Change is Hard

This non-profit gig is outrageously difficult. Not because of the money. Hey wait, can we talk about something? I never understand those people who put in different amounts of effort based on how much they get paid. My effort is like a light-switch. It's either on or off. I can't look at this temp job and think, "I'm going to do a shitty job putting this huge file together because they don't pay me enough to do a good job." I just bitch about how the huge file became such a mess.

Here are the most difficult things about this job:

1. The style of speech is different. I've "grown up" in law firms as an adult. Since 20 years old, this is all I've done. Lawyers are very direct. I understand the way lawyers in law firms speak. But at this non-profit, they kind of pride themselves on a relaxed atmosphere and that comes through in their style of speech. So instead of saying "Please file this in the Lindenberry file before you leave today," they say things like "Maybe this could be put away if there's time." That's too vague! Did you want ME to put it away? WHERE do you want it put? I've already fucked up one big project because the instructions were too vague for me. (Part of this is a learning disability thing - a comprehension issue - but most of it is the vague-speak.) I think the attorney was upset with my final product yesterday, and it put me in a bad mood. Today I did what she'd originally wanted, and gave myself a stern talking-to about really listening hard for instructions that don't sound like instructions. 
2. There is no system for anything. Including training new employees. There are no templates. There's no standard. So when I got told to draft a cover letter and I asked what format to duplicate, the response was to just ... make it look nice. Ummm .... what now? You know what looks nice? When every single letter from one company uses the same format! So I just copied the format from the last letter that went to the same guy last month. The easiest things are proving hardest for me here. Like yesterday, I had a four-page document to save and print, but only the first of the four pages would print or save. For the life of me, I couldn't figure out why.
3. It's a non-profit. They look to save money however they can. Even if they can't. So for example, there's only one IT guy. He only works three days a week. I can't even begin to wrap my head around this one. Is he on call the other two days? Working from home? I mean, what if the entire system crashes on a day he doesn't work?  There is a certain type of pad I like to use at work that basically every single law firm carries. Not this place. Here I have to use a steno pad. Why? Steno pads are cheaper. Nobody even writes in steno anymore! All the old lady secretaries who used to do this have retired by now. Today I noticed a big spill in the elevator. It was a lawsuit waiting to happen. I mentioned it to the receptionist, so she could tell maintenance or the facilities manager or whoever. Her response? "I can wipe that up." I was so embarrassed - if she can wipe it up, so can I! I just thought there'd be a dude with a mop somewhere. Because it's a non-profit I thought maybe he does janitorial stuff AND something else, but surely there'd be a dude. There's always a dude! But no. Apparently the dude is the receptionist. 

So yeah. I've spoken with the nice secretary sitting next to me. She started at the beginning of July. She's given me great gossip and been very helpful, though I try to not bother her too much since she's swamped. But she did tell me that the guy who had the job before me got fired, and why. And that the pay is terrible. And that the lack of organizational structure is very difficult to work around. 

Everyone is very nice. I'm trying to focus on the positives. While I struggle to figure out really basic things like how to make labels for files, and wrap my head around the lack of professionalism like hand-writing addresses on envelopes rather than typing them. 

Paranoia, Justified

The lawyer, who I want to refer to as Turkey for some reason, went to a court date last week, and met the client there. Well, not actually the real client. I'm not exactly clear on the details, but the Chinese mob is involved, not everyone involved speaks English, and some experts hired to help with the case who, in other instances would barely be involved, are very involved due to their translating services. Which, by the way, should be a paying gig, but in this instance is not. Anyway.

The point is, the Turkey went, and was given a $16,000 (that's sixteen thousand dollars) check right before the hearing. A lot of clients dispute their bills and in reading what they send to the arbitration board about Turkey, he has a tendency to do two things:

1. Work, work, work until it's time for the big court date, and then tell the client he can't continue (i.e. show up in court) unless they give him more money
2. Say you're in South Dakota, and need to get to Kansas. Any sane person would just plow through Nebraska and call it a day. The Turkey though, will drive to Utah, down to Texas, and then meander through Illinois before getting to Kansas. What should have taken a tank and a half of gas takes Turkey nine tanks.
   

So my point is, he creates environments where clients don't want to pay him. He must have been very excited, more excited than anyone else used to being given such big checks, and naturally he took the check from the client.

Turkey claimed he stuck the check in the file, which is comprised of three redwelds. The next morning, Turkey brought the three redwelds back into the office and dumped them on my desk. I neatened them up, because Turkey is a pig and made a big mess.

Later that day, the billing guy, who's now the billing guy and the guy who does random extra shit, fixed up the file and put it back on the shelf. The day after THAT, Turkey tells us he was given this huge check and he put it in the file. I look, don't find it. I ask the billing guy if he came across a check, he says no. When I give the Turkey this information, he says he must have left the check in his jacket pocket and will check at home that night.

The next day he says he can't find it, and I should check the file again. I do. Then the office manager checks what I'd just checked. Then we double-check with the billing guy. No check. On Wednesday Turkey, Office Manager and I have a meeting. Turkey tells her to call one of the experts and to explain we misplaced the check, would the client cut us a new one, and we'll pay the stop check fee to the bank? Today Office Manager shares that the guy who cut the check (who technically is not the client, just the guy paying on behalf of the client) died. This is not a fancy legal term that means something. Dude is dead. Dude's money is going to be tied up in probate for ages.

Office Manager tells me Turkey knows he always loses things and that she'd bet $16,000 he put the check in his inside jacket pocket. When she tells Turkey the check-giver is dead, he insists the check must be in the file, and tells me to look again. Office Manager offers that she found out it was in an envelope. I flip through Every. Single. Page of that damn file looking for an envelope. No envelope.

While I'm flipping, an idea floats across my brain. As a kid, I was a very, very sneaky little shit. They say that people who steal assume everyone steals. People who lie assume everyone is lying to them. If you exaggerate, you get the point. I'm not sneaky anymore, but I'm still wise to the sneaky ways. I climbed out of my sunken living room into the Office Manager's office, and floated my idea past her. "Maybe I'm paranoid, but what if Turkey finds the check at home and then puts it in the file and claims we just didn't find it when we looked?"

I feel stupid even saying this. Office Manager looked me straight in the eyes and nodded. "He's done that. Exactly that. Expect it."

Whoa. Just because you're paranoid it doesn't mean everyone's not out to get you.

Snapshots of an Employment Agreement

You will see many things that are wrong. None of them are errors on my part. I am typing exactly what was given to me. Because this is too jaw-droppingly shocking not to share with you guys, especially after all the encouragement you've given me.

Duties: ...You will be asked to make observations on what files can be put away, and periodically ask what other items can be put away. That is one hell of a clunky sentence, am I right? I had to clarify with the lawyer exactly what he meant by the second half. Turns out if I see a random box or a pile of papers, I'm to investigate and overall am in charge of keeping the sunken living room looking nice and orderly.

...We may assign you new or different duties from time to time. Additional duties may be stated in the job manual to employees (I do not have one of these) but to the extent that manual differs from this letter, this letter will control. Will be stated in the manual we will provide to you and a job description when you begin your employment with us. Um, okay? I had to go through this agreement with him today, and it took so much to hold back from saying, "Dude. What the fuck?"

Hours of Employment: 8 hours per day, with sometimes-flexible lunch scheduling between 8:30 am and 5:30 weekdays (with the proviso that you and our office manager f coordinate your lunch schedules so that there is full coverage). ... Asking you to stay any more than that will be something we always try to arrange the prior day. that. On y infrequent occasions you may be asked to work one weekend day.

Overtime: All overtime must be pre-authorized by a partner, so please see me in advance when you feel it is necessary to exceed 8 hours a day. First of all, there are no partners. This lawyer has his firm, and he has ONE part-time associate (the WASP). In order for someone to be a partner, there must be at least one other person to partner WITH, which he does not have. Second of all, he is the ONLY one who ever asks me to stay late. So what he should really say is something like, "Any self-directed overtime must be pre-authorized by me." Or something to that effect.

Sick Days: Paid sick days accrue at the rate of 8/12 day per month. Earned but not taken sick time may be able to be carried forward from one calendar year to the other. On the other hand, payment may be made, at our (who is our? he is ONE guy) discretion, for earned but unused sick days, at each year's end, and will be made at termination.

Vacation: You will have 12 paid vacation days per year, earned as one per month. Vacation days or more than two days must be arranged with the firm at least three weeks in advance, and two days arranged no later than 10 days in advance. Okay, what? Whoever can figure that one out gets a free vacation to Hawaii.

Evaluation: I will give you a performance evaluation at the end of three months and again at the end of six months. This six month period shall be a probationary period, during which either party may terminate with two weeks notice. After probationary period, termination by either party requires three weeks notice to the other party. Please note he switched from "our" and "we" now to "I". You know what has been drummed into me working at law firms for over a decade? Consistency! Even if you are making a mistake, at least make it consistently throughout the document! By the way, California is an at-will state. He can fire me at any time, without giving me any notice, and although it'd be a shitty thing to do, I can leave without giving the standard two weeks notice. Could he sue me in court, telling a judge, "She only gave me two weeks notice instead of the three she agreed to, so I want her to pay the cost of hiring a temp for a week"? Well, he could, except what are the odds of him winning that one?

At the end of the document there's a signature line where I'm supposed to sign. My name is typed underneath the line. As Green Yogurtt. Whoops.

So hey. If you ever wonder what I do all day, I look at documents like these (and I didn't even show you the spacing problems) and fix them before they're sent out to clients. He sends out the most unprofessional-looking shit all the time. Last Friday we sent out a document that was supposed to have about a dozen exhibits. Except since he didn't start working on the document until around 1pm, he ran out of time. So instead of the document saying things like, "In Paragraph 4, Sentence 6 of the attached Engagement Agreement (Exhibit C) Dr. Doodle initials his agreement to blah blah," it said things like, "In Paragraph 4 of the attached Engagement Agreement (see attached) ..."

That's not even the worst part though! The worst is that because the documents referenced weren't referred to as Exhibits, I couldn't use exhibit tabs. Instead, we just used colored pieces of paper to separate each "exhibit" from each other. But wait! We didn't have enough colored pieces of paper that were all the same color. So what we submitted looked like a legal valentine. Pink, red, and purple pages were all shoved in there. Oh, and the "exhibits" were not in the order they were referenced in the document. How unprofessional is that?

I Bought the More Expensive One

I've been temping for two solid months at the same place. The place where the lawyer is batshit crazy. On Friday, he sent me an email with a letter to me in the body of it, that was supposed to constitute an employment agreement. He sent that with the instruction that I should put it on letterhead and print it out. Neither professional nor classy, but okay. Except. Except that the employment agreement has typos all over it. Which hey, those can be ignored, right? It's a reflection on him, not me. It's just a reflection on my desperation that I'm open to working for someone so unprofessional. My name is misspelled on the signature line though.

There are some parts of the agreement that have run-on sentences, and fragments of sentences. There's a lot of redundancy. In a couple of spots, the writing was so bad I wasn't even sure what he was trying to say. The lawyer tried to get me to sign it right then, and I knew based on the quick skim I'd done, that shouldn't happen. So I refused. "As a lawyer, I'm sure you can understand my wanting to take this home to read when I'm not pressed for time, not interrupted by the phone twice a minute." Reluctantly he agreed, and now is expecting that I'll show up Monday with it signed.

I called Golden Boy and sent the agreement to him, then spread all four pages out on my bed, and we went through each paragraph. Golden Boy was disgusted by this Ivy League lawyer.* "He should be disbarred!" Well. You can't really disbar someone for creating subpar work product, but Golden Boy is not wrong despite that. This lawyer is so unethical that he should be disbarred. He does a slew of illegal things (coughdouble-billingclientscough).

From now on I will refer to this lawyer as Turkey. There's one other lawyer there, the WASPy one, who I cracked, and now don't think of as WASPy at all. Then there's the architect who's getting married later this month and leaving next month to go off to law school. There's also Turkey's personal assistant who's only in the office part-time; nobody likes her. Lastly, there's the part-time billing dude and the full-time office manager who's been there for ten years. She, the WASPy lawyer, and the engaged guy have all told me flat-out, "You don't want to work here." "You're going to keep looking for something else, right? You should."

Come on! I mean, that's a pretty bad sign, right? So I am going to keep looking. In the meantime though, as difficult as it is to work for the Turkey, it's great that I'm finally being offered a steady job with benefits. It's great that I'll have some blog fodder. You know what else is great?

Normally I am not one to count chickens before they're hatched. However. All last week, the engaged dude, the Turkey and his assistant were sick. On Friday the office manager managed to send the engaged guy home early. I Clorox wiped his desk, his phone, the arms of his chair, and Lysol'd the entire office. Looking back, I forgot to Clorox wipe the copier machine. But this morning, I woke up with a sore throat. After volunteering when I got home, I flopped on my bed and slept for almost three hours. When I awoke, my throat hurt even more, and I had fever.

I dragged myself to Walgreens to look for Halls Vitamin C Drops or something to soothe my throat. When I looked at the ingredients I saw there was Red #40 in them. Cold Eeze didn't have any artificial coloring in them, but they were like three dollars more expensive. Artificial coloring in some things negatively affects me so overall I try to stay away. However while I've been out of work I haven't bothered - the things that have that shit are generally less expensive, and so what if it makes my learning disabilities more pronounced if I'm not working?

Today, I spent that extra three dollars. It felt kind of nice to be able to do that.

*This employment agreement is so awful that over the next few blog posts, I will share parts of it with you. We can play, "what do YOU think that means?" It'll be fun. It'll be an example of what you should never do as an employer, and what you should never sign as an employee.

So I'm a Little Weird

But this is not new. And it's in a different way. I used to be weird in the bad way, like that girl in third grade who licked walls or whatever. I was weird in that way where you can't help it, and you want to be like everyone else but just can't swing it.

Since moving to San Francisco, home of people not just representing the quirk factor, but competing and winning the quirk factor Olympics, ironically it's gotten me to be more normal. Partially it's because I've spent years shaking off the weirdness of my family, and partially it's because my parents were so particular with how everything had to be done, everything that should be said, and I was perpetually nervous. In San Francisco, it's okay to be weird. Hell, it's practically encouraged. When it's okay to be weird, you're not so nervous you'll screw up being perfect.

At my temp job, there is a weird lady who delivers the mail. I like her! Find her amusing as all get out. She comes up the stairs, and in her little accent sing-songs, "Here is your mai-ail!" Mail is two distinct syllables. She likes to wait to be acknowledged before singing, "Goodbye! Have a nice da-ay!" She sings her sentences in such a way that you expect her to skip instead of walking. That's funny enough, but what cracks me up is the fact that it's all an act. I've run into her on the street a couple of times and she talks normally there when I've asked a mail-related question.

After work on Friday I went to a store nearby to look around, and while I was standing near the stairs she walked in to deliver the mail. When she sang about the mail to the shop employees, they smirked and rolled their eyes to each other. As she walked out she saw me and did a double-take. Any time someone sees a person outside of their element, I always think of my first grade teacher Mrs. Friedman, and how she was so mean and yelly to me, but when my mom and I ran into her at the supermarket she was so nice to my mom. It totally disgusted me that she pretended to be a nice person and didn't let my mom see her true mean side.

We said hi to each other, and chatted for a few minutes. The mail lady didn't sing while we chatted; she was a normal person finishing up her job for the day. Now I don't remember what we talked about, but it was very casual chit-chat stuff, and probably just two or three minutes. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the employees looking at me confused. Why would anyone be talking to the mail carrier?

As I walked out of the store, I felt ashamed. I did something by accident that made me look weird. But then I changed my mind. Fuck them and their pretentious hipster judgments. I saw someone I knew, and talked with them. That's normal. If they wouldn't lower themselves to talk to someone, then they should feel ashamed. Not me. I'd rather be thought of as weird for chatting with someone than normal for not lowering myself to talk with someone.

May Madness

Getting what you want is never quite as good as you think it'll be. It's really hard to go from zero to sixty and that's what I did, literally. This lawyer had me working tons of overtime - so much that some nights I just came home, set my alarm for the morning, and flopped into bed for the night. The having money part is great. The structure to the day is great. It's just hard ramping up. Now he is away in Europe for a couple of weeks, so there's no more overtime while he's gone. Hopefully (sort of) he will make me a permanent employee when he returns from his vacation.

One of the great things about working is it streamlines my reading. I read on my lunch hour every day, and then a couple of chapters at night to calm down enough to go to sleep. When I think about how libraries were in the pre-computer days it makes me sad for all the library goers. How awesome is it to read a magazine, see reviews of books that interest you, reserve them and get an e-mail telling you the books are ready for you to pick up? Remember the olden days when we needed to just go there and hope they had what we wanted? Or when we needed to haul our asses all the way there just to reserve a book?

Meanwhile, one friend died and another friend seems to have dumped me. The first was expected and a years-long, drawn-out process while the other was sudden and shocking. I have cried over both. I have so few friends that to lose one for any reason slays me.

On the home front, the washing machine ate $2 worth of quarters this evening, so a letter was written to the landlord and dropped in the box where rent's supposed to go. Hopefully he will reimburse like he did last time.

There is a little Indian toddler who lives on my floor. She goes with her mother to do laundry, and likes to follow me around any time we see each other. Once she followed me into my house, and I almost stepped on her by accident. I haven't seen her in a few months, but tonight on the way home I saw a little Indian baby who is just the cutest thing, and I want to steal her. There seem to be a lot of babies living here - over a dozen. I count them based on the strollers kept all over the hallways. The landlord likes to write yelly memos in all caps that he puts up around the building, but they're in English and a lot of people here don't read English.

So You Think You Can Dance is starting up in a few weeks, and I'm very excited. Few things make me as happy as seeing people dance who love it.

I have a secret. I have volunteered at the same place for ... two years? There are four or five guys who are there. They all have names like Peter and Steve and I have zero idea which name goes with any of the guys. Of course at this point, not only do they all know my name, but it's been too long and it'd be awkward to ask now. Normally I'm better with names than this - I don't know why the block exists here. I do know the name of the volunteer coordinator, if that redeems me at all.

So that's what is going on here. What's going on with you?

She Slices His Bananas and Salami

That's not a euphemism for anything. The partner where I'm temping has a personal assistant. Apparently the secretary he fired claimed he had so much work to do that was not firm-related that she couldn't keep up with her legal secretary duties. Now, I have worked for him before, both as his legal secretary and as his personal assistant. Last year when I worked as the PA, he was being audited. The office manager told me his (then) former secretary reported him to the IRS because she hated him. When I worked as the personal assistant it was mostly preparing documents to be sent to the partner's accountant. Which was a waste. There's no reason he couldn't have just sent those documents to the accountant's office and let his staff pluck out the information needed.

Anyway. My point is, the partner likes having a personal assistant. He spends a lot of time flitting around talking about how busy he is, too busy to make phone calls or do client-related work, and instead hires a personal assistant to do things for him. The reality is he wants to retire to Napa like many of his friends have, and just come into the city one or two days a week.

The partner is horridly disorganized. He doesn't even make any attempt to be better, probably because everyone around him is organized in an effort to counter his Pig-Pen-esque messes. On Friday the partner asked me to help him carry things to his car. The truth is, he could have carried it all by himself. Hell, I could have carried it all by myself. He just really likes having people constantly doing things for him. It strokes his ego.

For the last two-plus weeks, I have been working at this place. It is my third time working for this guy. He has been all compliments. I follow through on things. I fix problems the last secretary caused. I get along with all the employees, and the sub-tenants. The office manager has been out for the last two weeks due to illness, and I have handled a slew of things she normally does. Any time the partner asks me if I know how to do something that I don't know how to do, I tell him I'll figure it out, and then I do.

The partner was not allowing the now-fired secretary to calendar anything because she kept screwing up. I calendar things, and it works out just fine. The partner told me he didn't allow the now-fired secretary to work on CC&R's because there is a lot of formatting that could easily get screwed up. I have worked on three. There are many examples like that. Since I started there earlier this month, the partner has consistently complimented me. Two or three times he has said that when the office manager is back he'd like to talk about making this a permanent position. He never gave me any negative feedback.

Then on Friday afternoon the partner told me that next week I should schedule about 45 minutes for us to talk, perhaps during lunch, for him to tell me things I should improve upon, for future jobs. Meaning ... he is not going to hire me? Really? Where is this coming from? He has never had one complaint and now he feels he has 45 minutes worth? This from the man who has gone through six secretaries in less than two years?

On Friday, when he told me this, I was livid as I agreed. This weekend a lot of thinking and re-framing has happened. I was already fighting against counting chickens before they were hatched in terms of waiting for this temporary job to turn into a permanent one. Now I am changing my approach. When I show up tomorrow, it will be with the goal of extending this temp position for as long as possible.

Everyone is hoping the office manager will make it back to work tomorrow, part-time. I want to talk with her about this, since she is very influential with the partner. He doesn't make any big decisions without her. Also, I will ask if she can join in the constructive-criticism lunch hour, because I think it'll go better with her there. I wish he'd do this at the end of the day. 45 minutes is a long time to sit there allowing a wealthy egomaniac to tell you what you should be doing differently or how you can do things better. I'd prefer to be able to go home afterward, in case the constructive criticism makes me want to cry. It'd be better to do that on the train home, rather than in the sunken living room of an office in Union Square.

As If God Gave Me a Little Present

The lawyer I'm temping for has a personal assistant. She's a little weird, and that's not only my opinion - the office manager and another person have also mentioned it. She seems to treat me as if I'm below her, as if I work for her. I actually did her job for a short time last year, and I hated it. Oh, not that I hated being a personal assistant, but the lawyer doesn't have a designated desk for whoever fills the role. So you sit in an empty office, until the billing guy comes in, and then you move to the conference room, until someone needs to meet with clients, etc.

I like to know where "my" stuff is, "my" place is, when I'm working. So to not have a specific desk throws me. This PA makes herself at home at my desk. She takes my pens, moves my mouse to the wrong side (I'm a lefty), opens drawers in my desk to get whatever she needs. Now, the last person who was sitting at this desk, who was fired, threatened bodily harm to the PA, so I've been really gentle with her, because when I first started it was clear she was very wary.

A couple of times though, she has gotten angry at me when I haven't dropped what I'm doing to do something for her. Which will not do. We're both working for the same person. My job is to do anything related to the business, anything on the legal side. The PA's job is to do anything related to the lawyer personally. She should not be filling out forms for the lawyer's taxes but then giving them to me to photocopy. I am not HER assistant. Unfortunately, since she is a permanent employee and I am a temp, I can't get away with saying anything. What will have to happen is that I will have to be unable to get something done for the lawyer when he wanted, because I was doing something for his PA, so that he can go to her and say, "Hey, you shouldn't be giving Green documents to copy that I told you to work on/things to file."

She wants a very specific pencil case for work, and asked me to find it for her. Um, no. I did a quick check online at two office-supply stores and three minutes later told her I didn't see it, but that she may want to go to the stores in person.

I know that for the dynamics of this office, I'm doing the right thing. But it's hard to keep my mouth shut. Even though I really hate the phrase and pride myself on never ever saying it, the reality is that "it's not my job" to do things for the PA. I look forward to the day when she gets told that. For now though, I will console myself of the memory of her falling down the stairs last week.

Like the Conversation Never Happened

So I've been temping at this law firm where I've been before. This is my third time at this circus, and the most entertaining visit so far. The dirt will have to wait though, because as exciting as dirt is, there's something even more exciting, which is having this turn into a real job.

Last summer the guy almost hired me, and all that stopped him was the crazy expensive fee he'd have had to pay to the temp agency. When you register with a temp agency you sign a contract with them, stating that once they introduce you to one of their clients, you can not work directly for that client for x number of months. This was the place where I was earning less money working than I'd get from unemployment. But I stuck it out, for exactly this reason. Well, and because if unemployment finds out you turned down a job then that's grounds for not being paid UI. Oh okay, and yes, also because the longer I wasn't using up my pot of unemployment money, the longer it'd last. When I left he was sad, and assured me I could use him as a reference.

Anyway so today. He's interviewing. To hire someone to sit where I'm sitting. Though he told me something about wanting someone with paralegal experience. Which I don't have. I saw two of the resumes of people he was interviewing - one guy has been working as a paralegal for seven years and is currently in law school. I can't compete with that! Except that I can, because that guy is overqualified and would leave the second he got his JD. Well, or the second he passed the Bar.

So I'd tossed my hat in the ring on Monday, but didn't hold out much hope for anything but that it'd take the lawyer a long time to make a decision so I could keep earning money. Today, when he was about to walk out of the office to go see a client, he told me that next week he'd like to talk with me about making this permanent. I have a feeling he wants to wait until next week only because his beloved office manager is out sick this week and he wants to run it by her. She loves me and probably told him to snap me up before someone else does. I hope she doesn't die.

When he told me about talking next week, I pointed out that he could call himself on his cell phone from his office phone, since he said I could use him as a reference. He really liked that one, and laughed heartily, saying, "Touché." That's me, witty and breezy.

Let's make a deal, Internet Friends (some of whom have crossed over to Real Friends): if I get this job and turn into a Real Person, you'll get to read all about the story that involves the following nouns. 1. date 2. lunch 3. sweatpants

It has been oh so very long since I was a Real Person, what if I don't remember how to do it? Do you think I'll have some sort of low-level PTSD? Will the hives go away? Maybe it's like riding a bike. Which I haven't done since my early 20's. Well, maybe it's like swimming. Which I haven't done since I was 19. And to be honest, we can't really call that swimming. We can however call it "getting from one end of the pool to the other by myself without putting my feet on the floor of the pool."

I Don't Have a Lisp, But I'd Like One

A lisp is the kind of thing you can fake for a few minutes. Or each time you do a specific thing, like answering the phone. Although there's not much lisping you can do when saying, "Hello." But maybe you work somewhere and have to answer the phone saying, "Hello, so glad you've called Sam's Swing Shop. I'm ready to assist with all your sex questions as they pertain to swings. How may I best assist you this morning?" But yeah, so I love lisps. Lisps and stutters really, but you're so much more likely to find someone with a lisp than a good stutter these days. I guess lisps are more popular.

Anyway, one of the few things I love more than a good lisp is a trip-and-fall story. Many of you know this, and are so kind as to alert me by e-mail when you've found a trip-and-fall online, which I greatly appreciate.

I happen to have excellent balance generally, but every so often even I trip. Just as I would laugh at someone on the street tripping, I will also laugh at my own trips. On Thursday, I tripped. It was extra stupid of me, and here's why:

For the last two days, I've temped in Union Square, and on my lunch hour this past Thursday, wandered into a small clothing shop wedged between a North Face store and an H&M. When you walk into this store, there are about two meters of space, then one step up, then the clothes the store sells. They put a fluorescent orange tape border around the step, which I noticed and appreciated. I stepped up. I walked around, talked to the owner, and laughed quietly to myself at how pretentious he was. When he told me he makes all the clothes in the back, I asked if he was the designer. He answered that he hates the word designer, and when I asked what word he prefers, he said, "Artist and constructionist." Alrighty then.

So I wandered around the store, and to be frank, my jaw dropped. The clothes were fucking amazing. Outrageously expensive (a t-shirt that I could tell would significantly shrink even in a cold water wash cost over $100), but also outrageously creative. They made my brain explode, and I was strolling from rack to rack with a smile on my face. There was an A-line dress in a dark purple velvet, with a white lace underlay on the sleeves, and a big lacey pouf at the front. I can't say it was pretty or my style, but definitely appreciated the creativity of the design. And it wasn't just a store filled with velvet dresses. Everything was super-creative in wildly different ways. It really made me think, and I meandered towards the front door with my brain racing.

I forgot about that damn step and tripped down it, despite that orange tape. Giggled all the way back to work.

Promise to Smack Me

It was raining today, a day I am temping, and as I walked to the job I saw someone else holding a hotel umbrella as he scurried down the street in the opposite direction.

I love that hotels will lend out umbrellas. I love that building management of major corporate buildings lend them out too - you just have to lend them your building ID while you have the umbrella.

My friend's boyfriend says umbrellas are for pussies. Every time it rains I think of him, sloshing through the rain with just the hood of his sweatshirt for protection, and decide I'd rather be an umbrella-holding pussy than get that wet. Plus, a friend in Texas sent me an umbrella a few years ago, and it makes me smile every time I use it.

As I saw that guy with the hotel umbrella this morning it reminded me of a couple of months ago when I was temping and it was raining, and I saw something that made me uncomfortable. A white guy, clearly well-off, striding down the sidewalk with nothing in his hands. A black man in a Ritz Carlton uniform, striding alongside the white guy, holding a Ritz Carlton golf umbrella over the white guy's head.

Really? You are so full of yourself that you need a PUH? Aren't you embarrassed? Especially to have someone of a minority race holding it for you? Aren't you embarrassed to be so uncoordinated that you can't walk and hold an umbrella at the same time? Aren't you embarrassed to be forcing someone else to get rained upon so that you stay dry? I understand this may be a service the Ritz offers, and that's nice of them. But if any of you ever find out I have won the lottery, become filthy rich, and started doing this, please smack me.

You know what else I want to know? Where does this sense of entitlement end? Do you have someone cutting your meat for you? Do you uncap your own pens? One minute someone is buttoning your shirt while another person is standing behind you, brushing your hair, and the next minute you're giving the nod to someone who briskly claps their hands two times before yelling, "Wipers!"

Christmas Time Randoms

1. The place I'm temping at keeps getting all these holiday cards. One has a picture of a red bird on the front, and underneath it says "Red bird" and another has a winter motif and underneath it says "Winter." So when one came in with a green dragon on the front I couldn't resist and took a little post-it, wrote "Green dragon" and put that on the card. Everyone who's noticed has laughed.

2. I had a lovely chat with my friend Nina the other night, and it turned out to be fascinating. She had a different perspective on something that happened in both our childhoods that blew my mind.

3. I've been reading the books The Highly Sensitive Person and The Highly Sensitive Child, by Elaine Aron. More blowing of the mind.

4. In trying to mail a package today, I found a post office near work, in Chinatown. When I got there, a sign was on the door saying they would reopen at 1:45pm. I waited until 1:55 before deciding the guy was not coming back in a timely fashion and practically speed-walked back to work. Decided I would go to the post office near my house on the way home. Walked there in the rain only to find they'd closed. Foiled again! So I'm pretty sure unless I priority overnight via FedEx, my package will not arrive on the East Coast until several days after Christmas, when I mail it tomorrow. Whoops. Hopefully the thought really does count.

5. During the course of each day I distribute files to paralegals and attorneys, and re-file files they're finished with, all via a file cart. The cart has one wonky wheel though, so the cart is always pulling to one side. That wouldn't be so hard to manage if I weren't also trying to keep piles of files from sliding off the cart. The office manager heard me mumble, "Slippery little fuckers" last week and giggled at me.

Today, when I was hauling a cartful of files towards the filing cabinets, as I walked past the Christmas tree the cart pulled to one side as usual, but with the momentum it pulled a bit harder than usual, and knocked into the tree. The tree started to tip. My first thought was how this was going to look to the employees, that they would think "That jew ruined Christmas!" So I lunged to catch the tree before it hit the ground. I caught it in a bear hug and leaned it back towards the center. As I was doing this a partner walked by, stopped, and asked what I was doing. I didn't want to admit to having not been as careful of the tree as I should have, so I said the first thing that came to mind. "I just love Christmas SO MUCH!" The partner smiled and told me it's her favorite holiday as well before walking off. I don't know why my gut instinct was to lie.

6. A woman who works at the temp agency that placed me at this law firm showed up at the firm today. There is no nice way to say this, but she looks horrible. So horrible that I didn't even recognize her until she spoke. I was really shocked and hope everything is okay in her life. Anyway, I know that sometimes when the agency doesn't have anyone they can send on an assignment she sometimes fills in, and I immediately worried that she was there because the firm had complained about me and was going to step in to cover the position. Turned out she was just dropping off a present for the firm. Then this afternoon the office manager asked me to pop into her office and again, I assumed the worst - that I was being fired and the temp agency worker convinced the firm to let me finish out the day.

Turned out I was wrong, mostly. The office manager told me that Wednesday will be the last day that they need me to work. The office is closed Thursday and Friday, and they anticipate business being very slow next week. So despite all the bitching I've done about how difficult the job has been, of course I am sad. Both about the loss of income and the loss of structure to my days.

7. In case you are not aware, it's been raining a lot in California. Like, many days and many inches of rain. People are all in a tizzy about this. Aside from the frizzball my hair becomes in the rain, I don't really mind it. A few years ago, I wandered through the Lands End section of Sears, and bought a lightweight rain jacket. Turns out it keeps me perfectly warm (enough for San Francisco, probably wouldn't keep me warm in the Northeast), and totally dry.

Swallowing

Sometimes it's hard to describe something that's not tangible and that you also don't have concrete proof of.

Sometimes I'm bad at letting things go. Like after my grandpa died and we cleaned out his apartment like less than a week after the funeral, in a few hours. We just took laundry basket after laundry basket of his things out to the dumpster. Really all that was kept was pictures and I think that's it. It was too sudden for me, and there were too many people and everything was moving too fast, and even though my parents had said I should just speak up if there was something I wanted, I couldn't.

Golden Boy was able to say he wanted one specific picture that my grandparents had had on their wall in Queens, and then took with them to put on their wall in Florida. So he got it, and rolled it up and he and my dad went to buy some tubular thing to transport it across the country, and my brother was all set.

Some of the things I wanted, I couldn't figure out how I'd get across the country and couldn't afford to ship. Some of them weren't practical. Mostly though, I just was really upset at throwing out all these useful things. My grandpa had glass jar after glass jar filled with nails and screws for "just in case." My grandma always had a big stash of plastic bags - she even carried one or two in her purse (or maybe that was just when I was around because we'd go to the library and she'd let me check out more books than I could carry). So I couldn't see them having wanted their things to be thrown in the garbage.

But my father just wanted it done. He and my mom seemed to be in this outrageously huge rush to list the condo for sale. I understood that, but not why they couldn't just arrange for Goodwill or the Salvation Army to come by in a day or two to pick up all the kitchen stuff that was in perfectly good condition.

Over the last year or two I brought this up to my father several times. That we did it. That these things could have gone to a family rebuilding their lives for whatever reason. Abuse or homelessness or something. It just seemed like such a waste, and it really bothered me. I kept raising the issue with my father and he'd never quite give me a straight answer, a reason for why it was done the way it was.

In October when my parents were visiting, I raised the subject again. My father started to get angry and I interrupted him before he got going to point out that I keep bringing it up because every time I do, I don't get a straight answer. Words are said in response to my question, but they're not an actual answer. So my father answered.

I still wish those things weren't thrown out. But my father had a reason, and I can accept that, and drop the issue. I like to be able to tell people when they've done something that bothers me.

This temp job is bothering me. Today I hurt myself futzing with the fucking files, so badly that I had to stand there for a few seconds making sure I wasn't going to cry. The girl I work most closely with saw my face, and asked if I was okay. I could feel it all about to come out - how angry I am that the temp agency didn't warn me about the position involving being able to carry heavy files (in big law firms if you have to move heavy files, you can call someone in Office Services to do it for you). How frustrated I am by how bitchy the paralegals are, and unfriendly the attorneys are. How annoying it is that the possibly pregnant office manager wears patchouli daily, the most offensive smell on the planet.

I swallowed it all down, and just let the other girl know I'd hurt my elbow. She enthusiastically told me all about the time a file clip pierced her finger open and she had to get a tetanus shot, as if we were bonding over our work injuries. I swallowed down the big difference - that she has the luxury of health-insurance and worker's comp and short-term disability, whereas if I break my elbow, I'm fucked.

If I had the opportunity to tell the guy at the temp agency I was upset he didn't warn me, I'd feel better. Even though nothing about the situation now would change - I'd still have taken the position. I just like people knowing how I feel, and it really burns me up when they don't care.

Unwelcome Reception for the Receptionist

This is my second week of temping as a receptionist. The weird thing is though, their phone doesn't really ring that much that they need a full-time receptionist. An entire hour has sometimes passed without the phone ringing at all. So I keep encouraging the administrative assistant to give me projects. Time passes faster when you're busy.

It's a small law firm - only five lawyers, and about half a dozen or so paralegals. They're all very close, which is sweet. They go to the movies together, help each other move, go fetch coffee at the Starbucks around the corner together.

However, what is not sweet is the way they treat me. The paralegals have big offices, and sit two to an office. They have sliding glass doors - like balcony doors. There is a portable phone which I am supposed to take with me when leaving the front desk to do other tasks, like pulling files for the paralegals to work on, and re-filing files they've already worked on.

A lot of these files are REALLY heavy. Often one "file" is actually three fully packed redwelds that are in a bankers box. Now, I know that the fact that the temp agency didn't tell me there'd be tons of heavy lifting is my problem, and that I am always welcome to call the temp agency and tell them I can't do the job anymore because I am feeling things in my back actually pull themselves out of place and I now have at least two pinched nerves that make me scream in pain when I accidentally move in my sleep.

I get all that. But the reality is that I need work. I have no ego issues surrounding taking a job I am over-qualified to do. Technically, I'm under-qualified for this particular job since I can't deal with the fucking files without damaging my body, but I mean in general.

Anyway, I am so paranoid that I am having problems at this temp job because deep down a part of me doesn't want to "just" be a receptionist, that I refuse to bitch about how my back has never been the same since I got sick in 1995 and re-learned to walk.

So the paralegals. They never, ever help with the files. The files that I'm bringing to them. Bringing to them because they need them. To do their jobs. I can be standing next to their desk holding five files in one arm while trying to shove other files on their bookcase over to make room for the new ones, and they just fucking sit there, staring at their computers or talking with each other, completely ignoring me.

They also often have packets of paperwork that need to be copied prior to being mailed out. Today one paralegal came over at 1pm as I was putting my jacket on to go to lunch and said she needed a copy job back by 2pm. It was from a file I gave her yesterday afternoon. Really? When I explained that I was on my way out but could do it immediately upon returning, she was annoyed. Normally people give you about three hours to a half a day to complete copy jobs at this firm. How do they know I'm not in the middle of a project for someone else? How do they know there aren't four copy jobs in front of theirs?

They are annoyed when I open their balcony doors to deliver files. Or to ask if they have files because another paralegal told me to check with them. One attorney literally glares at me Every. Single. Time. I go to her about anything, even when I let her know her husband's on the phone. It got to the point this afternoon that I didn't have it in me to face her wrath and just left files outside her door in a pile with a note on them. Maybe tomorrow morning I'll get in before she does and I can toss them in her office.

This office does immigration law, and I get a lot of phone calls from people for whom English is not a first language. When I lived and worked in Florida this happened too. Except then their primary language was Spanish. Here it's Mandarin or Cantonese. All the Indian people speak English and have very thick accents.

Today one of the projects I was working on involved going through years of e-mails between clients and the lawyers at the firm. It was so interesting. All the clients, literally all of them, were so polite in their written communication. Polite, and very well-mannered, and appreciative of all the work being done to help them get whatever visas they needed or wanted. When I went to Mexico I was very determined to not be The Obnoxious American, and I thought I succeeded. Um yeah. After what I read today, I am guessing I came across more like a ... person who's nice for an American. These clients have shown me a new level, and I am in awe. I have a new goal for if I ever leave the country again. (My mother would say, 'Couldn't you be nice while you're IN the country?' To which I say fuck no!)

Oh! Here's something funny: there is an office manager. Once again, I can't tell if she's pregnant or just fat. I'm pretty sure she's wearing maternity shirts. But I'm just not positive. Today she told me she was running out to the doctor, and I immediately tried to think of something I could say to inspire her to share more information, but came up with nothing in the half-second I had. Turned out it was the dentist. Damn.

Help me focus on the positive about this job. It is work! It won't turn into a permanent job, but for these couple of weeks, it is solid work that pays me more than unemployment does. Excuse me please - I have to go repeat that six times in front of the mirror.

It's Beginning To Look a Lot Like Christmas (At the End of Chanukah)

Several months ago, I was asked to go temp at a law firm I'd been to previously. But they didn't have me working with the same two partners I'd worked with in the past. Instead, they had me working with another legal secretary who was covering half a dozen attorneys (this is a lot). It didn't go well. She had me and two other people helping her with a project - each of us worked on a different aspect of it, and she was the only one who had the full picture of what was going on.

The simple explanation is that some guy was supposed to create a list of contacts, then I was supposed to print out a slew of shit, and send it to each person on the list. This other secretary found that someone who was supposed to get a packet, didn't. She told the office manager, and they wound up essentially firing me. To say I was crushed doesn't even cover it. I was sure the temp agency that sent me there would never send me anywhere else again.

Luckily I was wrong. To me it seemed like a huge, huge deal. But Monday morning I got a frantic call from the same agency saying they'd been trying to reach me since Friday and wanted me to go to an immigration law firm. The guy said he had someone else there, but if I was available, he'd pull that person and send me because he felt I'd be a better fit.

I wish he'd been honest and just flat-out told me it's doing reception work. It's pretty easy to figure out within two seconds of being shown to your (reception) desk, but I'd just appreciate the honesty. It sure explains why it pays $10 an hour less than what I normally get. Ego is not an issue with me - if I were offered a permanent reception position I'd take it in a heartbeat. Sure, I can't make coffee and hate cleaning my own dishes let alone cleaning other people's dishes, but whatever - a job would be divine.

But whatever. The worst thing you can do as a receptionist is to drop phone calls, and make mistakes in transferring people to the wrong attorneys. It's harder than you'd think when five or more lines are ringing at once, someone's standing at your desk talking to you, and two people are having a loud conversation nearby making it hard to hear the person on the phone. So I'm pleased that two days in I haven't dropped any calls, though I do seem to spend a lot of time saying, "I'm sorry, would you mind repeating your name? And you were calling to speak with Carrie? Carly? Oh, you're not sure?"

All the people there are super friendly, which is nice. They thank me every day, as if I'm showing up to help out of the goodness of my heart rather than because they're paying me.

This afternoon they put up a fake Christmas tree right in front of my desk. It was an hour-long procedure, complete with someone tipping over a coffee table when they were standing on it to hang something. One of the attorneys even asked someone to get fake pine spray. Somebody already wears patchouli so I'll be loading up on Advil because holy shit.

"I Make a Lot of Money Too"

Partner is being audited. Oh, that reminds me - Office Manager believes Partner is being audited because someone who used to work for him as a secretary turned him in to the IRS. Let's just stop and think about that for a moment. How much do you have to hate someone to do that to them? What must that woman have felt towards Partner to want to cause that much stress to him? It's also believed she gave a difficult client his own file, which he went through and took out letters where he agreed to pay more, above and beyond the initial retainer for additional work. So she really put effort into screwing this guy over. And over.

Anyway. So after I trained my replacement, Partner kept me on for a week or so to help him work on his audit. This involved reviewing of old credit card and bank statements, and making a lot of charts and tables and calculator-usage on my part. On one hand, the truth is, it's kind of interesting to see how someone with a different lifestyle lives. To see what they're willing to spend money on. Partner has a gardener! He actually wrote out checks to "Gardener Bob" each month. He sent somebody chocolates from Harry & David. Partner went to Japan! It's interesting.

However. It's kind of hard, when you're scraping together enough money to pay rent each month, to see the little things someone is wasting money purchasing. The Chronicle is online. There's no good reason to have a subscription and buy it each day. Partner orders in dinner half the time, and goes out for dinner on the other nights.

Once, on a really hot day, he came strolling into the office drinking a Jamba Juice, and stopped in front of my desk. Looking at my little cup of water, he said to me, "Oh, I should have gotten you one too," and it took every ounce of restraint to avoid responding, "Yes, that would have been nice of you."

After a few days of creating these charts, and looking at Partner's financials, it really started to get me down. See, that's the thing with temping - on one hand, it's nice to once again be involved in society, but on the other hand (you have more fingers), it's tempting to act as the people around you do, and you have to remind yourself that even though you're working among them, you're not actually like them because you don't have a steady paycheck.

On my last day there, Partner and I were in his office, and I was showing him everything I'd done and was about to send to his accountant. At one point, Partner put his head in his hand and complained, "God, this is so complicated!" I, having worked for forensic accountants in the past, probably have a better sense of just how much more complicated it could actually be. So in a mild attempt to cheer Partner up, I told him, "Hey, it could be worse - you could be in the middle of an acrimonious divorce." Partner's response?

"Yeah that's true. I should be glad. No kids, no divorce ... and I make a lot of money, too."

Yes, he really said that. Out loud. That he makes a lot of money. So why the fuck were you only paying me $16 an hour, leaving me to take home about $10.33 an hour? I had to walk away. I was trying so hard to be professional and polite and leave a good impression so I could use Partner as a reference. I didn't want to blow it by outting myself as a jealous bitch. But holy shit you guys. I totally fucking was.

I Didn't Drink the Syrup

Sure wanted to though. I know that Golden Boy and Crazy Girl have pancake stuff at their house, so I gave the syrup to Golden Boy for them to use.

My last day wound up being this past Friday. I trained the new person who got the job I wanted. Most of you have never needed me to teach you anything, but I am telling you, I'm freaking awesome at teaching. If I know something, I can teach it. So please believe me when I say that if you are trained by me, you will know how to do your job.

Unless of course, you're stupid. And have an attitude problem. Which this new employee does. And is. She hid both pretty well the first day. And the second. On the third day though, I noticed she was very negative to assume the worst about clients. And that she asked me how to do things I'd specifically made a point of teaching her how to do.

All through the following week, I listened as she accused a client of being on drugs, another client of being crazy, and asked Office Manager or myself about things she'd already been told. I watched as she deleted 2,200 unread emails that had been sent to Partner. As she was dismissive to a very nice lawyer who rents space in the office. As she broke the color printer. As she had a document rush-delivered by hand to P.O. Box.

My prediction? She won't last. This is not about me not wanting her to succeed. This is about her not paying attention to the details and thinking things through. My prediction is that it will take a month before Partner realizes this is not a normal learning curve.

Here's Some Syrup, Now Get Out

The partner is back from his two-week vacation to Montreal. He bought a six-pack of little plastic bottles of syrup and gave one to me, telling me three times, "It's real syrup." Well thank you! I was touched that he thought of the temp while on vacation.

This is probably my last week here. I was told to put the employee contract Office Manager sent out in Partner's pile of mail. Of course I looked through it quickly to see how much they're paying her. A salary that would have been just fine with me. She is going to try to give only one week's notice at her current job (where is it? can I have it?) and start here on Monday. I am trying not to be crushed. Or drink my syrup straight from the bottle, circa 1982 (yes Mom, I confess now).

Wow, how much do you think that would freak these people out? If I just sat here at the reception desk, swigging from the syrup bottle.

Shut. Up.

For the last four weeks I've been temping in a penthouse office in Union Square. This sounds fancier than it is - there are no good views. Also, despite doing legal secretary work, I sit at a reception desk and also do reception work. It's been many years since I've fetched people coffee. This is awkward, because I don't actually know how to make coffee. Anyway, picture a square. You walk up the stairs to the penthouse at the top left, and my desk is at the top center, and offices are all around me. The lawyer I work for has sub-tenants who rent office space. One is cool (not just because he's gay and has a lisp), and the others are all weird. Oh, and all the offices surrounding my reception desk? They're above me, by two steps. That's right; I sit in a sunken living room.



The lawyer was either so busy or so overwhelmed (not sure which yet) that he had a personal assistant for about half a year. I asked her one day if anyone ever fell down the stairs. Not only am I paranoid about falling myself, but I keep watch any time anyone is on the move, in case they fall. I want to be ready to laugh. Sadly, she said nobody has bit it, but she's tripped over the door frames several times. So now I'm paranoid about that too.



The lawyer has an office manager/paralegal who is a very nice black lady. She gets lots of personal calls - to the point that I've started recognizing some of her callers, and earlier in the week something big was going on - I think she may have broken up with her boyfriend - and a lot of people who seemed deaf were calling. It was fun (for me).



Them: Yeah, Shaniqua Watkins there?
Me: Is this Gwen?
Them: What?

Me: May I tell her who's calling?
Them: IT'S GWEN!

Me: Just a moment please.



There's also an associate who works here. She's tall and thin and WASPy, but with brown hair instead of blond. She was so distant with me, and quiet with perfect posture, that I told Golden Boy I was determined to find a work-appropriate way to hug her, just to make her squirm. If you're just now deciding I'm cruel, to that I say, "Haven't you been paying attention? Keep up!"


The ironic thing is there are people who think I'm very stiff and formal. So you know if I'm thinking someone else is that way they must be totally frozen! I decided to make it my life mission to warm this associate up. I looked up her bio on the firm website. Turns out she worked at the same firm I did, a few years before I got there. This was my IN.

The day before yesterday when I'd come back from lunch her husband and children were leaving. I asked her kids if they had fun seeing where their mom worked and they nodded politely. Associate told me her husband was a fireman so his workplace was much more exciting. So I said something about how we needed to get a playground on our rooftop in order to compete with the firehouse.

Yesterday I told Associate she was the second female attorney I'd met whose husband is a firefighter. How the first one was a partner at a law firm in New York and worked as a judge in night court. I didn't tell her they wound up divorced. We wound up having a nice talk, and I worked in the fact that I'd worked at the same law firm she had.

Now, I'm kind of trying to get a job here, so I didn't want to talk smack about that old law firm. But there is a lot of smack to be talked, because that law firm sucked ass. I ran into the receptionist from there on the street about a year ago, and she told me the firm had fallen apart during our current economic crisis.

By the way, this receptionist gave me very good advice when I first moved to San Francisco: when walking in a city, always make eye contact with drivers before stepping into their paths. It helps drivers be more aware of pedestrians.

Anyway, so now Associate and I are chatting about the founding partners of this sucky firm. One of them was total hell to work for, and now Associate was telling me he wasn't just cruel to secretaries, but associates as well. She mentioned working there when he was going through his divorce.

Me: To Eileen? She died.
Associate: Shut. Up.
Me: Mmm hmm. She died.
Associate: Shut! Up!

I grinned a tiny bit. I found a way to give a work-appropriate hug, albeit a verbal one. The ice had cracked, and now we had bonded. She told me how that partner had had a drinking issue, how she barely lasted a year there, how after she left she had PTSD at her new job, always doubting her writing abilities. We totally bonded and gossiped and had a grand old time chatting about all sorts of random shit for the better part of an hour.

So yeah. Watch out. I'm not afraid to hug you.

East Coast - West Coast Rivals

At 10am this morning I got a call from one of my temp agencies saying they needed someone to do some "legal admin work." To those not in the legal industry, all the non-lawyer jobs probably sound interchangeable, but they're not. A receptionist is not capable of doing a paralegal's job, and a paralegal would be highly insulted to be asked to do a receptionist's job. In New York, there are legal secretaries who work for judges, but there's also a job called "judge's secretary" and those people are required to be lawyers. Confusing, I know.

You can understand now why I asked the agency guy for clarification. I am a rockstar in certain aspects of my job, but most definitely not in others, and I didn't want to set myself up to fail by arriving at a firm and not being able to do what they needed. Somewhat luckily, this particular firm just needed a receptionist (which I haven't done in over a decade, but the real key is not to freak out when ten lines ring at once, and to not drop any calls), so off I went to the Financial District.

I asked the agency guy what the hourly rate would be. He asked what my minimum was that I'll accept. Screw that. So I told him that when his co-worker Tony sends me on jobs my usual pay rate is blah. We'll see what happens - hopefully I'll get more than unemployment pays.

This was an East Coast-based firm. Having now worked on both coasts I can tell you with certainty that West Coast-based firms are better. East Coast firms require more formal dress. No business casual for them, except maybe on Fridays. They're more likely to block websites. Quite frankly, overall the people are less friendly. I will lost all my New York street cred for saying this, but it really doesn't take any extra time to smile and say hello. (All the Southern states just started jumping up and down and waving to me.)

I hand-wrote this blog post while at the job today, around noon. At that point six people had walked by the front desk where I was sitting. One person stood at "my" desk looking over a package that was over-nighted to her and then tried to hand me an empty UPS box to throw away. Another asked if there was a pad of paper at the desk, but didn't greet me or introduce herself. The next three completely ignored me, not even making eye contact. The sixth actually introduced herself.

By the way, I was sitting at the desk of a woman who has been at this firm well over a decade. I can tell, because there is a three-foot lace doily laid across the desk, with various trinkets on it that involve teddy bears and angels. Not to mention the jar (the cover of which has a 3-D farm on it) of obligatory old lady candy.

By the end of the day the most shocking thing to happen was when the guy training me won the award for Least Politically Correct Person In San Francisco. First, he referred to the lawyer who handles immigration law as "the Korean." Then, he told me the receptionist was useless. I was so shocked that I said, "What?!" and he clarified that she has cerebral palsy and her right arm is completely useless. Oh. My.

The thing that struck me as especially weird is that you want to think that someone who would say such things is mean. Like grumpy and cruel all the time or whatever. But this guy was very nice to me (of course I'm white, like he was, and am not handicapped). People are so strange.