the end-of-summer review

[Hiring Partner]: Nice to see you kid; how was the summer?

[Summer Associate]: Really great, you folks are running a stand-out operation and I'd love to be part of it.

[HP]: Funny you should mention that. Your reviews remained largely consistent since we last spoke [a few weeks ago].

[SA]: That's good to hear...

[HP]: Yeah...not really. We like to see a good deal of progress over the course of the summer program. You must understand; we don't hire lawyers into the summer program, we hire potential lawyers. You needed to show us a solid trajectory of progress towards your potential.

[SA]: I don't understand what I did wrong...

[desperation sets in as Summer Associate begins to see fearful visions of a 3L recruiting season; explaining to potential employers why she doesn't have an offer from her 2L summer; in the best case, returning to this firm on a cold offer with everyone generally disliking her.]

[HP]: As much as it disappoints us, we're going to have to go ahead and make you an offer to return as a full-time associate. Don't take it too hard, we're generally disappointed with most of you kids who wander out here.

[Hiring Partner looks out the window of his well-appointed office at the palatial plaza below and thinks: Every year you summer associates get younger, dumber and wealthier; we only get older and wealthier. Don't you see that your wealth is at our expense? For christ's sake, we had to match that obscene salary increase this spring. One hundred and forty-fucking-five thousand dollars a year just to keep you suckers coming back for more. Not to mention that if we don't invite you back, you'll talk a tremendous amount of shit about us to your friends back at Ivory-Tower-Up-Your-Ass School of Law.]

[HP]: You'll make a lot more progress when you get back and have to take a more serious view of things. Don't worry, we'll dangle a bonus in front of you and the rest will take care of itself. Do you have any questions for me?

[SA - too relieved to pose a useful query]: Not at this point. Thank you very much. I'll let you know my decision shortly. It's been a real pleasure working with everyone.

[Summer Associate flees the room, returns to her office and makes several celebratory phone calls]

tags technorati : Law Firm Summer Work

wherein we spent weeks in NYC and then returned...

[S] was in an undisclosed super top secret location over the summer somewhere in fly-over country. I missed her terribly and despite the huge paychecks, I was bored to tears. To state the obvious, relationships are difficult and complicating [ironic sic].

[S]’s arrival in the city happily bifurcated the summer. The roommate came home early from visiting family and created an awkward moment. I can't help but think there are few contextual positives for us. The perpetual background drone is that I'm leaving California in a year.

I went to work most days; the commute from the lower east side involves a 40-minute trip to law-firm row along 6th Ave. Needless to say, I wander past some rather hipster-infested bars on the way home.

I was happy to be informed over the summer of what must be the most classy line uttered by a summer to a senior associate the night before having his office cleaned out in a decidedly ceremonious firing: You don't fucking know me; I'll fucking stab you!

By all accounts, the poor chap had spent the evening getting drunk and carrying on loudly about all the nasty things he wanted to do to the associate's attractive fiancée.

I spent a good deal of time on self-guided walking tours of real estate hot spots. Turns out, there’s not much I can afford even with a proper pay check. It must be hell to be poor in this city. I guess I’ll be back in a year in a part-time vaguely bohemian bourgeois incarnation.

tags technorati : Law New York Relationship Work

"Hey sucka, your firm is our bitch!"

...spoken like a true "summer" or first year, pre-bar admission, know-nothing. As soon as someone offers you a nicer chair, you're going to be working for that "bitch" firm, you just castigated. Of course, the only firms that could possibly be in a situation to steal business from one another, or hire another to do work, enjoy the elite status that creates the insufferable ego in this little world. You have to be pretty good to be a bitch. That said, many would say that it's all the same job. You all make over $165k before taxes, you all have decent offices. But some of you have perspective, scope, depth, and all the other things that set a solid, local firm apart from those of us who rule the global roost.

If anyone's going to be classified as a "bitch," they are the contract att'ys that we hire to do the shit work that first years are too smart for and is to too boring, even for summer associates (who, one must remember, still have the option to get bored and go elsewhere). These poor folks might have passed the bar (more than I can say for myself), but they don't have offices, they don't socialize with the associates or partners...or summers; they just take assignments. From what I hear, it's a narrow job description.

I go to lunch everyday. For two hours. I never pay. It usually costs about $100/att'y. I wake up about an hour after returning to the office and then go back to work. It's really important stuff. Let's just say that dollar-wise, the collective is bringing in 10 digits...easily.

tags technorati : Law Firm Summer Work

Commentary on "Physiognomy"

An assortment of people have posted commentaries on my earlier post purporting to describe the physiognomy of the hard-ass judge. One particularly Honourable fellow over at "Have Opinion, Will Travel" found my omission of a passage on the dishonesty of the un-able prosecutor particularly amiss. While the dishonesty (legally speaking) was apparent and the rage from the bench "palpable," I would remind readers that the point of physiognomy is to allow for quick characterizations of ball-park accuracy, not immutable judgments of character. For the sake of many a well-coiffed colleague, I hope my description of the prosecutor as "fresh-faced...with a brit-pop haircut" does not encourage the judicial audience to assume the worst from anyone with more than a passing concern for appearances. See generally, Insouciant Highlights, infra (revealing the author's stance with regard to this issue).

Nevertheless, following is the rest of the story of The Un-able Prosecutor and the Hard-assed Judges: Our last observation saw the fresh-faced prosecutor in fearful colloquy with the panel, Prada loafer firmly planted in mouth. Mr. Prosecutor had just made a feeble showing of flipping through various appendices, apparently with an eye towards suggesting that he actually believed that the basis for his assertions (which were admittedly tangential to the issue under discussion: something about whether defendant had taken sufficiently obvious steps towards abandonment of some earlier infraction) lay somewhere within. The lead jurist told the feckless lad to cease and desist, that the panel was well aware of what he was trying to do and the collective mind of the bench didn't like it, not one little bit. There followed some brainstorming as to how to handle the situation with one panel member suggesting a complaint to the State Bar; "I wonder if that was a lie," mused one judge to his brethren. Did I really think they would have him clapped in irons? No, but I don't doubt that the thought crossed his mind. There was no bite, but the barking was loud and sustained. At length, the harshest sanction appeared to take the form of a promised phone call: "The folks upstairs will be hearing about this," said the head judge, clearly in reference to the DA's headquarters housed in the same building. The incident drew to a close when the prosecutor, finally removing the loafer from his mouth but still choking on the polish, stammered something about most sincere apologies...no intention to suggest the court base its ruling on matters not in the record...just describing the earlier case from memory and in passing...please don't tell my mother...et cetera, ad nauseam.

Were the panel members really “hard-asses” in the colloquial sense of exercising capricious severity? Probably not. But it might be useful to assess at a glance the attitude a judge might take towards shoddy lawyer-ing. For those anxiously awaiting the next installment of the Physiognomy series, please be patient. I’m sure we’ll have some great stories and more photos from the upcoming three-month field trip to New York.

The Physiognomy of the Hard-ass Judge

Several months ago I was attending oral arguments at the Appellate Division in San Mateo County's Superior Court. The panel was peopled with three fellows who looked sort of like this.

At one point in the docket they caught a fresh-faced prosecutor with a brit-pop haircut implying certain things about the trial record which were not, strictly speaking, actually there. The rage was so palpable, I feared they would have him clapped in irons.

As a reference for assorted lawyers and anyone who must deal with the legal system, someone should catalogue the features characteristic of the hard-ass judge so that those putting in an appearance can tell at a glance how much they can get away with. I have no knowledge of the above jurist's attitudes, but we should note first the beard. This is the sign of a man familiar with authority and directing others to apply physical force if necessary. Note also the prominent forehead which suggests you should assume him to be at least two-thirds as smart as you. We'll return to this issue periodically.