Given half the chance, your average law student will drone on and on about the law without ever saying anything helpful. Given less than half a chance, the average law professor will drone on and on about the law and only accidentally say something useful. I’ve been keeping track of these accidentally useful truths since I started law school and thought I’d use them to skate by when I didn’t really have a good idea for a column this week share a few of my favorites.
advice
Q: Is there anyway [sic] I can learn to speak like a lawyer without going to law school? I think it will be helpful for picking up guys if they think I’m an atturney [sic].
A: Based on your demonstrably impressive command of spelling and grammar, I’m going to assume that you’re serious (anyone with the ability to comprehend that a little red squiggly line beneath a word indicates improper spelling is typically intelligent enough to implicitly understand that lawyer is second only to proctologist in rankings of the “least sexy” and “most off-putting” professions for women to have). Keep Reading ⇒
QDear Law Firm 10:
I’m a lawyer who dated the same woman since high school, but—long story short—we are no longer a couple, and I’ve recently been thrown out into the dating world without any experience. I really do mean without any dating experience whatsoever, except whatever you call dating as a high school sophomore.
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New lawyers are now starting life having been sworn in to jurisdictions across the land. If these new lawyers had it like I did, they went to the swearing-in ceremony, had a nice lunch with family, and returned to their full-time occupations of being a gainfully unemployed Xbox-video-game-playing lawyer.
You’d be amazed how many jobs you can apply for between lives on Modern Warfare.
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Dear Mr. or Ms. Commercial Litigator in the Courtroom Sitting Next to Me:
Hi, my name is Namby and I am intruding on your domain. This is your typical courtroom experience, not mine, and as this is a foray that I seldom make, I am trying to take in all that I witness and learn the secrets to your exorbitant billable rate. I bill at a little less than your paralegal bills at and, as such, I know that I have something to gleen from your awesomeness.
Or at least your firm’s perceived awesomeness.
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Time and time again I am reminded that lawyers are supposed to counsel their clients on the randomly stupid shit that they do to prevent them from getting into trouble. What we need more of is lawyers counseling lawyers on how to react when they have the opportunity to do something stupid. My gut reaction in most of these situations is to (1) swear loudly or (2) point and laugh. Unfortunately this is not always the advisable nor professionally prudent plan of action.
For the purposes of this column, I present you with several real life situations that I have found myself stuck in. I then give you a hint as to what I think I should have done… instead of what I did.
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Adjusted for inflation, BigLaw associates are two dimes for a dozen. Sure, the hiring partners talk about “investing” in associates and “grooming” them for success, but the bottom line is this: you’re a cog in a global machine. Not as fungible as crude oil or wheat, but fungible nonetheless. So, what do you do to stick out from the rest? What distinguishes you from all the other wunderkids? Two words: personal microbranding. Personal microbranding can set you apart, create an aura of competence, and lead to priority in the donut pool. Here are top considerations.
At conferences throughout the year, I’m often pigeonholed by attendees, who look at my name and ask me this question: “Who the fuck are you?” After I explain who I am and I buy a few rounds of drinks, people start talking to me. After a few more drinks, I tell them why my advice for solo attorneys should be followed by all BigLaw associates.
At absolutely no charge, here’s my liquor-free version of why BigLaw should listen to me, now.
QI’m a 2L. Everything is fine. I get my work done, pull in decent grades, have friends, maintain a relatively sane life. But I have no fashion sense. Honestly, I’m from rural Oklahoma, grew up on a farm, and went to school at Oklahoma State University. I did well enough there to land a plum spot at a good law school. I’m also about to start a summer clerkship at a large New York firm.
I’m also cheap, primarily because I have little extra money to spend on things other than school, and living in a city that’s way too expensive. I have two navy blue suits, one black, and plenty of blouses. I’ll get another suit. The workday I don’t worry about too much. I can figure that out. I worry more about the parties, informal lunches, outings that the firm will sponsor over summer. Any advice?
[Ed. Note: The following is the second reply in Bitter Lawyer’s offer to Ask the Philadelphia Lawyer Anything. We received a ton of “interesting” entries seeking advice from the all-knowing lawyer/writer, but he is only answering three. The lucky person who submitted the below question just won a copy of The Philadelphia Lawyer’s best-selling book, Happy Hour Is for Amateurs: Work Sucks. Life Doesn’t Have To.
Q: This question has absolutely nothing to do with law, law school, law firms, etc… The only legal aspect is that I may or may not go to jail for assault, depending on what you say.
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A: Good. This may be “Bitter Lawyer,” but let’s face it—nobody here wants to read about law. Law’s boring. Look at the pieces that get the most traffic here: Bits on breast implants, breasts generally and…breasts. Like everybody else filling out “TPS Reports” in Our Great Whiffle Economy, readers here want to think about anything that’ll keep their minds off the Matrix they pretend to care about for paychecks. Congrats. If nothing else, you’ve helped make someone’s quest for Monday-morning distractions a little easier.
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Q: The situation: For the past several months, I have been smitten by an extremely attractive former co-worker. Although she is slightly nuts, I have made my feelings clear—and been rejected. Fair enough. On St. Patrick’s Day, we happened to be at the same bar, and I drunkenly put a move on her, which she rejected. Again, fair enough. However, 20 minutes later, she starts making out with some douchebag right in front of me. Then a mutual friend of ours, who I consider a close friend and who knows my feelings towards this girl, admits to me he’s been fucking her for the past two weeks. So my question has a couple parts. One, am I permitted to call her a slut to her face?
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A: No. But not because some notion of politeness or chivalry demands discretion. Because the simple fact is: This woman is not a slut. A slut screws everybody. It’s the definition of the animal. “That which sleeps with all.” Black’s Law Dictionary, 12th Ed (1957). This woman merely screwed your friend, which makes her a garden-variety chick-you’d-like-to-be-banging-who-happens-to-be-banging-your-buddy. My advice is to do what most men do in this circumstance: Call her whatever you like. In the privacy of your apartment. Then masturbate to internet porn, get loaded and forget about her until the next day, when you see your friend again, and he goes on for 10 minutes about her Brazilian.
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Q: I also feel like either punching my good friend in the face/nuts or never speaking to him again. Is this a womanly overreaction, or am I justified?
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A: It’s on page 10 of the Marquess of Queensbury Rules: You can’t fight men over women, or women over women (the latter’s difficult to explain at arraignments). I won’t comment on fighting women over men. If that’s a possibility, you’re beyond my help. (But please send me an email through my website, as I may want to write about you). My advice is to cool down. Put it from your mind. You’ll find someone else soon enough, and the vision of this unrequited love that pops into your head every time you see your buddy—the one of her riding him in a reverse cowgirl position as he spanks her like a petulant child—will fade like the memory of the conference call you read The New York Times through this morning.
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Q: Being a big fan of your website, I know how you love fine booze. What is the ideal drink for getting over rejection?
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A: None. The only cure for not screwing who you want is screwing someone else. I don’t care if you have to go on a sex tour of Thailand, you need to get laid, yesterday. It’s ancient wisdom, predating Confucianism, Zoroastrianism…running back to the days of Neanderthals, that one can only purge the pain of love rejected by purging something else, into someone else. In the words of the immortal Stephen Stills (the wellspring of all sound, life-enriching advice), “If you can’t be with the one you love, love the one you’re with.” Long time.[1]
Barring that, magic mushrooms and three bottles of Veuve Clicquot Demi-Sec. (A little pricey, but it goes down like soda, and who’s more deserving of our generosity than ourselves?) Do not seek solace in bourbon. Liquid rage is the last thing you want in your bloodstream. A half a bottle of Knob Creek is the fastest path I can imagine, short of an eight ball, to an assault conviction for scattering your buddy’s teeth around his apartment. Stay cool and follow the time-tested wisdom of Frank Costanza: “Serenity now… Serenity now…”
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BONUS QUESTION FROM A SECRET ADMIRER:
Q: Are you hot? In my head you’re classically very masculine and sexy (think Colin Firth or Clive Owen), but then reason sets in as to the likelihood of that, and I think otherwise. I need a visual, PhilaLawyer. How sexy are you?
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A: Flattery will get you everywhere, and here it’s gotten you a book, but I’ve been asked this a number of times, and I can’t objectively answer. So here it is from my wife:
Thank you. Although he wrote an entire chapter about my anatomy, I never had the opportunity to return the favor. In a word, yes. The Clive Owen/Colin Firth scale is appropriate. He’s 6’2, thick, straight hair, great hands, a laugh that can be deep or a giggle like a naughty schoolboy, and expressive green eyes that get a wonderful side crinkle when he smiles. I could go on, but he says this has to be short.
She tells me women will understand that. I assume you’re a woman (or a very strange man), so there you have it.
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[1] Airfare to Bangkok is surprisingly cheap, I’m told.
The Philadelphia Lawyer lives outside Philadelphia with his family, including his non-lawyer wife.
