BeckitaBonita's Blog

2008-11-07T12:44:00.000-08:00

I was thinking the other day, I really like my job. The work's been good, the hours reasonable (relatively speaking), and even Cleveland Boss seems to have warmed up to me. And then, I get a call.

It was from a partner I'd met only once before, at a summer associate "field trip." She works in a different practice area from mine, and asked if I could do a small assignment- Nothing major, just a little online research. I said "sure, as long as New York Boss ok's it." (I'm knee-deep in document review for an international litagation case he's supervising) She calls back, and says to swing by her office.

Later that evening, New York Boss stops by my office on his way out, and rather cryptically says "You know, as a word of advice, don't get caught between two partners." I of course acknowledge the advice, a little confused about what he's saying. he continues, "It's never a good place to be, and in the end, you just end up making people mad."

Maybe he knew something I didn't, because I was here till 10pm last night doing research for and it's totally nonbillable, so i'm falling behind on my billables and all those hours count for shit. Several hours with Lexisnexis later, I'd crafted for her a 2-inch thick binder of research, organized by section and tabbed with post-it flags every time a point relevent to her presentation arose. We'll refer to this partner as Omarosa from here on out.

She finally arrives in the office around 3 this afternoon. I drop off the binder, and Partner Omarosa says it looks good. Oh, and could I just write up a memo summarizing everything? That would be nice. And then she says it, right to my face with a smile..."Monday is fine." I nodded back "Great!" - my ridiculous smile probably looked like one of those highschool cheerleaders at those Disney competitions where it's unclear if they are grinning or baring their teeth at rival squads. Of course, she kept the binder, meaning I have to re-print every case in it, and then read them, and summarize them. This will take an entire day if I'm fast...an entire day I already earmarked to play catchup with the other billable work for the partners I'm already working with on actual cases. I turned an walked out the door in a bit of a daze, forgetting my notes in the binder. No sooner am I in the hallway than Omarosa calls me back to get it saying "you left your notes...you're probably going to need my cellphone number this weekend. And feel free to email it me on Saturday if you're done early."

Ugh.

2008-11-06T12:48:00.000-08:00

I had a battle with the coffee machine, trying to get it to dispense hot water during a client meeting. I bought this fab organic Moroccan Mint tea... it's delish with a few tablespoons of sugar. To make the damned machine work, You have to press a little button that looks like a lock and then a little button that looks like a red faucet. (not the little buttons that look like a beakers, a pitcher, an envelope, and a window- I don't know what those do) I guess it's a locking mechanism so that you can't just pour hot water willy-nilly- someone might sue if they got hurt. Anyhow, as we were gearing up to restart the questioning, I couldn't get it to work, not noticing it was because someone had left a packet of french roast in the dispenser. I kept pressing the buttons, but nothing happened. So Boss walks over, gives me the "you helpless idiot" look, and presses a couple buttons. Well, it worked- kind of... A steady stream of the most foul-smelling brown coffee-like liquid (that I imagine is supposed to pass as instant French Roast) starts squirting into my half-full cup of mint tea, finally stopping juuuuust shy of the brim...

I of course start laughing hysterically- the appropriate response when something only mildly humorous happens in a meeting with two partners and a client. Boss looks confused. I explain that "it's coffee"...he says "that's what you wanted wasn't it?" and then notices the tea tab on the side of the cup, and immediately looks very sheepish. I continue laughing hysterically. (Thank God the Client, who had helped me figure out the machine earlier, also finds it highly amusing) FBI boss looks stoic, unmoved, and possibly a tad annoyed.

Now I'm stuck with what to do with this nasty concoction. I remove the cup. Boss looks horrified, and says "you're not going to drink that, are you?" (he really thought I was going to, too- Apparently, after seeing me atop my desk barefoot he now puts nothing past me from riding a pink scooter to work to this) "well, no, I can't just leave it there, can I?" Of course, the conference room is nowhere near a kitchen or bathroom, so this practically spilling mug of steaming hot grossness has to be carefully carried across half the office, including two giant turkish rugs. I sloooowly make my way over to the ladies room, and notice a water fountain at the entrance. I'm did it! I made it without spilling a drop.

Then I dump the whole mug out in the trough, and it goes EVERYWHERE. Apparently, water fountains are really shallow and not meant to handle more than a trickle of water. I had coffee all over my jacket, my skirt, coffee splotches on my nylons, and across and in my shoes. After 10 minutes in the ladies room with wet paper towels, I was still damp, smelled of minty coffee, and had funny spots all over my high heels. Gah.

Post-script:
I ran into Cleveland Boss in the elevator the next day who mentions that he has something for me. I look frightened and ask what (assuming that he's found the perfect project for me, in addition to my now overdue other 3 which I'm already working on). He hands me a bag of "Calming Chamomile for Quiet Moments." I inform him of the disposal mishap. He tells me that next time, I should find a conveniently located plant... Apparently, I'm not the only smartass in the office.

2008-10-20T13:11:00.000-07:00

Cleveland Boss seemed in a good mood. But it was like 10am, and he's always in the best mood between about 9:30 and 11.

I'm working on an article for him. On Monday, he asked me when the article was due because he had no idea (um...Friday...?) and then reminded me to get it done before Friday. Good Job, Boss. That was helpful. He then asked me when I'd have it done. I told him I would have it to him by Friday.

Well, at least we had a dialogue...

2008-10-17T14:13:00.000-07:00

"Colleen", Cleveland Boss' long-suffering secretary, told me today was a much calmer day to stop by and talk with Boss regarding the article (which is now due in one week, even though we still have no topic.) I stop in, and no Boss. "Colleen" swears he was just in, and I make a crack about him hiding under the desk to avoid me. This is overheard by the "Ana" the Latina concessions lady who has probably been here at Baker in her spotless white uniform serving cokes for about as long as Boss has been here looking confused in his mustard-yellow tweed jackets.

As I pass her on my way back to my office, yellow pad in hand-

Ana: "Are you looking for Meester Cleveland?"

Me: "Yes, have you seen him?"

Ana: (whispers) "I theenk he's in the men's room. He usually takes heez newspaper so he might be a while."

She then happily goes back to restocking the tea caddy.

As if I wasn't uncomfortable enough around Boss, I now know his bathroom habits. Arg.

2008-10-14T14:34:00.000-07:00

So today is the submission deadline for the credit crisis article I've been working on. I make edits, send to Boss' secretary, who sends it back. Boss asks me to make the final edits. I do so on paper, with blue ink. I give to Boss I resume work. I then go to the bathroom. I'm washing my hands on my way out of the bathroom when I hear my name paged on the PA system. I know this isn't good.

I go back to my office. Of course it is Boss who is angry that I didn't answer my phone. He left a message saying to call him. I call him back.

Boss answers. Boss is unhappy. He makes this known. Apparently the version I edited did not have "Colleen," his secretary's, edits. I try explaining that it is indeed the same document and the most recent version available to me. Boss says this makes no sense. Apparently, Boss does not like computers. Boss is uninterested in why problem occurred but wants it fixed. Now. Boss says to email a word document to Colleen rather than attaching a document from the main file site. I try to explain that in order to email the word document, I would have to download it from the mail file site, which would be the same document in the end. Boss says this also makes no sense, and that I should just send a word document. I stop trying to explain and say "Right away." This ends the conversation.

I call "Colleen". She also does not understand what Boss wants. I explain to her that Boss wants a word document. Colleen acknowledges that this does nothing to salvage the edits made to the previous version, but does not question the chosen solution. Colleen re-does all the edits.

Colleen sends me a confirmation of the final article submission. It is slated to appear in an upcoming edition of Bob's Litigation Journal (or Something), authored by "By Franklin W. Cleveland III, Partner." In a footnote, I am acknowledged for my contribution to the article. I feel a sense of acheivement. Woot.

2008-10-14T14:22:00.000-07:00

After writing that uber-cheesy marketing puff-peice, Boss floated another article for me to do. This one is 600 words (i.e. really short) but is slated for publication in a glossy-paged quarterly Which, upon looking at it, appears to be a *real* magazine...kinda like a niche-economics mini-foreign affairs. Its editorial board includes Paul Krugman and George Soros, and...drumroll...I have ten days to write this thing. Eek. Again, I have no clue.

Below is an amended version of the email Boss sent me... Is this punishment or a vote of confidence? Or both?

This is apparently boss-speak for "I'm sorry for yelling at you, but you should have done it faster/earlier. Now start on the next one!" I particularly liked the part where he says I should get a feel for "tone"- perhaps his way of saying, "please no more super-cheesy chiches... please?!"

Thanks for all your hard work on the article. Sorry for all the stress yesterday. That's why I like to have things done in advance. Monday deadlines are the worst.

The editor sent me a copy of the magazine. I'd like you to look at it so that you have an idea of the tone, format, and audience, assuming you are willing to do another article. This one is shorter, but that won't necessarily make it easier. Let's discuss.

Thanks again.

Boss

2008-10-10T13:48:00.000-07:00

I think I could start an entire blog by this name. My boss has the magical way of making all conversations with you intensely awkward in ways that no one can ever really put their finger on, generally with the result of darting eyes and nonsensical babble. Not in a creepy way or inappropriate way, but more like how a teenager feels when running into her high school Calculus teacher at the mall kind of way.

This morning he came to my office re: my article, to find me slumped over my keyboard, face in hands, rubbing my eyes in pain, looking at case citations. (Yeah, doing work is hard.)

He gave me back my article with revisions today. His major point? Remove all citations/quotes to internet billionaire Mark Cuban, because "I don't really like him. They're good quotes and all, but I just don't like Mark Cuban" Um. Ok.

Me: "But the Steve Schwarzman quotes are ok? You like him?"

Fritz (paraphrase): "Yeah. I like Schwarzman. Those can stay."

Schwarzman? He likes Schwarzman? I was about 2 seconds from retorting that I, on the otherhand, really dislike Steven Schwarzman, and however much Mark Cuban might be a self-centered wacky loose cannon, Steve Schwarzman is twice the arrogant jerk that Mark Cuban even when he's asleep or under anesthetic. Instead I laughed, and while openly laughing at your boss for his irrational hatred of internet billionaires is not preferred office behavior, it's still a distant second to openly mocking/challenging them on it. Or, put differently, nervous uncomfortable laughter is always a preferred response to nervous, uncomfortable sarcastic babble.

I think I'm making progress here.

2008-10-09T14:19:00.000-07:00

* This morning I stopped by Boss' office to deliver my first draft of the article I've been writing for him. It's 3 days late from our agreed upon schedule. In my usual babble-y way, I apologized for being slow, giving the reason that it took me a long time to do. (I know, my logic was particularly compelling today.) He was nice about it, and said something like it's often challenging to create quality work product on demand, to which I responded (genius), "yeah, sometimes it's really hard to do work." Wow.

* Work is getting to the point where I think I'm really enjoying it. I'm relaxing a bit more- it doesn't feel like an all-day interview anymore. And when I pass my own reflection in a plate-glass window I no long feel like I'm on my way to audition for a David E. Kelly dramedy.

* Bar exam results come out in a week. I'm already planning for failure. I figure I'll have to first 'fess up to Boss then take the rest of the day off. I will let myself be sad for 1 (one) day and after that, I will then tell myself it's no big deal and act like everyone fails the bar the first time. I may pass the bar yet, but I figure I need not plan for that- I'll figure out what to do pretty quickly.

* I'm developing my own work style...I call it "lawyer-colorful." (I don't, but if the wierdos on What Not To Wear can name their style, so can I.) It involves a lot of black. but with funner stuff. Today I'm wearing a new violet-purple outfit that Boyfriend said was "very Jackie. O." I liked that. It wasn't deliberate, but I realized I enjoy the irony of my tendency to pair girlish stuff with officey-stuff...like swapping out the nude pantyhose and pointy heels for black tights and round-toed patent maryjanes, or putting my hair in a headband or ponytail with a pantsuit. I also wear that little Tiffany's heart pendant a lot. Maybe I should rename my style school-girl chic...

* I've progressed. I felt like I needed a treat this morning for finishing that article, so I went to Au Bon Pain for a treat- Petit Pain with powdered sugar and drizzled chocolate on top, with fresh squeezed OJ. I feel a bit bad spending $5 on breakfast...but...yum.

2008-06-05T14:11:00.000-07:00

It's been a while since I've posted anything, but then something happens that just MUST be shared with the world.

It's 95 degrees out today, so what better way to slog through the Trusts and Wills portion of my bar review class than by sitting in a bikini pool-side? And I lucked out too- just as I was entering, the lone occupants, an Asian couple and their toddler, were exiting, leaving the entire area to me. So there I am, lounging on a such chair on my sea-turtle patterned beach towel, on my bluetooth with Ramona discussing whether if Rachel and Joey had lived in Virginia rather than NYC, their cohabitation would have resulted in a valid presumption of paternity. I think nothing of a serviceman clad in his blue service shirt and navy shorts with Ben Franklin hair and Chris Farley body entered the clubhouse adjacent.

Next thing I know, a ball of pale, jiggly flesh clad only in a small, red pair of swim trunks goes hurtling out of the French doors of the clubhouse and into the pool, cannonball style. As he emerged, he slicked back his balding-Ben Franklin hair, and loudly said, "oooh YEAH."

That was awkward. I pretended not to notice. I stammered something into the phone about a multifactor test.

But thinking I had apparently had not heard him. He says it again. Louder. "ohhh yeah." There were then some moans. Some grunts. Your basic array of sex noises. And of course, more Oh Yeah's, all while in the pool, facing me.

I don't know what happened next. I didn't stay to find out. I told Ramona that I forgot my hiliter at home and had to go get it (a bad excuse, since I had 2 sitting next to me at that point.) and high-tailed it out of there.

2008-04-10T14:08:00.000-07:00

It occured to me it has been quite some time since my last blog. This is clearly not because I have nothing to complain about- quite the contrary. I've had this flu that turned into *the cough* and I'm too busy violently heaving and cursings the flimsy sandwich bags I have instead of functioning lungs. But, I digress...

Needless to say, after first being sick, and now sounding sick, I've fallen behind beyond the usual half-assed studying to full-blown textbooks-unopened for days behind. Thus, that Wilton cake decorating course I signed up for a month ago at Michaels was already seeming to be a poor choice. I missed last thursday's class to stay in bed, but told my instructor I'd come in early this week to make up the lesson and learn how to do the frosting rose. I had only the best of intentions.

Well, Scalia was giving a speech on campus today (I couldn't miss Nino, could I?) so...I was not 30 minutes early. I was instead 10 minutes late, with no cake to decorate but some cupcakes I made the past weekend. I tried to make the rose...just like in the book. Using green frosting was a mistake, because after the flower came out all wilty and floppy looking, I realized I had made a fantastic cabbage but a really crappy rose. Meanwhile, my classmates were making fantastic cakes, that coudl have come straight out of that glass case in Kroger's, decorated with rose sprays, tied with neat litte frosting bows. I tried again. and again. Proving that practice doesnt' ALWAYS make perfect, I couldnt' even replicate my succesful cabbage again. I did, however, manage to drop at least two attempts on the floor and rip an icing bag so the swirls of frosting were coming out the sides and not the tip. I was about to fold a new wax paper bag and try, try again, but then I had a thought.

I would rather have been studying. Seriously.

At that point, it was all over. Never mind that I had yet to master the lesson, while the rest of the students were almost done decorating their entire cakes. Never mind that I was now smeared in confectioners sugar with only 45 minutes separating me and successful completion of course one. I realized that, a) I sucked at cake decorating, and b) I didn't really care if I did. I could have tried, and I'd like to think that eventually, I might have gotten the hang of it. Or, I could pack my bag, tell Ms. Janet Worrell (Certified "Wilton Method" cake decorating instructor for the Charlottesville location of Michael's craft store) that I was terribly sorry to leave early but I had an 8pm appointment that I was running late to. Within 5 minutes I was in the minivan, driving home. And I haven't looked back.

Incidentally, the only result of this failed class was one frosted cupcake with a warped looking multiculored rose on top. I accidentally set my purse on top of it while getting into the van, but not until after I had preserved its memory with a cellphone photo. I"ll probably paste it to facebook... Now to try and get the red icing off of white leather...

2008-02-11T14:43:00.000-08:00

In a few short months, I'll be graduating. So begins three months of buying overpriced invitations, paying cap and gown fees, or contributing to some "class gift' which will inevtably be something like an ugly fountain or yet another bust of Thomas Jefferson that will be placed in some out-of the way corner of a courtyard looking misplaced just so that they can say 92% of highly indebted students indebted themselves even further because they loved this place so much, so you too should give us money.

The one boon has always been the graduation speaker. Usually some high profile alum, the past three years included Janet Napolitano, (Governor of AZ) David Baldacci (Bestselling Author) and Senator Evan Bayh of Illinois. I would have been excited had any of those people spoke at my graduation- not only would it have been interesting, but it's kind of cool to show off to the grandparents. Ok, I'm shallow and pretentious. But it's MY day and I've paid enough to get here! I even had to take some tests and read some books along the way, too. I deserve to feel important.

So this week they announced the graduation speakers for this year's law graduation. They wanted a dynamic speaker. Someone who wouldn't polarize the students. Prefereably, someone outside of political office, but that could still testify to the power of the UVA law degree and all that could be achieved with it. So naturally, a great fit would be the PGA Tour Commissioner.

My first thought, of course, was "PGA? That's GOLF, right?" Well, I do go to UVA. I shouldn't be surprised if our caps and gowns are navy blue with orange argyle. Geez. And of course, we ARE going to be lawyers. And what lawyer DOESN'T love golf? Right? I'll be honest. The only golf club I've ever swung was the kind you use on astroturf, and prior to today, I didn't know that there was a PGA tour Commissioner. I'm not even really sure I know what the PGA tour is. I'll admit it, I was a bit disappointed.

The Law Weekly featured an article about Commissioner Finchem, a distinguished-looking white male member of the class of '73. He's got quite a resume, actually. He was chosen for the position of commission from a short list that included Dan Quayle, and is best known for rescinding professoinal golf's ban on Bill Murray (no, seriously.). He had run unsuccessfully for commonwealth attorney in '77. He was staff director for Carter's '80 campaign, and finance director for Mondale's campaign in '84. Ok, so he's not who I would have chosen, but maybe I could at a least learn a thing or two from him about getting over disappointment.

2008-01-26T14:31:00.000-08:00

A travel puzzlebook of Jordan's offered this tidbit of wisdom: The word travel comes from the root "travails" because in the old days, travel was very difficult and grueling. Maybe we haven't progressed as far as we think we have...

It's currently 4:26 am, EST and I'm up, typing on MySpace. For those that know me well, it would normally be unusual for me to be up this late, but a week after a rather grueling return trip home from Asia, I have developed a bizarre jet-lag induced sleeping schedule which involves an evening nap, and then another in the early morning hours. In general, this means that I get to enjoy most of the few daylight hours offered this time of year (from about 7:30 to 5:30, roughly.) However, sleeping throught normal dinner hours and my unwillingness to cook at 2 am has meant my meals have included such healthy items as oreos and milk, or a variety of products bearing the "Campbell's Chunky" label.

The plane ride back was quite an adventure. We crossed twelve time zones, flying from Kuala Lumpur to Taipei to LA, where Jordan and I parted ways. Despite calling ahead to book our seats, a window and a middle seat, upon checking in we found that they had reseated us. Our new seats were the same: a window and a middle seat, but separate from each other. This makes NO sense, seeing as the people next to us were both traveling alone, but we took the seats thinking that as I had been reseated in an emergency exit with no seats in front of me, surely someone would trade. Well, that didn't work out, seeing as while the people next to me had a good four feet of leg room, I instead had a large bulkhead purporting to contain a fourty-foot inflatable slide at my feet. I became quite adept at sitting with my legs at a 75 degree angle to the right of me over the course of the 14 hour flight.

To make matters worse, they had the little fold-out tv sets and a seat pocket beneath the window because there were no seats in front of me. Naturally, my book of crosswords fell out of the overstuffed pocket containing three copies of all the normal in-flight perfume catalogs and laminated cards, etc, and so I had to kneel down in the dark to fish under the seat for it. Of course, while I was doing this, the tv, which I had pushed up to gain access, fell down, trapping me between the seat and the bar holding it up. I couldn't lift up up again from behind me after about 5 minutes of trying, and finally found a way to crawl out from under it. I can't tell if the woman next to me was amused, annoyed, or just embarassed for me.

We arrived in LAX, and poor Jordan had to scramble, since he only had a short time before his 1pm flight back to Charlottesville. I took my time, only to find that the check-in for my flight had closed already. Customer service informed me that this was because my flight no longer existed, and at some point while I was over the pacific ocean they rebooked me onto a flight that closed its doors at some point around when I was still taking my duffle out of the overhead bin of my previous flight. 45 minutes in line later, I managed to get an overnight flight to DC with an ETA in C'ville of 9:30 am. To translate, this meant that before my flight even began boarding, Jordan was brushing his teeth for bed.

I was also offered some inane and semi-technical response of why they could not reroute my baggage once it was tagged for a particular flight, regardless of the fact that the flight no longer existed, and in order for me to recieve my luggage I would either have to drive to Richmond, or wait for them to send it to chicago, then DC, and then Charlottesville, but not to worry, I would have it by the end of the week. Jordan's luggage went missing in the fray too, but his arrived in 2 days, whereas mine took 3. And this, my friends, is why you should always pack a toothbrush and some spare undergarments in your carry-on.