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Working at the firm is kind of like having a quirky, rich uncle. Sometimes it's amusing, sometimes it's annoying, and occasionally you get fun things. Yesterday we got a happy hour (and, as part of that, to leave at 5 - more exciting?!). This week I've had an interesting project. And today we had a painful training.
The happy hour gave the summers more time to hang out and get to know each other. Surprisingly, I beat Chris at pool 2 out of 3 games. And after a few drinks, we found out from the recruiting coordinator how many people interviewed at our office that were winnowed down to the eventual 5 summer associates we have. It's a shocking number and points me towards "luck" as the answer to how I got here.
Today's training was for about Professional Development and setting SMART Goals. SMART is an acronym for Specific, ummmm Mandatory? Asinine? No, those are words that describe the training. Alright, I don't remember what the acronym is, but the woman leading it made us write down short-term goals and specific ways to accomplish them. She was physically in the room with us, so we had to play nice and look remotely interested. Then she went through the videoconference and made one or two people from each office say what they wrote. Everyone's goals were bland, legitimate work goals for the summer: "I want to attend a hearing on an issue I worked on, and I will accomplish this by speaking to the associate I am working with..." and "I want to get work from ten partners in my department." Except this one kid in the Boston office. He says, "I want to get married. Five year goal. And I will accomplish this by getting my girlfriend to move here, then..." before he got cut off. The woman in our office running the training was shocked. I want to buy him a beer when I meet him. If training lady hadn't been standing twelve feet from me, I would have burst out laughing. Way to give an answer as useless as the question!

I didn't really know what lawyers "do" all day, and I'm still not sure. I feel like that with a lot of professions. My major project this week has been reading a hyper-technical contract and essentially rewriting it in terms that the client signing the contract will understand. The contract was, of course, drafted by lawyers. Come to think of it, this is what happened: the client paid lawyers to do something, they did it obtusely, and now the client has to pay lawyers again to tell them what they did in the first place. When she first started, Rebecca described the job of a contractor as "You make problems, then you fix the problems you made." That sounds eerily similar. What a hilarious business model!
Granted, there really is a point to "legalese" and writing contracts in such technical language. If it weren't written that way, there would probably be a lot of loopholes and ambiguities. But I don't think I am doing too much that a regular person couldn't do. I think that law school just helps train us to focus more and not give up at pointlessly complex language.

Corporations is turning out to be an incredibly helpful class. Tax also.

Last Saturday night I was told that if I were a Star Wars character, I would be C-3P0. It was easily the worst part of my night. I was so dismayed. The next morning I was told I would be an Ewok. I don't know if that helps. I guess it does?

For once, I was polite on the escalator and it paid off. The down escalator was broken, so everyone had to climb down. The pace was pretty slow because there was a guy a few people ahead of me climbing fairly slowly. I contemplated cutting him and the other people by shooting down the left side, but decided against it. Then someone behind me did the left side route, and jostled the slow guy a little bit. Well, when we got to the end, it turned out the slow guy was slow because he walks with a freaking cane. I am so glad I (for once) was polite and wasn't some jerk making life harder for a guy with a cane.

How Did Offices Run Before Outlook?

Two things I consider hilarious happened yesterday. First, when I walked into the office in the morning a new blackberry was sitting on my desk waiting for me. Midway through the second week of work I finally get one, alright! Only it turns out that the blackberries that the summers get cannot make or receive phone calls, nor can they text message. All they can do is give us our calendar and our email from Outlook. And we can surf the web (hang ten dude!). I am amused by how obvious they make it that the purpose of the blackberry is so that work can reach you at any time. Perhaps the honesty is refreshing?

The second hilarious thing was that the summers in my office all left our harassment training early. How will I know what is appropriate behavior in the workplace? The training (via videoconference, mind you) ran long (due to every bullet point on the presentation being accompanied by a personal anecdote from the employment lawyer). And we had Westlaw training scheduled right after it, so our recruiting coordinator shuffled us on to the next thing. Can someone please tell me what is an "ok touch" versus a "not ok touch??"

If Joseph A. Bank goes out of business as a clothing store, I think it should re-open as a financial institution. It's got the description right there! Also, I really hope it derived its name from someone saying to his five-year old son Joe, "I really need an ATM. Look Joseph, a bank! What luck!"
[I just got a suit from Jos. A Bank, so it's on the brain.]

I want to use my blackberry for evil, but I am not even sure how to accomplish that. They just seem like devices so easily used for morally questionable reasons.

I have never seen Cats, and I am not sorry about that. How, then, do I have songs from Cats stuck in my head? Get out of here, Magical Mr. Mistoffelees!

I can't decide what I dislike more: humidity or people who stand on the left side of the escalator. It's a real toss up.

I got my hair cut this morning before work. I think that's a sign I am becoming a 'real adult.' Next I will have to learn the trick of how to get a haircut and not wind up with hair all over my button down shirt. I don't understand. I wore my undershirt while getting the haircut. I got my hair shampooed. I did the rub-your-head-to-get-all-those-last-trimmings-out thing outside the barbershop. And I still ended up picking hair off my shirt all day.

Week One

One week of work down, nine to go, and I must say it was a fairly pleasurable week (for work). I have worked on a couple of billable projects and one large pro bono project, but I am still feeling like I can take on a little more. This is all in between attorney (read: free) lunches and a few social events.

Wednesday, for example, two energy associates took the two energy summers out to lunch. It was on top of the W Hotel, a pretty swanky place with a great view. We talked some shop and learned about the firm a bit, but mostly we hung out and enjoyed the food. For about two hours, although in fairness the service was incredibly slow. That evening was a dinner for summer associates with a smattering of attorneys. We were scheduled to meet at 5:45 to head to the restaurant, but at 4:55 we received an email from the recruiting coordinator asking the summers whether we would rather meet at scheduled or meet at 5:07 in the lobby to go to happy hour. Although I have a propensity towards indecision, that was a no-brainer. This was also about an hour and a half after I had gotten back from lunch; clearly, I got a lot of work done that day.

The dinner itself was at a nice steakhouse downtown. The summers were talking with attorneys over dessert when the most senior partner present (who was incidentally also the most intimidating partner) started to give a “toast” extolling the virtues of the firm. After his brief speech, he basically ordered everyone present, summers, associates, and partners alike, to go around the table and say something interesting about themselves. Twice, because one of the partners could not think of anything on her first go around. After the second time around the table (we all thought he might go for four or five) he asked a junior partner, “So Greg, where are you taking them out tonight?” To which Greg spluttered, “I guess we are going to Post.” All of the summers then had no choice but to go out to the bar. Not that I am really complaining, but I think being commanded to go drinking is a first. I will relish the memory of clinging to sobriety while listening to a partner explain antitrust law.

That evening I dragged myself home around 11:30. The next morning was difficult getting up at 6:30 to work out. And I needed to run that morning –I had a three course lunch and a four course dinner. Sticking to running is quite necessary. Friday’s lunch was at Fogo de Chao, an all you can eat Brazilian steakhouse, the kind where they just bring you huge skewers of meat and cut it onto your plate. The two associates and three summers did our best not to stuff ourselves into oblivion. I can’t speak for anyone else, but I know that I was doing a cost/benefit analysis in my head as to the deliciousness of the next piece of meat vs. how much it was going to make my stomach hurt. I am still regretting that last piece of bacon wrapped chicken. But, unlike the first time I went to Fogo with Nakul, I didn’t mess up my stomach for the next few days. I just was full for the next 24 hours. Thursday, all of the summers went to lunch together so we could just get a salad and not have to worry about multi-course, high protein meals.

I know it sounds like it, but work is not all excesses. There is actual work that gets done, but that’s not as exciting to write about. What is exciting enough to write about is the chair I pilfered from an empty office down the hall. I am going to be king of office supplies!

As Shaked and I approached Kerry’s building last night, a woman was waiting outside to be let in. She was visibly intoxicated and doing a little “I really have to pee” dance. The lady pressed seemingly random numbers on the keypad trying to get let in, then called her friend in the building and complained that the keypad was broken. Then she tried the keypad again and cursed something about it being broken and having to press the pound key. Upon seeing us, she asked whether we were going into the building. We said yes. She assumed we had a key and could have let her in (untrue) but were not and told us, “I don’t blame you for not wanting to let me in, I might be a lunatic. Hahaha.” Might be? I would never have let that woman in, even if I had a key.

Sometimes there is just not enough coffee in the world to get you where you are going.

Why is dry cleaning such an exclusive club? Why can’t I do it? It would make my life easier. Can I just turn my shower on hot and hang my suit in the bathroom?

For some people there is just no pleasing. For everyone else there is pie.

I like the prospect of doing energy law. It is a chance to do “biglaw” without doing “evil.” I like the idea of helping companies, even big ones that make a lot of money, do “good” things, like set up renewable energy projects. That seems to qualify as “good,” in that it is not contributing to activities like spilling oil, hiking up gas prices, or destroying the natural habitat of endangered species. I am not certain that the same opportunities would present themselves doing securities regulation or ERISA litigation (shoot me now).

One More Thing

On the building tour today, I had to stop myself from touching some of the wood paneling. The place is so nice. I wanted like, like, rub my face on it. A total class act. I'm not sure I am prepared to work some place so nice. I kept wondering to myself if I was in the right place and why I was there. Don't be surprised if I try to lock myself in one of the drawers in my wooden desk tomorrow.

Somehow I am not fully comfortable in the world of wood paneling and expense accounts.

First Day of Work - Dun Dun Dun

Today was my first day of work as a summer associate. For the hype and varying anxiety levels leading up to today, I spent most of the day in a conference room listening to orientation speeches. I have a summer class of 5 and I will be working mainly with two associates. The other summer associates ("summers") seem friendly and social. The associates seem eager to get to know us and help us learn the ropes. We were served breakfast and lunch in the conference room in between meeting partners, associates, and various administrators. We are given access to all kinds of cool things like secretaries, paralegals, mail services, records services, IT, and other things you would expect to find. Of course we had an orientation session relating to each one of these. After a building tour (we have showers in the basement!?) we were shown our offices.
Perks include an office with windows (and locks), a blackberry, a laptop and extra screen, swag with the firm's logo, lunches with associates, and social events. Oh, and experience.
Today, I was worried about not having a briefcase. How will I transport my briefs (read: glasses, packed lunches, and books)? Turns out the firm had it covered: one of the major pieces of swag waiting in my office was a briefcase. This is second only to the beach bag with firm logo emblazoned towel.
So, the first day finishes. Honestly, it was kind of awkward, but what first day isn't? The summers sort of felt each other out and tried to get a feel for the associates and the culture of the office (which is pretty relaxed - suits are the exception, not the rule). We were all focused, extra polite, and extra conscientious. The building tour included so much door holding that even the most chivalrous knight would have gotten tired of it; and the firm-sponsored happy hour after work saw summers have no more than 2 or 3 beers each.

There is a conference room across the hall from my office. There is a painting on the wall of the conference room positioned so that it can be seen from my office and my desk. The painting is, for lack of a better description, kind of creepy. It is a scene of an older woman looking at a picture album in front of some big windows. Why? Why would this be mounted on the wall of a law firm's conference room looking into my office? I will try to take and post a picture of this painting if I can take one discretely. I named the woman Lucille (perhaps an Arrested Development homage) and decided that she will be my thinking buddy. I will turn to her in difficult situations where I need to mull over a problem. Lucille will bring me wisdom - and creepiness.

The recruiting partner told us a story of a summer who was surprisingly given an offer. The summer had a few drinks before dinner at a firm-sponsored social event. At dinner, he was seated next to a fairly senior partner who was described as "gentlemanly" and perhaps southern. The summer finished his meal but was apparently still hungry. He began taking food off the partner's plate next to him and eating it. The partner was astounded, as were all the summers and associates listening to the story. I think there will be great stories from my firm.

There is probably more, but I did not sleep well last night and awoke at 6:30 this morning in an attempt to get into a new routine. So that is all for now.

Get A Room

For some odd and unknown reason I had an angry day today. Maybe it was the unoriginal, poorly written note I had to read for journal. Maybe it was the weather combined with my lack of a sense of accomplishment. Or maybe it was the couple across from me in the coffee shop who could not keep their hands off each other. I had to fight the strong urge to say, "Get a room! I am trying to read about internet privacy in the European Union and all I can see is you dirty hippies making out all over the place."

I had a free song download from Amazon (apparently for being such a good customer?) and couldn't think of anything to use it on. So I ended up with "Black and Yellow." As a result I constantly have that song stuck in my head and hate myself a little bit. Just about anything could be substituted for the words "black and yellow." Kerry said a teacher at her school made a song called "Math and Reading" to the beat. Erica mentioned something similar, the title of which I cannot recall at present. I want to make a lunch song called "Swiss and Turkey." Come to think of it, that could also be a geography song.

No Reservations with Anthony Bourdain is on Netflix Instant. This might take a while. I'm already going through Modern Family and Parks and Recreation. This summer, at Shaked's insistence and my interest, How I Met Your Mother will be added to the list. Also, I am currently reading Anthony Bourdain's book "Medium Raw." It is not as good as "Kitchen Confidential," which I highly recommend, but it is still amusing. Bourdain is probably more opinionated that I, and certainly more foul-mouthed. He is also a much better cook and a much better eater, so he can do pretty much whatever he wants as far as I am concerned.

People need to stop sending me links on gchat. I am beginning a new policy or rarely opening them. This stems from my previous experience of rarely being amused by the links I open. While the internet has many virtues (like permitting me to write this blog), it also has many problems.

Get the Suit that Fits

To prepare for work this summer, I went outlet shopping with Enoch and Reza all the way out in Leesburg. Where? I don't know, I hadn't been either, but it was pretty nice. I got a few things: a couple of shirts, socks, a spatula. But the big purchase was a suit at the Joseph A Bank outlet. I had my doubts, but the fast-talking salesman assured me the suit would be easily tailored to fit me. I forgot a cardinal rule: never trust the fast-talking salesman. Upon returning to DC, I took my newly purchased suit to my local Joseph A Bank for tailoring. The tailor and the salesman took one look at it on me and pronounced it the wrong size. For a minute or two I was fairly unhappy - I was either going to have to work something out with the tailor or I was going to have to go all the way back to Leesburg (where?) to return it. I was mentally trending towards the latter option when the salesman thrust a correctly sized suit in my direction and told me to put it on. I did and expressed my regret over owning the wrong size when the salesman said he was just going to "exchange" the suits. There was roughly a $300 price difference between the purchased suit and the suit that was my actual size. But this did not stop the (slow-talking?) salesman - he was happy to help me out by "exchanging" suits while bemoaning my initial incorrectly-sized one. He did everything but admonish the first salesman. To this second salesman, my hat is off. I certainly thank him and I put in a good word for Joseph A Bank (which may be slowly going out of business), although not for its outlet.

I do not put in a good word for Calvin Klein's "Body" line of dress pants. Reza described the pair I tried on as looking more like tights. What's your deal Calvin? Are you designing clothing for starving Russian peasants? Most normal shaped men, plus me, cannot fit into those without looking foolish.
Another negative from the trip. At the Levi outlet, I was unable to continue my shopping due to the multitude of foreigners with vastly different conceptions of personal space. A man literally stepped on me without noticing while trying to buy jeans. How do you not notice that? How can you be so self-centered that you refuse to see or in this case feel other people around you? Sometimes I wish I had an airhorn to announce my presence. Or a personal lighthouse. Ships would never crash on me that way. How's that for a superpower!?

I went to the Nats game tonight. In an epic battle between two bitter rivals, the Washington Nationals shocked the Pittsburgh Pirates with a come from behind victory. There was plentiful sarcasm.