Greetings, TPS Nation! Welcome back to the paralegal playground on this fabulous Friday. I was told a rather humorous story by a paralegal the other day that inspired me to write today’s humor post. Well, at least part of it, anyway. Happy reading! And do try to stifle your laughter. The esquires down the hall might hear you.
The Perils of Manual Filing.
Not too long ago, I found myself providing my trusty intern (now turned legal assistant), Rob, with a verbal lesson regarding the many (many, many, many) perils of manual filing. I told him how fabulous it truly is to place random papers into their redwell homes. How incredibly fun and satisfying it is to sort and shuffle random papers around one’s office for hours on end..make that DAYS on end. (I’m getting all warm and fuzzy just thinking about it.) I emphasized to him how nothing EVER ends up in the wrong file. I then decided to end our captivating lesson with a realistic visual aid.
(Need I say more?)
Okay, I will say just a wee bit more for the benefit of all of the newbies out there. I hear you silently asking WHY paperclips are the devil. I know it may not be readily apparent. And now for the big reveal — Here’s why: Because random papers will SOMEHOW manage to inadvertently wedge their way into the back of that dandy little paper clip…I know you don’t think they will, but trust me, they will…and before you know it…Guess what? Papers make their way into the W-R-O-N-G files. When it comes to locating coveted sheets of important legal papers for completely stressed out esquires, this is the equivalent of a person dying a slow-and-painful-manual-filing-death and winning an immediate one-way ticket to a pandemic of widespread paralegal panic. Just to recap:
Drop the paper clip.
Use those handy little binder clips, instead.
Save the sanity of a paralegal near you.
We have officially reached the end of the manual filing lesson.
Layla the TPS wonder-dog is mad at the fearless founder.
And I mean mad as hell-oooo my paralegal friends.
I know, I know, it’s shocking. I couldn’t believe it either. I feed her every morning. I cuddle with her on my couch every night. I buy her toys. I let her in and out 3,000+ times each day. I really CANNOT figure out WHY.
Ba ha ha. I really couldn’t help myself. (I’ll give her an extra handful of treats tonight for being a good sport and giving it her all, as the fearless TPS mascot. She is seriously NOT laughing. But I am.)
Nothing like a call on your lunch break from the esquire.
A paralegal somewhere in the United States of America was on her lunch break one day, leisurely strolling through a nearby Target store. I’m pretty darn sure she was enveloped in a complete and total state of euphoric-shopping-non-law-related-bliss, as she contemplated her next soul enhancing selection, when her boss left her the following voicemail message:
“I’m pretty sure you just looked at your phone, saw that it was me, hit the volume key to silence the ringer, and then put your phone back into your purse.”
Rumor has it that is PRECISELY what happened during this paralegal’s lunch break, people. (It bears mentioning that said paralegal, after listening to this cryptic voicemail, began looking around the Target store to see if the esquire was, in fact, watching her.) You been there? You done that one? (And no, this really wasn’t me. I do have legal friends. Besides, my boss knows better than to call me during a lunch break, unless it is a hard-core emergency, there is a national crisis, he is bleeding profusely and needs me to immediately transport him to the nearest emergency room…or an insane asylum… (either way), or he is phoning to verbally articulate an incredibly generous offer consisting of a one-way plane ticket to Hawaii, an all-inclusive trip to Barbados, or a large bonus check, to be paid upon my eager return to the firm during the aforementioned lunch break.)
How many pairs of flip-flops do you think a girl needs to bring to Hawaii???
It’s like the paralegal featured in the story above was directing a biographical screenplay entitled, “I’m on my lunch break, so go away.” I seriously cannot stop giggling at that entirely relatable scenario and the priceless visual image in my mind. (If only we had it on video.)
Check your common sense at the copy room door.
Like ALL of it.
One day I, the fearless founder, strolled into the copy room. I was standing at the duplicator of doom/vengeance, which is aptly named, “pleeeeease just one more copy,” internally praying or swearing (I honestly cannot recall which), when I happened to glance down because something caught my eye. To my immediate left was an empty (well, almost empty) box — you know, the kind that the reams of copy paper arrive in when they are transported deep into the confines of copying hell in the legal kingdom. And what did I see?
It was obvious someone had torn open a ream of paper and decided to pitch its papyrus carcass into that empty box, rather than into the trash can (which it bears mentioning – was located the exact same distance away, only a whopping 3 feet in the opposite direction.) No biggie. I wasn’t sweating it. Calm and cool – that’s me. I decided to roll with it. I also decided to continue to dwell inside my “happy” bubble, unaffected by people’s weird acts of human stupidity. I internally prayed (or swore) a bit more, made the rest of my copies, and moved on down that carpeted track of legal glory back to my office.
But a few hours later, I returned to the dungeon of duplication doom and was completely and utterly amazed by what I found.
Let me be clear — both of these items are TRASH. They will not throw themselves away. This box is NOT a makeshift trash can for the mentally impaired. (Or is it?)
This incident MAY or may not have inspired me to engage in a sudden bout of paralegal arts and crafts, consisting of a creative collage of pictures that is set forth below. (Disclaimer: I clearly work at a “fun” office. We work really hard, but have a good time doing it. Hence, my creative vision for the future of the copy room.)
Okay, scroll on down to check out the pics.
You really must.
Clearly, some of my finer work.
(Are you with me here?)
(This is where the heavy lifting comes into play. Bring a back brace if you must, people. This is where it gets laborious.)
(Master location services specialist – legal edition at your service. You betcha. You can be a detective! Kind of like, “Where’s Waldo,” only the trash receptacle version in a law firm. But you MUST focus.)
(In a word: VICTORY.)
Please feel free to post these in a copy room near you. Consider it a free gift from The Paralegal Society to you.
Heck, while we’re at it – here’s another copy room sign for you. I cannot take the credit for the contents of this one. But it’s fabulous. Print it out and save it for a future day when it is needed. Post it. Then run and hide out in your office. Be sure to listen closely for the aftermath.
In case you were wondering if the fearless founder is still partially sane, wickedly creative and slightly funny, the answer is “yes.”
(Photo created via Bitstrips)
That is officially all. Upward and onward, my fellow paralegal gladiators. The road is long, the battle difficult, and the paralegals weary. Thankfully, the weekend is upon on.
Have an absolutely fabulous time trick or treating with your children, passing out candy to the little ones, bundling up in 30 coats, 9 scarves and winter boots…or doing whatever else it is you’ll be doing on Halloween! We’ll see you soon, TPSers.
Until then, keep it real. Work hard. Have fun.