QI went to law school because I was told it would “open doors.” I soon learned that there was only one door (being a lawyer) and that it seemed this door slid shut. I graduated, took the bar, but walked out of it, realizing I’d rather do most anything in life than be a lawyer.
My chief complaints with the law are as follows:
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As a mediocre midlevel at a top law firm, I haven’t really considered plans for my “future.” I always sort of let the tide take me to this place of bitterness. However, many of my friends are starting to make “plans.” Actually, it seems like most of them have already mapped out their lives.
Of my closest 4 friends from law school: One moved to a small firm outside of NY because he’s married with kids (and therefore dead to me), two have moved to smaller firms in Miami because it’s a better life and they are from there and they are basically cheesy Miami dudes at heart (not dead to me, because I need a place to stay in Florida), and one works at a BigLaw firm in NYC, but he’s looking to get out asap. He’s the one that is actually causing me to stress out, because he just enlightened me to the devaluation of a midlevel scale.
QOkay, so I think I just ruined my career. In short, I told a partner to “F*** off.” Yes, I actually used the F-word.
To make a long story short, Douchebag Partner (hereafter referred to as “DBP”), told me to draft a Promissory Note (a small part of a much larger transaction) and send it off to the client for his approval. DBP gave me all the specific details—terms, interest rate, etc… He also gave me “the perfect precedent” to use. In other words, all I had to do was fill in the blanks, make a few simple, conforming changes, and send it to the client. And that’s what I did. Unfortunately, DBP gave me the wrong terms. The principal amount was 86 million, not 76 million. The client got pissed and sent DBP a bitchy email. So DBP threw me under the bus and blamed the mistake on the new, careless associate. Me. To cover his lie, he stormed into my office and yelled at me so everyone could hear how reckless and negligent I am. Before I could defend myself, he just walked away, muttering under his breath, “Practicing law requires focus and dedication.”
So I sat in my office for a few minutes. Be calm. Don’t go crazy. Don’t do anything stupid. You’re a third-year associate. You have a good reputation. The job market sucks. You’re getting married in five months. But it didn’t work! I rushed out of my office, hurried down the hall…and barged into DBP’s office and told him he was out of line for yelling at me—and blaming me for the mistake in the first place. It was his fault. Not mine. He gave me the terms. I didn’t make them up. DBP’s face reddened, his neck stiffened, and he started insulting me all over the place. He said I had a bad attitude, I was arrogant, I’m not as smart as I think I am.
I was stunned. He made the mistake, but I was suddenly the asshole. So I told him to go f*** himself and walked out the door.
Since then, we’ve had minimal face-to-face contact. I’m still working on the deal, but the assignments are now delivered to me via email or through a senior associate who’s also working on the deal. It’s now been three days since the blow up, and I’m worried I just destroyed my career. Any advice?
AFirst, let me say that I applaud your ballsy-ness. Congratulations! It takes guts to tell a partner to f*** off. It’s much easier to bite your lip, say nothing, smash a coffee mug, yell at your girlfriend, eat a bacon cheeseburger. And pretend Asshole Partner never humiliated you in the first place. But that doesn’t mean it’s smart.
It’s like that scene in Goodfellas where “Spider” (a young Michael Imperioli) finally tells Joe Pesci to go f*** himself. Deniro laughs, applauds Spider for having big balls, throws a bunch of cash at him, then Pesci shoots Spider twice in the chest.
It feels good to say “F you” to an unfair, unkind bully, but sometimes it gets you killed. In your particular case, if DBP is, in fact, a powerful partner—if he has a good reputation, brings in lots of business, etc., you might be in trouble. There may be no way of fixing the problem, unless, of course, DBP is far less douche-y than you suggest and realizes he was out of line, forgives and forgets. The odds of that happening, however, are close to zero. If, on the other hand, DBP is a putz and everyone knows he’s a putz, you might be okay.
Either way, here’s my advice. Go to DBP’s office and apologize for your outburst. Tell him that you were out of line and you’re sorry. You’ve been working hard, you’re under lots of stress, have lots of personal issues going on, etc… It sucks, I know, but you have to do it. After that, talk to the most powerful partner you know and explain to him what happened. In other words, get out in front of the problem.
If DBP is powerful, be very careful about calling him a liar. Be respectful and deferential, but explain your point of view and apologize for the mistake. If DBP is a putz, you can be a little more negative in your characterization of the events leading up to the F-bomb.
The only other thing that matters here is YOUR reputation. If you’re smart, bill lots of hours and play well with others, your odds of recovery are much greater. Next time, just smash a coffee mug or eat a bacon cheeseburger. It makes life a lot easier. Good luck!
QI work at a prominent white-shoe firm in Manhattan. Unlike most people, I actually like being a lawyer. I work long hours, but really enjoy it. Crazy, I know.
The thing that’s driving me crazy, however, is the intra-firm snobbery. In particular, there’s one Harvard/Harvard partner (Robert) who always refers to me as his “second-tier project.” It was kind of cute the first time he said it. Not so cute the second time. And really f#@king annoying the tenth, eleventh, fifteenth time.
I don’t mind working for Robert, but I can’t stand his constant, not-so-funny shtick. So, my question is: Should I tell him I don’t like being referred to as his “second-tier project?” If I do, will he still work with me? Will he ruin my reputation? Please advise. For the record, I went to George Washington, graduated top 5% and was on law review.
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For the last two weeks, things have been pretty awkward around the Heathcare group at my fairly large Midwestern firm. And that’s because we have an unexpected new member on our team. She’s not a first-year, not a lateral, not even a new hire. She merely hails from the General Corporate group down the hall. She’s a fourth-year swap. And when she joined us, we had to give up an existing associate from our department to head down to General Corporate and take her place.
I’ve been wondering why the hell two female lawyers quickly swapped practice groups unannounced and without justification. I’ve been asking everyone. For those of us who don’t know why, it’s all we can talk about. For those who clearly know, they can’t do enough to play dumb and keep their mouths shut. But I think I finally found out.
It’s good to be persistent.
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The fourth and final installment of our impromptu partner v. associate debate.
1. It began last week with “Partner to Associates: Stop Being ‘Entitled, Whiny Pussies,’” which was written by a “38-year-old partner at a prestigious firm.”
2. In response, frequent Bitter Lawyer commenter BL1Y submitted “Associate to Partners: Shut Up About Us Being ‘Entitled,’” which we posted last Friday.
3. On Monday, the same BigLaw partner reiterated and defended his argument in “Partner to BL1Y: Associates are ‘Self-Absorbed Egotists.’”
4. With his final rebuttal, today’s piece is again by BL1Y.
Read all four rants and vote at the bottom of this post for who you think won the debate. ]
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QI need some advice. I’m a fourth-year [male] associate at a big firm in New York. Here’s my dilemma: A not-so-cute female partner wants to have sex with me. I’m not making this up either. She flat-out came on to me last month at a firm party, and told me she was interested in a “just sex” relationship. No strings attached whatsoever. The good news, I guess, is that she’s in the litigation group, and I’m in the corporate group. So I never have to work with her. I’m not particularly attracted to her, but it might be worth it for story value. Am I an idiot for even considering this?
AYes. You’re an idiot. There’s no “story value” and shagging a “not-so-cute” female litigation partner. None. If you were proposing, say, Lady Gaga or Lindsey Lohan or even Katy Perry, I’d get it. Sort of. But to screw some law firm 4¼ for story value is pathetic.
My advice is to pretend the drunken, randy lass doesn’t exist. When you see her in the hallway, nod hello and keep moving. Bottom line: There are plenty of drunk, horny 4’s and 5’s running around New York who don’t work at your firm. Shag one of them instead.
I’m tired of partners complaining about “entitled” associates. We’ve spent a lot of time and effort getting into this profession, so when we are treated like crap by companies with supposed “one firm” and “open door” policies, we’re going to get pissed off. Most of us want to become the above-average, intellectual, genius lawyer your TTT education has already proven you, our whiny, pussy bosses, will never be. Sorry you’re bitter about having employees who are better educated than you, but you’re a grown up, so get over it and be thankful for the good fortune of having access to so much potential.
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Meet the new century, same as the old century.
For years, I was an associate at a very large multinational. At one point, I hated every second of my job. In fact, I hated it so much that I signed up to go back to school to obtain the most worthless of degrees: The LLM. During that time, I started shopping around for new jobs. One such shop, a plaintiff securities fraud boutique, offered me a few interviews . . . and at last, I landed in front of Named Partner X.
Very frankly, he said, “All resumes I’ve looked at in my life can be divided into two piles. One is full of wash outs, and one is full of loyalists. Which one are you? When you figure that out, give me a call.”
Comprehending that “wash out” most often correlates with crazy hours, competitive and untrustworthy colleagues, boring and un-compelling work and other such conditions of general misery, I opted to stick with my old shit job that at least gave me enough time to slum it with the night school kids at Temple Law.
Two months later, I got the axe. Two months after that, my ex-office’s litigation department went defunct.
Six months down the road, one of the headhunters who, just one year ago, used to kiss my ass and take me to lunch, decided to expend five seconds of her precious Macys.com time to call and inform me that Named Partner X’s firm was looking for a staffer.
At first mention, I mentally checked the “opt out” box—wanting to leave the law altogether and do something I actually enjoy. I never meant to get laid off, but I figured I might as well use the opportunity to shoot the moon. But the opportunity sounded too perfect: Learn, research, write, get paid. All things I could obviously handle. Plus, the subject matter was right up my alley (corporate fraud and financial crap). So I signed on.
For the first few months, I was deliriously happy. Yes, I was stuck in a cattle pen with other staff attorneys and treated like dirt. But the work was interesting, and I didn’t feel at all isolated—much like that form of torture so common in BigLaw.
Not to mention, plenty of unsolicited attention from Named Partner X had me feeling like the newest golden child. (Because no matter how much we say we hate it and think it’s a joke, it’s the best feeling to have that little gold star pasted next to your name, isn’t it?) Every other day or so, Named Partner X would stop in my office just to drop a devastatingly un-funny one-liner (“It’s Friday! You know what that means? Only two more days til the work week!” or, “Now that I’m in the room, has the average IQ gone up?”), not wait for much of a response (I’d maybe let out some girlish giggling) and leave. It was painfully obvious that I was on his radar. I just thought it was his professional radar.
One unassuming morning, as I was absorbed in work, Named Partner X sneaked up behind me and said something snarky about what I was typing. Just then, he put his hand on my shoulder. And it felt weird—at least for someone generally unaccustomed to any sort of workplace touching. But whatever, just some obnoxious male power-trip thing common in every American law firm. And since I had never been the recipient of a partner’s power-drunk flirtatious advances before, I was still enjoying the attention. It’s assuaged my poor, devastated laid-off ego. (I’m not ugly, but I’m no “LF10.” I don’t get good-looking men hitting on me at a bar until close to closing, after they gave up and got too drunk to do better.)
But then, last Thursday morning, I was in an empty office across the hall taking a phone call from my brother when Named Partner X snuck up behind me and grabbed me with both hands on my waist. All tickly-like. It scared the crap out of me (which, I assume, was his intent), but all I could do was say into the phone, “I gotta go, the boss is trying to grab me.” I he perceived that has a passive validation of his gesture and chuckled. I was actually being literal. By the time I hung up the phone and turned around to fully react, he was gone.
For the rest of the day, I felt possessed. I couldn’t resist and blabbed about. All giggly and nervous-like. To anyone listening within a 50-foot radius. “X just GRABBED me! Can you believe? No wonder I’m turning into a rabid feminist!” If only I wasn’t too dull-witted to realize this was making me enemies.
The next day he stopped by my door, stuck his finger in my face, wagged it and said, “You. Follow me.”
He pivoted and walked—forcing me to run after him down the hallway. While he is short, I am so much shorter that following his brisk pace required I jog. Awkwardly. In heels.
He gets me in a private office, slams the door and launches into some version of an apology whereby he keeps insisting that people need to have thick skins in his office. Yeah, that kind of apology. And the best part? Me and my response.
“Oh, no problem. I’m fine, and I love it here. I’m used to stuff. I was in the Army.”
But next thing I know, I got moved downstairs. My own space with a window, but still now firmly off his radar.
So now, not only has the partner in charge of my immediate financial future totally forgotten about me and my slim savings account, the staff attorneys all HATE me. For various reasons. Some are pissed because downstairs I now have my own space with a window—something that takes most staffers five years to get. For others, it’s the sad, unspoken jealously of having never been groped by grabby-hands Named Partner X. Topping it off: I don’t even have a fricking lawsuit to cover my ass if I get canned. All he has to do is not give me more work.
The real worst part: I kinda liked him. There was something sexy about his particular blend of being an obnoxious, liberal Jewish dude who takes time to pester his contractor staff attorney underlings—the attorneys that even freaking secretaries think they’re too good for. I had even grown to appreciate his witty banter—in 30-second intervals, at least—as long as didn’t mind the lame Henny Youngman impersonations.
But what I’m starting to realize is that he was just looking to make a younger woman uncomfortable so she would kiss his butt and further entrench the personality cult that is his law firm. And I was just one of plenty of female employees who, in this job climate, will cooperatively run down the hall after him upon whisper and wag of his index finger. It’s not right.
But unfortunately, being right doesn’t always keep you employed. It seems David Letterman is hardly a cautionary tale. And sometimes it feels as though nothing has changed since the days of Mad Men.
From BigLaw to the mom-and-pop shop, partner track bottlenecking forces every firm to suffer a garden variety of big chiefs. As a ball-busting, hopeful associate, if you don’t see yourself being (or being able to morph into) one of these five types, you may as well prepare for many frigid years of being looked over.
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