. If you know anything about owning your own business, you know working 12-14 hours in a day is totally reasonable.

On Friday, Turkey was walking across the office, heading out for the weekend when he stopped in front of my desk and said, "This has been the worst week." I kept my eyes on my computer screen and continued typing. Turkey pressed on for attention. "Seriously, this has been the absolute worst week of my entire life!"

ORLY?!?!?! Even worse than the week a couple of months ago when you were the last family member to talk to your mother before she KILLED HERSELF? Nobody died this week. Surely that'd make this a better week than the week your mother committed suicide. Oh wait, that'd only be true if you were psychologically healthy. But you're not.

Turkey is barely capable of having a conversation without offending someone, fishing for compliments (if not flat-out complimenting himself), or fishing for sympathy. Office Manager, WASP and I refuse to give the compliments or sympathy and it really throws Turkey. He does this shocked blink thing that you'd expect to see when someone got verbally slapped across the face.

After a decade of working with Turkey, Office Manager has given her notice. WASP and I are devastated (though happy for OM). Turkey initially was going to do a lunch for OM's ten-year anniversary of working at the firm, but he didn't. He does lunches for employee birthdays, but didn't do one for her. After both WASP and I went to him asking where we were taking Office Manager for her goodbye lunch, he sent her an e-mail (which of course she promptly shared with us) asking her to pick a place. Except he worded it in a way that was offensive, by telling her to pick a restaurant she's always wanted to go to but hasn't been able to afford.

My favorite is when Turkey says offensive things in front of clients. Like the time he had four clients in the conference room, and when I went to give him copies of a document he'd asked for, without looking at me, he held a water pitcher out to me over his shoulder telling me, "This needs re-filling." Turkey didn't even notice his clients' jaws dropping.

Most Mondays we have a staff meeting in the conference room. I'm sure you understand why I sometimes go in there early and lower the chair at the head of the table, and then raise the heights of all the other chairs.

Spinach Tortellini - Good as Eating Spinach

If you'd guessed what I'd turn out like as an adult based on how I was as a kid, you'd have never in a million years come up with Type A. Every single thing has a place, and every single thing has a well-thought out reason for that place. As a kid my room was a total and complete wreck. My idea of cleaning my room was to squish the clothes on the floor into a smaller pile and then throw an unfolded shirt over the whole thing. Wow, kids are so stupid. (What? Just me? Oh, okay.)

I was forever being sent to go clean up my room. At one point in fifth grade, my mother decided I was allergic to jelly and forced me to take plain peanut butter sandwiches on rye bread to school for lunch. I may or may not have thrown a few of those into the depths of my closet. I may or may not worn gloves and run screaming through the house to the garbage pails in the garage to throw out those sandwiches when my parents found and demanded I dispose of them.

My parents tried everything to get me to clean my room. Every time they sent me though, I just sat around reading my books or writing. They tried telling me firmly. They tried yelling. Threatening. Fining. Oh yes, my mother would charge me $2 or whatever every time she walked by my room and saw it messy. I argued this (and to this day, maintain that I had an excellent argument) but my mother would just randomly fine me. I claimed this was completely unfair as my bedroom was at the end of a hallway. It was physically impossible to stand on either side of my doorway, let alone walk PAST the door to ascertain whether my room was clean or dirty. Solid logic, right?

One day, when I was ... some older age but not yet moved out, I was cooking pasta while my mother was reading in the kitchen. She asked me to not pour boiling water over the wooden spoon used to stir, when I was pouring the pasta into the strainer. She claimed it wasn't good for the spoon. I nodded, and said I'd try to remember. I did try, and forgot sometimes, but remembered more than I forgot.

Tonight I was cooking pasta, and watched the boiling water flow into the strainer as I held the pot in my left hand, spoon in my right. Can't help but wonder if my room would have gotten cleaned if my mother had just come up with an equally logically reason for why I should do it.

Probably not...

Thanks

Preface #1: I've been a little emotional lately.
Preface #2: In case you're new or slow or something, I'm the Family Fuckup. I know - in other families the fact that I've got no tattoos, all my teeth, a piddly associates degree, and never served hard time would make me the family golden child, but not in my family. There are people in my family who've won Emmys and written books, directed plays, birthed beautiful children, traveled with famous people, and done it all with a smile.

I've never even directed a sports play, and the one time I traveled with someone famous I didn't realize it until the plane had landed in LA, and once told the famous person had been on our plane, I'd never heard of him. Some things are wasted on me. Like good sushi.

My parents took mental breaks sometimes in their raising of me, but one of the impressive things about them is they never stopped trying. Sure they lost their shit on occasion, took some bad advice from professionals, but they were always game to take a deep breath and dive back in. One of the things not so impressive, is that they never allowed my history to stay in my past. If I lied this week, I was branded a liar for life, because I'd lied last week and the week before too. What was the point in telling the truth all the time when at least 75% of the time I could get away with lying, especially since they never believed me anyway? (I just forgot the point of sharing this.) (Oh yeah.)

Nothing ever felt truly forgiven because past offenses were brought up time and time again. Even in my 30's my mother has brought up the fact that I pushed a lamp off the piano when I was four years old. Since I'm an adult now, I can say with full authority that if she's still bitter enough (or anything enough, really) to bring it up, then she's got more problems than Four Year Old Me.

It wasn't until my late 20's that I understood how true forgiveness works. It slayed me when it happened, and it still slays me each time I think about it. I basically never talk to the person who forgave me, teaching me about forgiveness through her actions, but think of and appreciate this person all the time. I try to practice her style of forgiveness when other people hurt me. Of course, I'm a bitter bitch who holds grudges so I'm not as good at it as she is, but the point is that I try and that's better than not trying, right?

Anyway, there are so many people (and by so many, I mean like four - I keep my world small) who are truly open to letting me be however I may be (quirky comes to mind when I'm in a kind headspace, batshit crazy comes to mind when I'm not) without making me feel ashamed. And, see Preface #1, but I appreciate this more than I can say. Even more than a Hallmark AND Blue Mountain card combined could say.

I view my strain of crazy as a well. You know, like in a forest, with a bucket and shit? And I feel like I sit on the stone wall of the well. Or I walk around near it in the clearing that's in the forest. Yesterday was a particularly bad day and I dipped into the well.

My most important rule for myself when feeling that way is to not make any big decisions. Any email with the subject line "Hey, you know what I've always wanted to tell you?" should be discarded. Calls to people not spoken to in a long time should be avoided. Wait for the storm to pass. It always does. I am stronger than my crazy, and will use incredible upper-arm strength to pull out of that well.

Once out, you look around at the world. It's the same, yet slightly different. Well, the world isn't really different, but how you view it is. For me, I'm just appreciating those four a little extra right now.

Because I'm In Charge, That's Why!

Nobody showed up to work today except me. The WASP works part-time, and today was one of her off-days. The office manager was going to come in late, but between BART protests and her errands running long, she called to say she wasn't coming. The billing guy just shows up when he shows up - he has no schedule. Turkey is out of town. So it was just me, and the sub-tenants floating in and out.

At one point, one of the sub-tenants had shown up to meet with clients, and a random guy just showed up in our office. It is my job to greet all who enter the sunken living room, so I asked if I could help him. The guy said he was there to see Sub-Tenant, regarding a legal problem. I ascertained that the legal problem definitely required Sub-Tenant, and told him Sub-Tenant was with clients. I waived my hand towards the sliding glass doors where they were all sitting and talking. He asked if there was someone else. I explained there wasn't - that their main office is across the bridge, and they just rent space and come over only when they're meeting a client. He asked if I could interrupt.

Interrupt? Was this guy fucking kidding? No. No, we do not interrupt. You interrupt when a judge is calling, or when an attorney's pregnant wife calls because her water broke. You do not interrupt for a schlub off the street.

I explained to him at each question, that what he needed to do was call their main office and make an appointment. Or he could leave his name and number with me to pass on to the Sub-Tenant when he finished the meeting. He could wait, but I had no way of knowing if it would be 20 minutes or four hours.

Since everyone was gone today, I really wanted to take advantage of the day by catching up on tons of work, and this guy was really taking up way too much of my time. He kept asking me to make it happen, and I kept telling him the only way it would happen is if he made an appointment. Attorneys are not drive-through restaurants - you do not just show up. (Unless you are paying a bill. You are always welcome to drop off a check.)

In the afternoon, a guy called, telling me he'd just talked to Turkey and wanted to make an appointment. Sure, we can do that. Then he asks me to just send over an engagement letter. Um, no. I tell him I can't do that without an attorney reviewing and signing it. He asks why not? Well, it's a letter, and we don't send out un-signed letters, and I can not sign on behalf of an attorney without said attorney's permission. But can't you just send it to me anyway? No you fucktard, I just told you I can't.

We finally agreed that he'll come in next week, and I'll send him the engagement letter by Wednesday. After we hung up, I called the WASP to confirm with her that I was doing all I could. She said yes, I absolutely made the right call - even she wouldn't send out an engagement letter without Turkey's blessing. Plus, while an engagement letter is a form letter, there are variables. You might be shocked to know that some lawyers change their hourly rate depending on how deep the client's pockets are. The retainer amount changes with each client.

I was exhausted just from arguing all day. Why couldn't these people just listen to me? I know my shit - it's not like I was making it up as I went along here!

So what have we learned today? Call ahead to make appointments when you want to meet with professionals. If someone at the office tells you a professional needs to review a document before sending it to you, take their word for it.

Writing on the Wall

So a new woman started a little over a month ago. She's Indian, and moved here from the deep South. She didn't sell the house in the South, but rents it out. The deal is she works three days a week at our firm, and two days a week for a nearby city, as a city attorney. I'm not sure how, but she managed to get her son into one of the best public high schools here in the city. Before Turkey hired her, he went around asking if people thought her thick accent would be a problem. This was an improvement over what he first said, which involved the term language barrier. I assure you, there is zero language barrier.

Hey, did I ever tell you that I snagged a job working at a law firm in Oakland? It was a few years ago, through an agency. I quit after two weeks, because despite the fact that it wasn't a new position, they not only weren't ready for me, but couldn't get me set up. Nobody could show me where I was supposed to print to, not even the IT guys. The lawyer I worked for, couldn't figure out a system for giving me work. I'm pretty adaptable - you want to bring me the work, email it to me, that's fine. If you want me to come to your office for assignments, that's fine too. But this lawyer Michelle just couldn't pull it together for some reason (and it's not like I was her first secretary).

So I called the agency and told them I was quitting, because they weren't organized and they weren't setting me up to succeed at my job. People need to be given the tools to succeed in their lives.

At my current job, there is no IT department. Turkey hired an IT company and they charge us by the hour for phone assistance. Every so often they come to the office to fiddle with computer stuff. Their bills are opened by me, and they're funny. "20 minute phone call with Turkey's Personal Assistant explaining why she can not use laptop in bed."

There's something that's not quite kosher with the IT people. They're often very unhelpful. If one of their guys comes to the office, and someone asks them a question about how to use something computer-related, they always say they don't know. Even Turkey gets frustrated by them. But he won't fire them and hire someone else. The Office Manager told me the main IT guy has something he holds over Turkey, and that's why he won't fire them. Weird, right?

Anyway, so we hired the single mom lawyer to work part-time. It took like two or three weeks for her first day. We knew for well over a week when that first day was, and so did our IT people. When she arrived, did they promptly connect her to the network? No. Did they promptly connect her to be able to print? No. So what happens is if Turkey wants her to work on anything, someone needs to email her the document. Then she has to work on it, then email it back to someone for them to save the updated version back in the system. Every time she needs to print something, she emails it to me. Any time she is told to call or email someone, she has to ask me to look up their contact info in Outlook on my computer.

This is not a good system, as I am often busy and can't print what she needs right away. One day while I was on the phone with someone as we both looked at the same web page, she came over, stood right next to me, and tried to take the mouse away from under my hand to click to the screen she needed. I was beyond furious.

Later, when I'd calmed down, I talked to her about it. That I knew she was in a very difficult position by not having access to everything she needs. But just like she needs to be patient sometimes with me, whoever is waiting for her to bring them information also has to be patient with her. Meaning Turkey. I offered to explain to him that I couldn't always do what she needed immediately, but she told me it was okay, she'd do it.

It's so much worse than it sounds, as horrible as it sounds. You're working blind. Someone asks you to write a letter, and you can't even look in the computer to see if any past letters have been written to this person. Turkey loses files constantly, so looking in the physical file is not always an option.

The other difficult thing for this new attorney is that she shares an office. She has one skinny desk to work on that's about four feet wide. That's it! There's a part-time billing guy who uses the other desk in the office, and Personal Assistant stands at a filing cabinet in that office when she's there (which I think is rude, since she can set up camp elsewhere).

There's been a weather problem since she started. She likes her office to be hot. Last week she turned the heat up to 90. Ninety! (I bet she does hot yoga.) The billing guy started showing up to work at odd times, and Office Manager finally found out he can't stand being in that sweat lodge. One day she came in and said the thermostat was set to 55, and expressed outrage. That's no more outrageous than setting it to 90 though. So it's been a bumpy start.

Yes. Like the Magazine

Tomorrow is a client's big court date. Turkey is notorious for doing things last minute, and this case is no exception. So even though we've had this court date looming for a month, today was the day Turkey decided to begin working on the case. Except that last night he took the file home and this morning he brought it back to work. Except he didn't. Because he forgot the file. In someone's car.

Turkey didn't figure this out until the afternoon. Around 3pm he told me to call a guy to ask if he had the file. I called. A half hour later the guy called back. "The good news is I've got the file," he told me. Great! "The bad news is, I'm in Sacramento," he continued. Bummer! "But," he went on, "the other good news is I pulled over when I got your voicemail and I'm now parked in a strip mall that has a UPS store. They'll have it to you by tomorrow morning at 8am." Great!

This is a pretty big deal. If Turkey shows up unprepared for a case because he lost the client's entire file, well, the word malpractice pops up.

The funny part is while I was on the phone with the guy, he asked for the office address. My sunken living room office is in the highest floor of the building. Turkey likes to show off, in every possible way he can, so instead of just saying it's the 32nd floor, he tells everyone it's the penthouse. He makes us use the word "penthouse" in the address all the time. So I tell the guy the street address, and then say the word, "Penthouse."

There's a pause, and he asks, "As in the magazine?"

This Needs Washing Out

It's not new information to tell you my boss is a prick, but here's an example of his pricky-ness.

It was warm in our office, and Turkey had a scheduled meeting with three people. I confirmed with him that he wanted to hold the meeting in a certain conference room. Then he told me, "Put out a pitcher of water since it's hot out. And I'll want some too."

Normally I just ask people as they arrive if they'd like something to drink, but fine. I out five glasses, found a pitcher, rinsed it, and filled it with cold water. I didn't use the fancy silver pitcher already in the conference room because I vaguely remembered being told it was for decoration.

Turkey came out of the conference room with the pitcher I'd filled. He placed it on my desk, empty. "We're thirsty; you'd better fill up both." I raised my eyebrows, surprised that the water was already gone. Turkey told me, "It's really warm." So I said okay and went to fill up the pitcher he'd given me a second time.

When I walked into the conference room to deliver the second round of water, I couldn't reach the silver pitcher without leaning across the table, and not only would I have flashed the guy sitting across from where I was, but my body would have interrupted the conversation. Turkey however, didn't want to let me go without filling the silver pitcher, so he reached over, grabbed it, and passed it over, without even looking at me. "It needs washing out."

Dismissed, I turned and walked out. I rinsed the silver pitcher, filled it with cold water, then returned it to the table. It took every ounce of self-control to keep from pouring it in Turkey's lap. It's a very small comfort that he did that in front of clients.

Hi. You're Fat.

So this new lawyer woman started at work a couple of weeks ago. She's this tall, divorced, Indian woman. She has a teenage son. She seems to have previously lived in the Bay Area, though recently moved (back?) from the deep South.

I feel a little bad for her; she's the fourth woman at the firm, and the office manager, WASP and I are all pretty friendly. We talk books and friends and bitch about Turkey of course, and all kinds of things. I hope she doesn't feel too left out.

The other day I arrived at work having been up since 3am. The new lawyer told me it looked like I was tired, and I admitted yes, she was right. She told me the key was to train myself to ignore noises that might wake me, and that's how one can sleep through the night. Today she asked if I got more sleep, and after thinking back, I happily reported that yes, I didn't wake up until 5am this morning.

"Did you know if you get six or less hours of sleep it make you gain weight?" She then asked, "Have you ever tried yoga? You should try yoga." Oh, believe me, lady. I've fucking tried it all right.

So basically, I'm fat, all my problems are due to my fatness, and I should do things to be less fat. Well thanks, it's lovely to work with you as well.

You've Been Served

My office sub-leases office space to a few other lawyers. This means sometimes people show up to see them, people drop things off for them, etc. Not all the of lawyers are in our office full-time. One entire law firm has their main office in another part of the Bay Area, and they rent a small space from us. Every so often they call us and request to reserve the conference room or small office, and they show up for a few hours.

On Thursday, an old woman came in and announced she wanted to serve me. I asked who exactly, she wanted to serve. She mentioned one of our sub-tenants. Immediately I picked up the phone to call that lawyer's other office, to make sure it was kosher to accept service on their behalf. The lawyer was really nice, and assured me it was okay. He told me the woman was a new lawyer and imagined she was quite young. As she looked on, I stammered, "Uhh... it's actually in the opposite direction." There was a pause, and then, "Oh!"

This woman's hands were shaking! She was TERRIFIED. So, let's talk a little bit about process servers. Across the board, they're usually men. Now, sometimes it can be a dangerous job. Some people become really hostile when they get served. Usually men. If you're serving a corporation it's no big deal. But say a battered wife is filing for divorce and having an abusive husband served. Say the abusive husband with a temper gets served at work. They get embarrassed. They get loud. They then attract the attention of their coworkers and then feel humiliated that everyone knows. Then they get violent. Some people really do kill the messenger.

Anyway. Lawyers can act as process servers (in certain circumstances, maybe only in certain states), as this woman was. I've never seen any lawyer so blatantly nervous. She didn't arrive at our offices prepared, which struck me as unprofessional. When you're delivering documents, the documents should be in final, bound, stapled or clipped together neatly, and ready to be handed over.

This woman spread everything out on the front counter, and created a big mess of paperwork. The image of Pig-Pen came to mind. At one point, she asked me if she needed to clip the paperwork together. It's possible my jaw dropped before I collected myself enough to tell her, "I'm not a lawyer, so I really can't give you any legal advice." I wanted to shout, "Pull yourself together, woman! Think about what you're saying!" Even a layperson should know the answer to that one. If you're handing someone a document, should it look messy, or should it look professional? This is not rocket science. Clearly nerves had gotten the better of this woman. It was sad.

On Friday, the sub-tenant showed up, and wanted to confirm he'd reserved the conference room for an up-coming deposition. I love depositions! This news made my day. People get really freaked out if while they're speaking, someone is writing down every single little thing they say. And as long as a deposition is about individuals rather than corporations, emotions are flying high and you can count on drama.

The sub-tenant then informed me that the nervous lawyer would be at the deposition. He laughed as my eyes lit up in excitement. I hope they leave the conference room door open so I can listen!