By: Jamie Collins
Once upon a time, there was an incredibly awesome paralegal, who fielded a telephone call from another living, breathing human being, during an enthralling morning of legal work in the trenches. That human being verbally provided the world’s greatest paralegal with a telephone number for the esquire to call, at his convenience, which the paralegal—hypothetically— and ever-so-accurately scribbled down on a 2×2 Post-It Note. Gasp…yes, a freaking Post-It Note! [How dare she.]
Moments later, the attorney walks into the land of legal and into the aforementioned fabulous paralegal’s office, hypothetically, of course, at which time the B.P.E. (“Best Paralegal Ever”) hands the trusty esquire said Post-It Note; you know, the one containing the name and phone number of the person he was to call. And this, my friends, is where things—hypothetically—begin to take a hard right turn, steering a paralegal person to walk along those ever so rickety planks leading you to the pathway to hell, people. Yes, hell.
Cue the second act.
The attorney approaches said paralegal 20 minutes later:
“I need the number to [name of person].”
“Uh, it’s on that Post-It I gave you earlier, when I told you she called.”
“I lost the Post-It. I don’t have it.”
[Paralegal hangs head and enters into the crouch of sullen defeat, the silent body language known only to those poor souls working alongside the esquired as the prone position for when you’re attempting NOT to kill people. Calm on the outside. Raging on the inside. Yep. That one. But back to the story.]
“What do you mean you lost it?” (Um, considering you never left the office today, how could it possibly be lost? This I ask you. And him. And the small allotment of sanity I have remaining.)
Approximately 3 minutes later, B.P.E. then overhears the esquire speaking with another paralegal in the office, within an ear shot. Yes, still hypothetically, of course. [Way to catch on, people. Way to catch on.]
“What do you mean you need the number? She already gave you the number. I don’t understand…”
“I know, but I lost the Post-It. I don’t have it anymore. I don’t know where it is. Did you see how TINY that thing was??? So small. Seriously, did you see how small it was? It was so small…” [Now imagine the esquire’s look smoldering, an incredibly even mix of that compelling and convincing stare upon his face to indicate that I, uh, I mean the B.P.E., could not see said stare, but could sense it through the walls, based solely upon the tone of a certain esquired someone’s voice.] At this point, the esquire is trying to verbally articulate to Paralegal Number Two just how tiny this freaking post it was. So tiny. OMG. A shred. A scrap of paper. The words, “It was the size of a quarter” may have departed his mouth during the session with the Paralegal Post-It Profiler. “It was so small you can barely even hold it in your hands. Do you know what I’m talking about? The LITTLE ones?” Had the B.P.E. not already known it to actually measure a perfect square of 2×2, she would undoubtedly have thought it to have been handed to the esquire on a personalized M&M bearing a telephone number. She tells no lies.
This fun little chain of events may or may not have sent not one, but two paralegals, uh, hypothetically, now flitting through the office in search of that coveted, now-missing-esquire-sworn-to-be-super-freaking-itty-bitty-teeny-weeny-world’s-smallest-Post-It Note, on a mission scrolling all the way back through the firm’s caller ID in a feeble attempt to locate said “missing” number, in addition to a lot of exchanges of inter-office banter taking place throughout the corridors of legal hell, all with regard to which number is actually “the right number,” otherwise known as THE ONE FREAKING WRITTEN DOWN ON THE POST-IT NOTE I GAVE YOU THIS MORNING. Fun was had by all. Hypothetically.
Anyway, this whole Post-It uproar that may or may not have taken place at a law firm somewhere here in America, clearly led to an esquired uprising, which included the formal issuance of an inter-office legal proclamation to signal the start of what can best be described as “The Post-It Apocalypse.”
Apocalypse: noun 1. the complete final destruction of the [legal] world, especially [as it pertains to paralegals and Post-Its] as described in the biblical book of Revelation.
The year was 2016. The day was a Wednesday. The day before B.P.E. lost the rest of her mind, while esquires were busy losing their Post-It notes. It has since been rumored that using a 2×2 Post-It note [like any normal paralegal person may do in any given work day of one’s life while answering that ringing, black corded neck killer] is now a close cousin to treason. Yes, treason. Treachery. Legal blasphemy. Death by Stapler. Again, B.P.E. tells no lies.
We’ve only used the 2×2 Post-Its for the past 20 years. Note: They have always been 2×2 or 4×4, your Lordship. Always. They are as itty-bitty as they have ALWAYS been.
I’m. Just. Saying.
The B.P.E. decided, ever so cleverly, to share this super interesting story with the B.B.E. (uh, that’s the “Best Blogger Ever”) and here we find ourselves. Me, writing. You, reading. The Post-It Apocalypse is upon us, and you’ve landed yourself a front row seat to the show, people. Congratulations! We couldn’t afford the balloon drop. In lieu of door prizes, just toss back another big ol’ sip of that caffeinated beverage sitting deskside and offer a silent salute in the name of Post-It days past and paralegal sanity.
So how does one solve this? Well, with new, custom-designed papyrus items. Yep. Paralegal Arts & Crafts in their most ridiculous hour. Tips on how to survive. Right.
You create and post fliers to warn the others.
Any takers? Just send a self-addressed, stamped envelope for your personal allotment of 2×2 Post-Its, personally thrown against the wall, or better yet, down the hall at the back of a certain esquire by the hands of our fearless Founder. Go ahead and jot down an A+ on a 2×2 Post-It for our mad [quite literally] poster creation skills.
Remember NOT to kill people.
(This is an important one. If you aren’t in prison yet, you must be doing pretty darn well.)
Design your own personalized, bright pink Post-It message sheets (though the template sheet featured below is white) for esquires who have an aversion to 2×2 Post-Its and the paralegals who are trying ever so desperately NOT to kill them.
You like that? It’s still 2×2, in case anyone failed to notice. With room for notes. A very thoughtful creation, if we do say so ourselves. We do.
In case you find yourself wondering, No, said paralegal could not have “just sent an e-mail to the attorney with the number in it.” Cute thought though. Have you ever seen an esquire, who is a member of any lawyer list serve’s in-box? [Pleeeeeease do not answer that question. Do you actually want him to EVER read it?]
And, yes, rumor has it that IT WAS the same phone number that was already saved in the system for said person. But what a GREAT way to get exercise during a work day and practice self-restraint from killing people. The adrenaline flows. No one dies. Another legal success story! [Day number 32,491 is now in the books. How many can POSSIBLY be left, until the glorious arrival in that beach cabana? Little umbrella drink, anyone? Send me a ticket. Save me a seat on the beach. Make that inheritance check out to “Jamie Collins” – that’s 2 L’s, and please do send my flight numbers on a 2×2 Post-It.]
Please do not mistake me for someone who would make jokes regarding a work day known as “Monday.” If you lose that Post-It, I’m OUT. Godspeed, buddy.
Be sure to double down on that next Post-It order, paralegals. Heck, maybe we can even head to Costco to buy them in bulk. I am so down.
If you enjoyed today’s post, please share it! If you can relate, do leave a comment to assist all paralegalkind with their sanity. Lord knows we could all use more of it. And more importantly, we are NOT alone. Nope, not even close.
Wishing you a fabulous Happy High Heel Friday and a stress-free day in the legal trenches, my friends! We’ll see you soon.