By: Jamie Collins
Welcome to the inner ramblings of the fearless founder’s brain. Scary stuff, we know. Perhaps even a twinge funny. So pull up a chair. Grab your fantabulous beverage of choice. Be prepared to place your left hand over your mouth (in a unified paralegal salute) to muffle the laughter in the event it befalls you. Keep reading.
And in case you were wondering how much I missed all of my favorite readers during my recent blogging hiatus – It was dis much.
Hypothermia v. Heat Stroke – Round One
(Clearly NOT ruled in favor of the paralegal)
Among the latest list of office problems is the issue of temperature. There seems to be two extremes currently available within the confines of my office space: Dante’s Inferno and “Frozen,” minus Elsa, and the castle. Yes, I have a portable heater in my office, folks. Yes, I made the mistake of turning it on once. You see, when you have a window facing south (as in, directly peering into the scorching ball of fire commonly known as “the sun”) you bake through the window blinds from about 10:00 a.m., until the blessed hour of a bee-line departure, around 5:00 p.m. You may start out your day shivering in your office. You might even find yourself clutching a 9×12 envelope in your hands, popping it open to inflate it, and attempting to catch your own breath in some type of a makeshift version of a paralegal heat trap, while drafting your Last Will and Testament in an effort to tell people what in the hell needs to happen upon your death, which (you swear) is near, because you can barely feel your fingertips. Your brain is becoming hypothermic and beginning to shut down. So you decide to turn on the heater. Bad move. No, seriously…a really bad move.
The heat will somehow (and completely unbeknownst to you) secretly stow itself in your office. Although you will feel comfortable when the heater is on – and may even find yourself wrapped in an invisible air blanket of warmth and gratitude, a few hours later, you will, undoubtedly, deeply regret that decision. Once the beams of Satan’s fury come beaming through the small cracks in your window blinds, it’s over. The heat will rise. Or return. Don’t ask me where it comes from. I am not sure. All I can tell you is that you do not (as in ever, ever, ever) turn the portable heater on, if your office window faces south. I would highly recommend a Sherpa blanket, heated chair cushion, and those little thingies you stick into your shoes as an entirely viable alternative to blowing warmth. I continue to pray for the season known as “spring,” when the hot rays of death will be slightly higher overhead and not glaring through my soul, or so they tell me.
Welcome to my new world.
I have a view. I decided to take a pic to share it with you, my favorite gals and guys.
It’s pretty darn hard not to feel moderately successful and semi-brilliant, while typing letters and pounding out pleadings overlooking a great view of the city, notwithstanding a heat stroke. I’m not gonna lie – it’s pretty spectacular, especially when compared to the gray goose (as in: feathers, no cubes) filled parking lot I peered down upon in a former work life. The city drive and parking are my new nemesis. But the view is pretty darn fabulous.
The clouds parted and an iced coffee (finally) dropped onto my desk.
So, the coworker brought me a large iced coffee from McDonald’s on a Thursday. It was the greatest thing to ever happen to me. I am exaggerating. Slightly. When the first taste of it touched my soul, I found it to be life-changing. Okay, not really. But I decided to allow the happiness to linger for a while longer. I drank very little of it in an effort conserve my happiness for a later date. (Kind of like those freaks on Survivor who eat 12 grains of rice at each meal and save the next 12 for a meal to come later). I did affix a tidbit of napkin/tape to the tip of the straw to ward off any cooties, and properly label the aforementioned soul-soothing beverage in an entirely appropriate manner as, “Jamie’s happiness tomorrow” prior to placing it into the fully stocked refrigerator. (The one I occasionally contemplate sticking my head and/or entire body into, once my office reaches the full magnitude of Satan’s fury – typically around 80 degrees. I tell no lies.)
Since I was pretty sure at least some of you may believe me to be exaggerating (slightly) with regard to this dreaded climate control (or a complete and total lack thereof), I decided to whip out the camera on my iPhone. Here goes.
WTH is this a picture of you, you ask? That’s a really great question! Try my iced tea FIVE MINUTES after placing 3 large ice cubes into it. Do you see any ice cubes? I don’t see any ice cubes. Satan? Anyone? Ice cubes? My coworker shall serve as confirmation that there were, indeed, ice cubes, but if you blinked – you missed them. The heat in my office melted them in 300 seconds flat…in case anyone was counting. Melted and gone. Goodbye. At this point, I believe I may suffer a heat stroke. I fear for my future writing. And my life.
And now, we’ve reached the portion of today’s blog post when a certain blogging someone had a creative half hour of power. It dawned on me the other day that the acronyms we all see in our daily work lives could use a little dazzling up. So I decided to make up my own. From this day forward, ditch the boring acronyms and use mine instead. You just may find yourself laughing in your own mind one day in the not-so-distant future. Take heed.
These Are The New Legal Acronyms:
A.S.A.P – at speeds approaching possibility. You gotta love this one. “As soon as possible.” Sounds easy enough, but look at any paralegal’s rolling to do list, freaked out bosses, and myriad of requests, while fanning the flames of deadlines death, and it becomes darn near laughable at times. I mean, it’s not like we can bend space and time, so I’m pretty sure my descriptor is FAR more accurate. (Did I nail that one or what? Don’t answer that. You know it’s true.) You are welcome.
D.O.L. – formerly known as “date of loss. Now known as the “dawn of labels.” Now, I do realize this one may be lost entirely on those of you working in BigLaw. I understand. But it will certainly not be lost on the small firm paralegals all across the nation who rise up alongside me on the new-file-creation-cause-that’s-your-job-battlefield. That new file hits your desk. What happens next? Yep, you guessed it…the dawn of labels. (Get your file folders out, peeps. It. Is. On.) You with me here? The dawn of labels is real. Grab your redwells.
N.P.R. – formerly known as “non-party request” but far more accurately described as, “never-ending papered ridiculousness.” Please note this papered ridiculousness also includes those pesky friggin’ CDs…the ones sent to you by insurance companies and opposing attorneys in an attempt to preserve the rain forest, notwithstanding a paralegal print out on an NPR job…multiplied by 30,000. (Is it just me or do those things come every other day. Do not answer that.) NPR + papered ridiculousness = yes. Grab your machete, it’s getting deep…
W.T.H. – okay, actually I really like this one. We aren’t changing a thing. It stands. It’s my go-to phrase (at least mentally) for darn near everything in work, and in life. No, seriously….WTH?!? If I haven’t uttered this phrase mentally in the past 5 minutes, please prop me up in the executive chair, check for a pulse, and pour me a fresh iced tea. In the event this should actually occur, do worry. Deeply. The blog is doomed.
C.O.A. – as in “change of address,” which shall forevermore, from this day forward, be known as “chronic occupational assumption.” As in: one you made (an assumption) that the esquire would actually tell you (because that would make a whole lot of sense) if he spoke with a client who told him (perhaps even the sole intent of the call) about a recent “change of address.” Heh. Note: this one appears to be an ongoing syndrome for some, although I wouldn’t know a thing about that. But in the event I did know a thing or twenty-five million about this one…it would undoubtedly make my list of current pressing issues. Surely, I, (I mean all of those other people) are not the only ones running the leader boards on the dreaded “wrong address” games. (My head is in the refrigerator and I have absolutely no idea where my clients live. That is all.)
Esq. – (Yes, I know this one is not an acronym. No, I do not care.) You probably know this one as “esquire.” Boy, that’s exciting. But let’s breathe a little life into it. Here goes: “essential (to the) survival (of the) queen. Yep. Sorry, fellas. I’m loving that one – feel free to substitute the word “quest” at the end, if you so desire. As for me – the Queen – please pass the tiara…and the toe warmers. I have a kingdom to run.
In the event of my sudden and entirely predictable death via heat stroke, please do send coral colored or lavender roses and chisel well-wishes into my headstone, which shall undoubtedly be properly erected in full-glory in Waikiki, the final resting place for good paralegals, and especially the CRAZY ones who blog.
That is all.
Hey TPSers – What are you pressing issues in the land of legal? You know, the things that drive you fifty shades of crazy? Surely, I cannot be alone in this madness. Perhaps your madness arises from a different genre of the kingdom, but surely it does exist. I must believe it to be true.
Hit that comment button. Tell us about it…
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