I had just lateraled over to a major firm in a new city. One day I receive a call from a partner asking me to come to his office, and to bring the “Acme” file. When I get there, he says, “Walk with me.” I assume we’re on another Starbucks run “meeting.” Instead, we get to the curb, and he has a car and driver waiting. We’re going over to meet with a client.
I made like a potted fern, as they expect me to do, and took notes. At the end of the meeting, which was past the close of business, partner and I depart client’s office. Partner tells me that he’s going to have the car take him home. I blink. It’s dark. It’s winter. I don’t have a coat. I don’t have a purse. Or any money. Or ID. I didn’t expect to leave the office that afternoon. I don’t even know where I am. I’m in a skirt suit and heels. I don’t have a cell phone. I’m a woman, alone after dark in an unfamiliar city without a dime or a can of pepper spray.
So I walk, for what seems like hours, past what seems like a frighteningly large collection of nefarious denizens of the night, gathering to do me harm. And discover, to my relief, that I have put my subway fare card in my suit pocket that morning. So, if I can find a subway station, I can at least get back to the office.
An hour later, heels blistered, palms sweaty, I return to the safety of my office. Where the partner has had his secretary leave a stack of documents to be privilege reviewed by morning.
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