We just got sued by a former employee.
I think those involved were at first too pompous to take the situation seriously, or thought she wouldn't have the stones to sue the big, bad law firm. She obviously did and, in my opinion, the jerks responsible deserved to be named in a lawsuit.
It's not widely known, but I know this person pretty well, and had for years before either of us had ties to the firm. I knew as she was leaving that something was not quite right, but kept my distance until the dust settled and I was able to talk to her directly.
It all boils down to this: We're just like any other firm or large corporation. We portray ourselves as an upstanding, progressive firm with values and integrity, and we conduct ourselves accordingly until it's time to play politics. You may be "shown the love" and considered a family member one day, then turned on, treated like a redheaded step-child and put out in the cold the next, as soon as the wrong situation emerges.
While I won't discuss the allegations, I'll summarize the events leading up to them in this way. Remember that movie "Philadelphia"? I'm in no way suggesting the situation is even comparable to that of Tom Hanks' character (who was dying of AIDS). It's not.
I am, however, referring to the systematic way in which the character was railroaded. Hanks' character was considered by all accounts an excellent attorney who produced high-quality results. Then, according to the movie firm's partners, the character's performance changed, overnight, becoming "just mediocre to poor" in their eyes. Files, documents and other items for high-profile cases he worked were suddenly "missing" at the most crucial moments. There were suddenly "big problems" with his work. Think about this movie and how events can be created to fit any situation where someone wants an excuse to get rid of, harass, or force someone else out. So, You get the picture. If you want to set someone up, claim they're seriously impacting the firm's revenue.
My only question is this: did a few incompetent administrators playing politics set this employee up on their own, and rely on our attorneys to bail their @sses out in the end? Or were they told from the very beginning to "find" something on the employee? At any rate, those involved turned on this woman and went after her with such malice and unnecessary viciousness that I am strongly inclined to believe it had to be a set up. There was no reason for this behavior, especially when the whole suit could have been easily avoided had we handled things better.
Regardless of where the pressure originated, those involved obviously did it because they thought they could get away with it.
And firms do get away with it every day. All it takes are a few people at the top who think they're untouchable, who have too many high-priced, morally-bankrupt, corporate whores at their disposal to take care of these "situations" for them.
It will be interesting to see what happens in court. At the very least, the people who got black eyes from all of this deserved to be "put out on Front Street".
Aug 24, 2007
The Mob
I think I live across the street from the Slavic mob.
Rastislav was a nice guy, but always seemed a bit out of place in my sleepy, family-oriented, suburban neighborhood.
Anybody his age living in my neighborhood was usually a young ladder climber busting a hump on the fast track day and night to support his wife and toddlers. This guy and his girlfriend were serious party people who drove fast cars and didn't seem to work. I would picture them being more comfortable in one of those youth-oriented condo communities or in some of the lofts downtown.
The first day he moved in and walked across the street to shake my hand, I detected a slight accent, typical of someone who was born abroad, but had grown up mostly in the states. Turns out he was from a small, Slavic country. Anyhow, he struck me as a finance guy for some reason - may be it was the slicked back hair and smart glasses, but I never asked him what he did. But then it became apparent that he really "didn't work a lot," so I wasn't going to ask.
These people came and went at all hours, and there were numerous visitors to their home at all hours of the day and night. Sometimes they came and went quickly. Other times the visitors stayed a few days. Then there were the cars. All kinds of luxury cars - mostly BMW, Mercedes and LEXUS - were pulling up in front of the house. I first thought they were vehicles belonging to friends. Then I noticed they were all his - sort of. Every other week, we'd see a new Beemer or Mercedes out front with temp tags on it. We'd see the car for a few weeks parked out front or around the side and then it would be gone. Or so we thought. The vehicle would then reappear, being driven by a family member, or he would drive up in another luxury vehicle I had seen his parents or brother driving. With the level of activity at the house, the cars, and the late-night cell phone calls, I immediately thought "drugs, illegal transport, etc." Or, I thought, maybe he was a car dealer or somehow flipped cars and was trying to avoid state dealer laws by moving them around, who knew?
I overheard conversations about millions of dollars, and saw people arriving in beat up cars, staying a few days, then leaving with packages in one of his BMWs. One of my neighbors asked me if the girlfriend was a mail-order bride because she never left the house during the day, smoked all day on the porch, and sped away in a Beemer most nights, club music blaring from the car.
The police showed up one day asking me if I knew him and if he lived next door. The policeman walked around the back of the house, sat for the longest time waiting for someone to answer the door, drove around the block to look at the back of the house, etc. He said he was paying him a visit over some "parking tickets". Yeah, right.
Then there was the barbecue he hosted. I've never seen so many old, mobster types in one place in my life. Picture a backyard patio full of stern, Tony-Soprano-God-fatherish-looking old guys wearing gold chains, in their Bermuda shorts, smoking cigars.
"You spill my lemonade, Gumba?! Aawwww ,izz ok...Fo'git aboooowwwwwd it..."
He told me once that he was working a few temp jobs. Temp jobs do not afford one an expensive house, expensive cars, fancy Italian suits and shoes.
One night about 10 o'clock, I was out walking the dog. As I stood up from bending over to pick up the dog poo, I noticed a bunch of guys unloading stuff from an unmarked delivery truck into his house in the pitch dark, without a single light on in the house, the truck, the exterior, or anywhere. I had to walk past them to get back to my house. So, I walk by and said "hello." They all stop what they're doing, form a line standing shoulder to shoulder blocking the contents of the truck from view, and just stare at me, not saying a word.
I thought, "Oh sh*t, please don't shoot me out here. I don't want to be found wearing these raggedy, holey gym shorts I just threw on to walk the dog, and otherwise wouldn't be caught DEAD in ... literally!!"
For about six months now, the guy has been acting really funny, though. He'd cut off all his hair, had been even more incognito than usual, and the girlfriend hasn't been seen since winter. The number of new cars rolling through had increased and some were being parked down the street, around the corner, etc.
Suddenly, one weekend, his parents come to help him move out of the house. Why would a grown man need his parents to help him move with all the acquaintances who came and went? Unless he was on the run and didn't want anyone to know he was moving.
This is my guess, as the police are doing drive-bys daily and his mother went the extra mile to make it look like he still lived there by putting yard furniture on his porch and picking up his mail. Everybody and their brother is watching this house. And I thought I only saw this type of thing in New England....Hhhmmmmmm.
Rastislav was a nice guy, but always seemed a bit out of place in my sleepy, family-oriented, suburban neighborhood.
Anybody his age living in my neighborhood was usually a young ladder climber busting a hump on the fast track day and night to support his wife and toddlers. This guy and his girlfriend were serious party people who drove fast cars and didn't seem to work. I would picture them being more comfortable in one of those youth-oriented condo communities or in some of the lofts downtown.
The first day he moved in and walked across the street to shake my hand, I detected a slight accent, typical of someone who was born abroad, but had grown up mostly in the states. Turns out he was from a small, Slavic country. Anyhow, he struck me as a finance guy for some reason - may be it was the slicked back hair and smart glasses, but I never asked him what he did. But then it became apparent that he really "didn't work a lot," so I wasn't going to ask.
These people came and went at all hours, and there were numerous visitors to their home at all hours of the day and night. Sometimes they came and went quickly. Other times the visitors stayed a few days. Then there were the cars. All kinds of luxury cars - mostly BMW, Mercedes and LEXUS - were pulling up in front of the house. I first thought they were vehicles belonging to friends. Then I noticed they were all his - sort of. Every other week, we'd see a new Beemer or Mercedes out front with temp tags on it. We'd see the car for a few weeks parked out front or around the side and then it would be gone. Or so we thought. The vehicle would then reappear, being driven by a family member, or he would drive up in another luxury vehicle I had seen his parents or brother driving. With the level of activity at the house, the cars, and the late-night cell phone calls, I immediately thought "drugs, illegal transport, etc." Or, I thought, maybe he was a car dealer or somehow flipped cars and was trying to avoid state dealer laws by moving them around, who knew?
I overheard conversations about millions of dollars, and saw people arriving in beat up cars, staying a few days, then leaving with packages in one of his BMWs. One of my neighbors asked me if the girlfriend was a mail-order bride because she never left the house during the day, smoked all day on the porch, and sped away in a Beemer most nights, club music blaring from the car.
The police showed up one day asking me if I knew him and if he lived next door. The policeman walked around the back of the house, sat for the longest time waiting for someone to answer the door, drove around the block to look at the back of the house, etc. He said he was paying him a visit over some "parking tickets". Yeah, right.
Then there was the barbecue he hosted. I've never seen so many old, mobster types in one place in my life. Picture a backyard patio full of stern, Tony-Soprano-God-fatherish-looking old guys wearing gold chains, in their Bermuda shorts, smoking cigars.
"You spill my lemonade, Gumba?! Aawwww ,izz ok...Fo'git aboooowwwwwd it..."
He told me once that he was working a few temp jobs. Temp jobs do not afford one an expensive house, expensive cars, fancy Italian suits and shoes.
One night about 10 o'clock, I was out walking the dog. As I stood up from bending over to pick up the dog poo, I noticed a bunch of guys unloading stuff from an unmarked delivery truck into his house in the pitch dark, without a single light on in the house, the truck, the exterior, or anywhere. I had to walk past them to get back to my house. So, I walk by and said "hello." They all stop what they're doing, form a line standing shoulder to shoulder blocking the contents of the truck from view, and just stare at me, not saying a word.
I thought, "Oh sh*t, please don't shoot me out here. I don't want to be found wearing these raggedy, holey gym shorts I just threw on to walk the dog, and otherwise wouldn't be caught DEAD in ... literally!!"
For about six months now, the guy has been acting really funny, though. He'd cut off all his hair, had been even more incognito than usual, and the girlfriend hasn't been seen since winter. The number of new cars rolling through had increased and some were being parked down the street, around the corner, etc.
Suddenly, one weekend, his parents come to help him move out of the house. Why would a grown man need his parents to help him move with all the acquaintances who came and went? Unless he was on the run and didn't want anyone to know he was moving.
This is my guess, as the police are doing drive-bys daily and his mother went the extra mile to make it look like he still lived there by putting yard furniture on his porch and picking up his mail. Everybody and their brother is watching this house. And I thought I only saw this type of thing in New England....Hhhmmmmmm.
Senioritis
I'm obviously not an attorney's attorney. I feel like the people I work with are personally responsible for the fact that most people hate lawyers. I can handle most of the associates. Most of the obnoxiously annoying attorneys are our senior partners. A few special, "pieces of work" come immediately to mind.
We have Mr. Reamer. To anyone at the firm who is not an attorney - he's not Mike, he's not Michael, he's not even Mike Reamer - but must be referred to as Mr. Reamer. Gee, weren't the days of making support people call you Mister and fetch your morning coffee pretty much over in the 70's, Mike? And he speaks to them in the most condescending tones, unless he's yelling at them.
The other day he called the audiovisual guy into his office and yelled at him for at least 10 minutes for not underlining a heading in a presentation he prepared for him. I felt like breaking it down to him:
"Look, Reamer. Our AV guy actually saved your @SS and kept us all from looking like a bunch of smug, foolish jack@sses by totally revamping what was originally a pretty crappy presentation. Or can't you pull your head out of your @ss long enough to realize that?"
And there's Roselyn.
This woman is a live granade minus a pin, who's always exploding out of nowhere over nothing, screaming at the top of her lungs at whatever poor, unfortunate slob happens to be in the room at the time - whether they're involved in the matter or not.
And you never know when it's coming. She's fine one minute and the next, "Mount Rozmore" is ready to erupt. And it's always about nothing. She ripped a fellow partner up one side and down another for not having two sheets of paper paperclipped before he handed them to her. They weren't being produced or anything important, mind you.
She went off on a whole group of people who were meeting in a conference room that THEY RESERVED 2 weeks prior simply because she wanted it on a whim. So, they had to get their @sses out! NOW !!
I heard the entire group had to "army crawl" across the floor to get out of the room without being hit by any of the sh*t she was throwing at them. (This is why there are helmets hanging on the wall outside her office, people. Use 'em.)
She's also sleeping with a client. I don't know HOW she managed that. Maybe the client is some desperate old guy who wasn't willing to pass up his last possible chance for sex? I don't know how she went long enough to have sex without going off? Maybe the she could pass an outburst off as a "climactic moment of ecstasy."
Her behavior is unprofessional and embarrassing to say the least. I know she brings some very serious cash into this firm, but that's really no excuse. I'm surprised none of the other partners have tried to get her in line. Actually, it seems the problem is probably biochemical.
She really needs to check out this (below) site, know what I mean?:
http://www.bipolar.com/
Then there's Duselhorst. All this guy does is pose during meetings and admire his own manicure.
"Do you see me? Do you see how elegantly my freshly manicured hands are holding this pencil? Damn, I look good. Watch me as I'm gently and precisely laying the pencil down on my legal pad, which has absolutely no writing on the pages."
What does this guy do (except cuss out support people when they don't bring him his latte on time) ?
And last, but not least is Feaslebaum. This guy looks like a younger, Midwestern version of Woody Allen (huge, over sized glasses and all), only he never talks...to ANYONE. He paces around the firm hallways in his own fog, wearing 70s-looking sports coats with gym shoes, drinking out of dirty coffee cups people have left on the sink.
Dude has problems. Well, at least he's quiet.
I could go on, but there are enough hours in the day to finish this entry in its entirety.
We have Mr. Reamer. To anyone at the firm who is not an attorney - he's not Mike, he's not Michael, he's not even Mike Reamer - but must be referred to as Mr. Reamer. Gee, weren't the days of making support people call you Mister and fetch your morning coffee pretty much over in the 70's, Mike? And he speaks to them in the most condescending tones, unless he's yelling at them.
The other day he called the audiovisual guy into his office and yelled at him for at least 10 minutes for not underlining a heading in a presentation he prepared for him. I felt like breaking it down to him:
"Look, Reamer. Our AV guy actually saved your @SS and kept us all from looking like a bunch of smug, foolish jack@sses by totally revamping what was originally a pretty crappy presentation. Or can't you pull your head out of your @ss long enough to realize that?"
And there's Roselyn.
This woman is a live granade minus a pin, who's always exploding out of nowhere over nothing, screaming at the top of her lungs at whatever poor, unfortunate slob happens to be in the room at the time - whether they're involved in the matter or not.
And you never know when it's coming. She's fine one minute and the next, "Mount Rozmore" is ready to erupt. And it's always about nothing. She ripped a fellow partner up one side and down another for not having two sheets of paper paperclipped before he handed them to her. They weren't being produced or anything important, mind you.
She went off on a whole group of people who were meeting in a conference room that THEY RESERVED 2 weeks prior simply because she wanted it on a whim. So, they had to get their @sses out! NOW !!
I heard the entire group had to "army crawl" across the floor to get out of the room without being hit by any of the sh*t she was throwing at them. (This is why there are helmets hanging on the wall outside her office, people. Use 'em.)
She's also sleeping with a client. I don't know HOW she managed that. Maybe the client is some desperate old guy who wasn't willing to pass up his last possible chance for sex? I don't know how she went long enough to have sex without going off? Maybe the she could pass an outburst off as a "climactic moment of ecstasy."
Her behavior is unprofessional and embarrassing to say the least. I know she brings some very serious cash into this firm, but that's really no excuse. I'm surprised none of the other partners have tried to get her in line. Actually, it seems the problem is probably biochemical.
She really needs to check out this (below) site, know what I mean?:
http://www.bipolar.com/
Then there's Duselhorst. All this guy does is pose during meetings and admire his own manicure.
"Do you see me? Do you see how elegantly my freshly manicured hands are holding this pencil? Damn, I look good. Watch me as I'm gently and precisely laying the pencil down on my legal pad, which has absolutely no writing on the pages."
What does this guy do (except cuss out support people when they don't bring him his latte on time) ?
And last, but not least is Feaslebaum. This guy looks like a younger, Midwestern version of Woody Allen (huge, over sized glasses and all), only he never talks...to ANYONE. He paces around the firm hallways in his own fog, wearing 70s-looking sports coats with gym shoes, drinking out of dirty coffee cups people have left on the sink.
Dude has problems. Well, at least he's quiet.
I could go on, but there are enough hours in the day to finish this entry in its entirety.
LIKE....what??
Do you find it hard to take someone seriously who starts out every sentence
"Oh my Gawd...LIKE....wow...." ?
I wonder how some of our associates ever made it through law school. It's interesting. You have either the "clueless" extreme; the anorexic, faster talkers who apparently watched too many episodes of "Alley McBeal" when they were undergrads and need to lay off the caffeine; or you have the "perfect/pretty boy combo". What is that, you ask?
It's a guy named "Blaine", who has perfect teeth, a perfect smile, looks like a metro sexual male model, who parents probably pushed him from the time he could crawl all the way through little-league and high school toward this unattainable, if not merely superficial, level of perfection.
The email sent around the firm announcing Blaine's arrival as a new associate and briefing us on his background reads:
Valedictorian of his class;
Editor of his Ivy-League School Law Review;
Climbed the highest peaks of Mount Everest in record time;
Ran with the bulls in Spain;
Performed a tracheotomy on a dying woman at a city bus stop perfectly without any medical training !
Yet, when Blaine opens his mouth ,all that comes out is
"I dunno...LIKE...what should I...LIKE... do with these documents...?"
"Oh my Gawd...LIKE....wow...." ?
I wonder how some of our associates ever made it through law school. It's interesting. You have either the "clueless" extreme; the anorexic, faster talkers who apparently watched too many episodes of "Alley McBeal" when they were undergrads and need to lay off the caffeine; or you have the "perfect/pretty boy combo". What is that, you ask?
It's a guy named "Blaine", who has perfect teeth, a perfect smile, looks like a metro sexual male model, who parents probably pushed him from the time he could crawl all the way through little-league and high school toward this unattainable, if not merely superficial, level of perfection.
The email sent around the firm announcing Blaine's arrival as a new associate and briefing us on his background reads:
Valedictorian of his class;
Editor of his Ivy-League School Law Review;
Climbed the highest peaks of Mount Everest in record time;
Ran with the bulls in Spain;
Performed a tracheotomy on a dying woman at a city bus stop perfectly without any medical training !
Yet, when Blaine opens his mouth ,all that comes out is
"I dunno...LIKE...what should I...LIKE... do with these documents...?"
The Barkers
I desperately needed some numbers from my IT guy for a case we were close to settling, and I needed them ASAP.
Despite my conveying to him the urgency of the matter (I even marked my email "urgent" with the little red exclamation point), he said he was unable to provide them today. I even tried to bribe him with lunch so he'd bump up my request, but he said no dice because he was all tied up with this other IT project that was top priority.
Naturally, I did some digging to see who submitted the request. May be I might be able to negotiate with the attorney or paralegal to get my request done first. I find out it's "Leslie", as in "Leslie and Griffin", this married attorney couple at the firm whom I'll refer to as "The Barkers".
This is not because either of their last names is Barker, but because it is said by an unseen witness that at least one of them began BARKING(I kid you not) during a midnight sexual rendezvous that took place in his office when they thought no one was here.
It's a law firm, you idiots, some one's ALWAYS here!
Anyway, I did some more digging on this IT request that was supposedly for some top secret, bombshell case. And guess what was so urgent? She is forcing our IT people to search the back up of her hubby's old email box (he left the firm recently out of the embarrassment of not making partner) to see if he was getting any emails from ex-girlfriends or having an affair. Nice waste of time and resources...
Maybe he was having an affair. Maybe THAT's who was barking around midnight. Maybe I had the wrong Barker.
Despite my conveying to him the urgency of the matter (I even marked my email "urgent" with the little red exclamation point), he said he was unable to provide them today. I even tried to bribe him with lunch so he'd bump up my request, but he said no dice because he was all tied up with this other IT project that was top priority.
Naturally, I did some digging to see who submitted the request. May be I might be able to negotiate with the attorney or paralegal to get my request done first. I find out it's "Leslie", as in "Leslie and Griffin", this married attorney couple at the firm whom I'll refer to as "The Barkers".
This is not because either of their last names is Barker, but because it is said by an unseen witness that at least one of them began BARKING(I kid you not) during a midnight sexual rendezvous that took place in his office when they thought no one was here.
It's a law firm, you idiots, some one's ALWAYS here!
Anyway, I did some more digging on this IT request that was supposedly for some top secret, bombshell case. And guess what was so urgent? She is forcing our IT people to search the back up of her hubby's old email box (he left the firm recently out of the embarrassment of not making partner) to see if he was getting any emails from ex-girlfriends or having an affair. Nice waste of time and resources...
Maybe he was having an affair. Maybe THAT's who was barking around midnight. Maybe I had the wrong Barker.
She Needs a New Boss
Ok...this has got to be at least the 8th time today "Father Time" (one of our senior partners looks like Father Time, only with a bowl haircut and a shave) has walked into Ethel's office, thrown a pile of stuff down in front of her, and said that whatever it was had to be done today.
Picture a short, older lady who's a cross between Estelle Getty (only not THAT old and ALIVE)and Alice on the Brady Bunch, who works her @ss off, and you've got Ethel.
Ethel is here rain or shine (probably thanks to the rigid attendance policy imposed on staff), at crazy hours during the night, and works as much as any first-year, but generates little to no revenue and thus, is treated like crap.
The old dude could at least spring for lunch or dinner from time to time, or send her flowers on Secretary's Day. I can't believe the way they treat her. The only time I was even slightly inclined to yell at her was when she exploded 3-day-old fish in the microwave down the hall and I hurled in my trash can from the stench.
Well, I appreciate Ethel. And to show my appreciation, I left some empty water jugs under her desk for her to pee in on days they don't unshackle her to let her go to the bathroom. I'll even stop by and check from time to time to see if they need to be emptied...
Keep hope alive, Ethel. Keep hope alive.
Picture a short, older lady who's a cross between Estelle Getty (only not THAT old and ALIVE)and Alice on the Brady Bunch, who works her @ss off, and you've got Ethel.
Ethel is here rain or shine (probably thanks to the rigid attendance policy imposed on staff), at crazy hours during the night, and works as much as any first-year, but generates little to no revenue and thus, is treated like crap.
The old dude could at least spring for lunch or dinner from time to time, or send her flowers on Secretary's Day. I can't believe the way they treat her. The only time I was even slightly inclined to yell at her was when she exploded 3-day-old fish in the microwave down the hall and I hurled in my trash can from the stench.
Well, I appreciate Ethel. And to show my appreciation, I left some empty water jugs under her desk for her to pee in on days they don't unshackle her to let her go to the bathroom. I'll even stop by and check from time to time to see if they need to be emptied...
Keep hope alive, Ethel. Keep hope alive.
SOLD OUT
I am a corporate defense attorney for one of the largest, most prestigious law firms in the Midwest, yet I hate it.
In my professional past-life, before joining the firm, I prosecuted violent criminal cases in a major metropolitan area. I took dirt-bag murderers, rapists, wife-beaters, and drug dealers off the streets. While, at times, that was very rough on the psyche, the job was rewarding because it gave me a chance to do some good in the world.
People used to ask me if I'd become jaded through exposure to so much violence. Oddly enough, it's not my past as a prosecutor, but instead practicing corporate law at this firm that leaves me cold. (For example, it's hard to sleep at night knowing that we got a physician off on a technicality in a Medical Mal case who made a mistake during a procedure, leaving the patient in a life-long vegetative state.)
Basically, all I do now is push paper, file motions, and defend a bunch of bloated, corrupt corporations. My typical client is a "Mr.Burns" type and I am forced to be his "Smithers".
Cases now fall into 1 of 2 categories: those which are easily dismissed (regardless of whether the claim is legitimate); and those I'll have to settle because they're definitely legitimate but the possibility of making them go away is unlikely.
I thought long and hard about all of this before leaving the Prosecutor's Office and returning to Ohio. Could I stand living in Ohio again? The boredom, the humidity, the hillbillies.... But, there's an upside to living in this city. I have kids now, and it's a really safe city in which to raise them. They would also get to grow up around their grandparents. These were my main concerns, and thus the points I used to talk myself into giving up big city life and moving my family back to "Mayberry". And did I mention the cost of living, which is dirt cheap compared to a major city?
Could I stand feeling like a sell out? Well, when you have kids, and you're choosing between being able to give them a good life and living on a less than desirable salary, you do what you think is the right thing -- within reason. Don't get me wrong. When I think about less fortunate people living out of their cars, things are instantly put into perspective and I know I really have little reason to complain.
So, I'll be here (at least until my kids are through college), pushing the paper, gettin' paid, working with some seriously flawed personalities, putting up with their sh*t because they're senior partners, wishing I had a few Cyanide capsules with lunch, recoiling at the level of bullsh*t in which I find myself emerged and amusing myself with my own quiet, cynical little observations.
In my professional past-life, before joining the firm, I prosecuted violent criminal cases in a major metropolitan area. I took dirt-bag murderers, rapists, wife-beaters, and drug dealers off the streets. While, at times, that was very rough on the psyche, the job was rewarding because it gave me a chance to do some good in the world.
People used to ask me if I'd become jaded through exposure to so much violence. Oddly enough, it's not my past as a prosecutor, but instead practicing corporate law at this firm that leaves me cold. (For example, it's hard to sleep at night knowing that we got a physician off on a technicality in a Medical Mal case who made a mistake during a procedure, leaving the patient in a life-long vegetative state.)
Basically, all I do now is push paper, file motions, and defend a bunch of bloated, corrupt corporations. My typical client is a "Mr.Burns" type and I am forced to be his "Smithers".
Cases now fall into 1 of 2 categories: those which are easily dismissed (regardless of whether the claim is legitimate); and those I'll have to settle because they're definitely legitimate but the possibility of making them go away is unlikely.
I thought long and hard about all of this before leaving the Prosecutor's Office and returning to Ohio. Could I stand living in Ohio again? The boredom, the humidity, the hillbillies.... But, there's an upside to living in this city. I have kids now, and it's a really safe city in which to raise them. They would also get to grow up around their grandparents. These were my main concerns, and thus the points I used to talk myself into giving up big city life and moving my family back to "Mayberry". And did I mention the cost of living, which is dirt cheap compared to a major city?
Could I stand feeling like a sell out? Well, when you have kids, and you're choosing between being able to give them a good life and living on a less than desirable salary, you do what you think is the right thing -- within reason. Don't get me wrong. When I think about less fortunate people living out of their cars, things are instantly put into perspective and I know I really have little reason to complain.
So, I'll be here (at least until my kids are through college), pushing the paper, gettin' paid, working with some seriously flawed personalities, putting up with their sh*t because they're senior partners, wishing I had a few Cyanide capsules with lunch, recoiling at the level of bullsh*t in which I find myself emerged and amusing myself with my own quiet, cynical little observations.
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