Boxing Days
I worked for a lawyer who was an alcoholic (though I didn't know it). That was fun. I also worked for a lawyer who was going through a mid-life crisis. That was ... not fun.
For one thing, he was a prick, so it was almost hard to notice when he got ... well, prickier, if you will. He used to call me Laura and Suzie all the time. Laura was a lawyer. Suzie was another secretary who sat nearby. At first, whoever he called would come running, pen and paper in one hand, other hand empty - ready to catch whatever he threw at us (literally). But when the wrong person showed up he'd become enraged, so we started trying to guess which one he really wanted to see.
"GREEEEEEEN!"
"Suzie, that's probably you - he's meeting with the Wilsons in a half hour and you're working on that, right?"
The nicest thing he ever did was to give me a lovely sweater from the Gap. Which another secretary told me his wife picked out for our Secret Santa gift exchange.
For several months I thought this guy was just a bad lawyer, and I wondered why his partner, also a prick yet undeniably a great lawyer, had agreed to go into business with him. He'd miss court dates, show up late for client meetings, blow filing deadlines, basically self-sabotage. It was difficult for me to watch. More than once, after a scared Hispanic woman who spoke only broken English had been kept waiting in the reception area for over a half hour, I'd grab Laura to do an initial consultation, briefing her as we walked down the hall and around the corner.
We'd lie and tell clients he was held up in court, a mediation was running long, whatever sounded good, while Suzie and I repeatedly called his cell phone and left voicemails. A couple of times when Laura wasn't available I'd beg the third, and only non-prickish partner to step in, but he really hated that. He didn't do matrimonial and family law. He did criminal, and knew he couldn't answer the questions these scared wives had.
A few times, I even had him meet with clients with the conference room door open, and I'd bump the filing clerk from her desk to use her computer, where I could hear everything being said. As the client would ask the third partner questions, he'd encourage her to get them all out at once, and I'd be typing them out, with answers. Then he'd excuse himself to "go pull some printed research" or refill a coffee cup, and I would hand him the printout of what I'd just typed out. He'd read it, memorize it, and stroll back into the conference room prepared to answer all her questions. It was awful, and Laura and I discussed many times over lunches on Broward Boulevard that it was a miracle the partner having the mid-life crisis hadn't yet been reported to the Florida Bar.
Eventually it came out that he had a side business. Once he came clean with the other prickish partner, he felt free to bring that business into the office. What was that business? Boxing! I have no idea how he got into it, but he started representing fighters who did boxing matches. This necessitated many meetings with managers and fighters, and eventually traveling to Vegas for fights (after I'd left the firm).
What this meant for me was that I spent a lot of time tweaking contracts and getting fighters (many who didn't speak English) to sign multi-page documents (written in English) that discussed purses. Once I brought this up to the partner - should I find out how much it would cost to get a couple of our most basic contracts translated, so they could read what they were signing?
The partner smiled at me like I was a cute idiot. "Green, these guys wouldn't read them even if they were in Spanish. Hell, they probably wouldn't understand them even if they were." He went on to explain that boxers are fucking morons, because who else but a moron would get hit in the head repeatedly, for a living?
After a short time, we started doing more work related to boxing. It wasn't contracts though. The partner began handling all legal issues the boxers had. They mostly consisted of the boxers getting angry and beating people up. These could be people in a bar, or their girlfriends or wives, or their children. What I learned was that the managers picked somewhat dumb guys who were quick on their feet and had great motor skills, trained the shit out of them, and kept them psychologically and physically pumped to beat the shit out of anyone at any time.
There were many times I had a hard time restraining myself from dumping burning hot coffee in boxer's laps, mostly when they were in the office to discuss fighting domestic violence or child abuse charges brought against them.
This is why I am not a fan of boxing. It vaguely reminds me of dog fights, but with people.
For one thing, he was a prick, so it was almost hard to notice when he got ... well, prickier, if you will. He used to call me Laura and Suzie all the time. Laura was a lawyer. Suzie was another secretary who sat nearby. At first, whoever he called would come running, pen and paper in one hand, other hand empty - ready to catch whatever he threw at us (literally). But when the wrong person showed up he'd become enraged, so we started trying to guess which one he really wanted to see.
"GREEEEEEEN!"
"Suzie, that's probably you - he's meeting with the Wilsons in a half hour and you're working on that, right?"
The nicest thing he ever did was to give me a lovely sweater from the Gap. Which another secretary told me his wife picked out for our Secret Santa gift exchange.
For several months I thought this guy was just a bad lawyer, and I wondered why his partner, also a prick yet undeniably a great lawyer, had agreed to go into business with him. He'd miss court dates, show up late for client meetings, blow filing deadlines, basically self-sabotage. It was difficult for me to watch. More than once, after a scared Hispanic woman who spoke only broken English had been kept waiting in the reception area for over a half hour, I'd grab Laura to do an initial consultation, briefing her as we walked down the hall and around the corner.
We'd lie and tell clients he was held up in court, a mediation was running long, whatever sounded good, while Suzie and I repeatedly called his cell phone and left voicemails. A couple of times when Laura wasn't available I'd beg the third, and only non-prickish partner to step in, but he really hated that. He didn't do matrimonial and family law. He did criminal, and knew he couldn't answer the questions these scared wives had.
A few times, I even had him meet with clients with the conference room door open, and I'd bump the filing clerk from her desk to use her computer, where I could hear everything being said. As the client would ask the third partner questions, he'd encourage her to get them all out at once, and I'd be typing them out, with answers. Then he'd excuse himself to "go pull some printed research" or refill a coffee cup, and I would hand him the printout of what I'd just typed out. He'd read it, memorize it, and stroll back into the conference room prepared to answer all her questions. It was awful, and Laura and I discussed many times over lunches on Broward Boulevard that it was a miracle the partner having the mid-life crisis hadn't yet been reported to the Florida Bar.
Eventually it came out that he had a side business. Once he came clean with the other prickish partner, he felt free to bring that business into the office. What was that business? Boxing! I have no idea how he got into it, but he started representing fighters who did boxing matches. This necessitated many meetings with managers and fighters, and eventually traveling to Vegas for fights (after I'd left the firm).
What this meant for me was that I spent a lot of time tweaking contracts and getting fighters (many who didn't speak English) to sign multi-page documents (written in English) that discussed purses. Once I brought this up to the partner - should I find out how much it would cost to get a couple of our most basic contracts translated, so they could read what they were signing?
The partner smiled at me like I was a cute idiot. "Green, these guys wouldn't read them even if they were in Spanish. Hell, they probably wouldn't understand them even if they were." He went on to explain that boxers are fucking morons, because who else but a moron would get hit in the head repeatedly, for a living?
After a short time, we started doing more work related to boxing. It wasn't contracts though. The partner began handling all legal issues the boxers had. They mostly consisted of the boxers getting angry and beating people up. These could be people in a bar, or their girlfriends or wives, or their children. What I learned was that the managers picked somewhat dumb guys who were quick on their feet and had great motor skills, trained the shit out of them, and kept them psychologically and physically pumped to beat the shit out of anyone at any time.
There were many times I had a hard time restraining myself from dumping burning hot coffee in boxer's laps, mostly when they were in the office to discuss fighting domestic violence or child abuse charges brought against them.
This is why I am not a fan of boxing. It vaguely reminds me of dog fights, but with people.
Labels: Asshat, Florida, Rage Against the Green, Work
posted by Green at 2/03/2011 07:56:00 AM
2 Comments:
Wow. That's a really good reason not to like it. I've never had any experience with any boxers in real life but I don't doubt that many of them are raging violence heads in their personal lives. And I do feel like probably a lot of them are exploited by their trainers or whoever holds the power in that business.
But I still like to watch guys beat the shit out of each other on TV. I can't help myself.
Ha. I had a doctor who had some speciality in treating boxers. (the kind that punch people not the kind that lick you face when you get home. he wasnt a vet) He had pictures of himself and boxers all over the office. It was a little creepy. But this guy was really nice. I had major surgery and he saw me through it. My last follow up appointment with him, he kissed me on the forehead and told me he was proud of me, which was also creepy but nice. That's my professional guy obsessed with boxers story.
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