Norma Rae
Today was our monthly lunch meeting with our supervisor, Cool Mom, and the two judges who are in charge of the law clerks. One happens to be my Judge, the other is Judge Socially Awkward.
The meeting began with what Cool Mom referred to as “the controversial issue.” The issue is that Cool Mom and the Judges have decided that the law clerks need to take some action on the Daily Orders that we receive within 7 days. Seeing as they are called daily orders, at first blush, that is not an unreasonable request.
For background: One of our tasks is to review orders that are submitted to the Court for entry. We receive from six-ten a day. Some take 30 seconds to review – oh, how I love a good agreed order of dismissal. Others, such as divorces and adoptions, can entail reading the Code, discussing the submitted order with Cool Mom and/or Judge, numerous phone calls to the attorneys involved…quite frankly, all of this takes time. Daily orders are at the bottom of our list of priorities. Why? Because they just are. Plus, my Judge only signs Daily Orders on Fridays so, my Daily Orders are really Weekly Orders. Ok, that is the back story on Daily Orders.
So, certain Law Clerks have been remiss in attending to Daily Orders. Some view them as “Three Week" Orders or when “I really don’t have anything else to do” Orders. But, as Judge Socially Awkward stressed, they are important and should be moved up on our list of priorities.
Which is fine. I will rearrange my list of priorities so that I do Daily Orders on a (GASP) Daily basis. So that Daily Orders are no longer at the bottom of my to-do list. But, Judge Socially Awkward, what takes their place? Because that is the problem. SOMETHING has to give. Once this new policy was announced, Law Clerks began to voice their disapproval of putting us on a time deadline. We have more long briefs than ever. We are in scheduling conferences longer than ever. The trial docket is heavier than ever. S*it flows downstream, Judges, and we are drowning in it. We are working 60plus hours a week and barely making our rent.
The airing of personal grievances took on a life of its own and at one point, I placed my hand on my forehead, closed my eyes, and could almost taste the bourbon on my lips. People started bringing up isolated incidents that were completely irrelevant. And taking an obscenely long time to relate a story. Telling us that “One time, the Secretary called me during the docket” actually took twenty minutes. Ok maybe only ten, but still. No wonder the meeting took almost two hours.
Finally, as the Judges and Cool Mom grew increasingly frustrated with us, I seized a pause in a certain Blabbermouth’s venting. My inner Norma Rae took over and I turned toward the Judges seated at the head of the table and said:
“Listen, we understand that Daily Orders should not sit around. I for one do not think that a required turn around time of seven days is outrageous. But our point is that we are doing the best that we can – we’ve had people out studying for the bar exam, taking time off to get married or have a baby. Our knee jerk reaction to this rule is based on the fact that we ARE trying. And we would just like you to acknowledge that.”
The Judges looked at me. With rather stunned expressions. Judge Socially Awkward looked at me and said, “Well, what exactly would you like us to do then?” And therein lies the problem. I am not asking the Judges to do anything. (Well, maybe my Judge could not laugh in my face while loading me up two thick binders of post-trial motions that need to be briefed.) Really, we are just asking that you get it. That we work hard. That we love our jobs. That we get paid like crap but still love our jobs. That what you are asking all of us to do at times is just too much. But we (or at least I – Blabbermouth will spend a lot of time talking about it) will do it. Because we do truly love our jobs. Just don’t kick us when we are down. Because we are going to start kicking back.
Coming Back to Bite Me
So, on Friday, we had a motion in a case that is going to trial today. Judge wavered a bit on the bench and decided to kick the issue to the trial judge. It was a rather difficult evidentiary question that I thought should be answered in the context of trial (Okay, truth be told, I was pressed for time and couldn't come up with the answer). He agreed and we punted.
Guess what trial he has today? Yep, that one. Now, I am researching a question that I couldn't answer last week. And after my night out on Saturday, where I went around the world in approximately 85 beers, I have less brain cells to focus on answering this question. Doesn't bode well...
It is good...
to be the Judge. Because for the past two hours, Judge has been enjoying a long and leisurely lunch with a few other judges while his law clerk runs around frantically looking for files and missing memos all while managing not to punch Cabana Boy in the mouth when he asks for a progress report on his time here.
In my head, I responded, "Well, I haven't punched you yet, so that's progress." To his face, I replied, "Oh, things are great! You are doing great! Keep it up! Seriously, great. Just great."
And by great, I mean you are incredibly annoying and incompetent and I would gladly have a monkey come bother me five times a day for work than you. But yeah, totally great.
Spare the Child
Once a month, the Courthouse shows a movie. It is called "Spare the Child". All parents in the process of obtaining a divorce from the Court are required to attend a showing of this movie. The movie emphasizes the impact that divorce can have on children and reminds couples who are going through a divorce to put the needs of their children first. Apparently, it is quite a moving experience - one couple actually reunited after hearing a girl's tearful recollection of her divorced parents putting aside their differences to attend her wedding.
I was in my usual running around the courthouse frantically mode this morning when an attractive guy stopped me outside of chambers.
"Um, do you know where I am supposed to see this video...um, it is called "Spare the Child"?"
I blushed immediately and pointed him towards the appropriate courtroom. I then retreated back to my office and called a co-worker to report this new development:
"I am now contemplating hitting on guys who come watch the "Spare the Child" video."
"Well, at least you know they care about their kids", she offered hopefully.
I pondered this for a moment and then retorted, "Or they are at least smart enough to obey a court order."
I have officially added "law abiding" to my list of desired traits in a guy.
Missing
I have to report something missing. I seem to have lost my Muse. My writer’s compass, if you will. That part of my brain that looks around at the world and thinks of witty commentary to post and feels a sense of relief from getting my thoughts onto paper. That part of my brain that causes my fingers to fly across my keyboard and gets an adrenaline rush when my fingers struggle to keep up with my brain. That part of my brain appears to have shut down. Perhaps it is still recovering from The Plague that kept me out of commission for the past week or so. Or maybe the Muse is cowering slightly at the tremendous amount of work that surrounds me in my tiny office. So many files, I swear they might very well be multiplying. I have about five To-do lists going at once and I am about to add “Consolidate To-do lists” to one of them. But I can’t decide which one. Perhaps the Muse is cold as my apartment was without heat for a good portion of the weekend.
So, perhaps the Muse is tired or cranky or overwhelmed or simply uninspired. The last week or so has been pretty uneventful. Valentine’s Day came and went without much fanfare, unless you count the ice storm that forced the courts to close. Rather than sit in on Roommate’s romantic dinner with her boyfriend, I trudged through the snow to play poker with Red and eat King Cake. I then spent most of this past weekend helping Sister move into her new condo. I received a clean bill of health from my eye doctor today and promptly discovered that I didn’t pay a whole lot of attention to my eyebrows during the glasses phase. That should be added to one of my To-do lists. Tomorrow starts Lent and I have resolved to give up shopping. No clothes, no purses, no shoes, no belts, no accessories of any kind will be purchased for the next 40 days.
So, that’s the update. Keep a lookout for my Muse.
Early Mornings
I arrived at work at 7:30 this morning to find this email waiting for me from WorkDawg, sent at 5:52 a.m.:
It's going to be one of those days. I just spent 20 minutes wandering around outside because my %$@#$! badge wouldn’t open the door. The upside is that I got to make some new friends at the ADC. When I rolled in, lots of folks who were locked up last night were just getting out. I overheard a lot of cell phone calls that started with, “I had a really bad night last night, and … .”
b-o-m-b?
I think I need to stop watching so much 24. I noticed some deputies searching around the public hallway a few moments ago. At first, I thought someone had lost some change or possibly a cell phone, but then the part of my brain that thinks 24 is real took over and I thought of scenarios much less innocent.
Turns out, I was right! I walked back through chambers and commented on the full scale search taking place outside the courtrooms. A fellow law clerk confirmed that a bomb threat had been called in. Hence, the searches. What I find slightly disconcerting is that no one felt the need to tell the rest of us about the threat, although I guess the authorities do not want to deal with the widespread panic that would inevitably result in addition to locating the most likely fictitious bomb.
I think I will wait in my office for Jack to come and personally evacuate me. He totally has time in between torturing the cr*p out of his brother and tracking down nuclear weapons.
Fire drill
Yesterday around 5:15 pm, I was reviewing an application for a concealed weapon permit...something the Virginia General Assembly would like judges to hand out rather liberally - "You are 75 years old and your handwriting is a little shaky? No biggie!" and "You took a two hour class at the NRA and now consider yourself competent with a gun? Sounds good!" and my all time favorite, "Your proof of residency is an eviction notice possibly suggesting you may have a grudge against your landlord? Go ahead and keep that gun in your glove compartment!" I also like when married couples both apply for permits. As in "Okay, honey, you can carry a concealed weapon, but I can too so don't get any ideas."
But back to yesterday at 5:15 pm. I was in the zone, reviewing orders, when the fire alarm started blaring. Now, the last time we had a fire drill, I was stuck outside for a long time in the freezing cold with Miss Sunshine. Yesterday was even colder so I debated whether or not I should just pack up and go home. I decided to ignore the obnoxious alarm, complete with evacuation orders and flashing lights, and keep plowing through my orders. Then, I got a call from a fellow law clerk who had just left the building and it appeared to her that there really was some sort of emergency. So, I hastily packed up my bag and decided to leave. I was a little nervous as I went down the stairs because there really was no one left in the building. I headed for the main exit when a deputy stopped me and told me that I couldn't exit that way. Hmpf. He directed me around the corner and told me to exit through the jail. Not a problem, I thought, as I had come and gone through the jail in the early morning hours once or twice before, all without incident. I walked down the ramp and opened the door that lead from the courthouse to the jail. I had entered some sort of prisoner staging area because I was greeted rather cheerfully by three men in orange jumpsuits. As in inmate jumpsuits. I returned the greetings and looked around for some deputies. Or guards. Or pretty much ANYONE WHO WAS KEEPING AN EYE ON THESE MEN TO MAKE SURE THEY DIDN'T USE THE FIRE ALARM AS AN EXCUSE TO RUN OFF WITH ME! Alas, I saw no one, realized this was more than a little disturbing and quickened my pace toward the stairwell. As I went into the stairwell, I stole another glance the inmates who were still staring at me in what I am sure was a harmless and friendly way, and only then did I notice another man lurking in the corner talking on his cell phone. Now, he was not dressed in uniform or anything, but I felt confident that if the inmates did decide to go all
Prison Break on me, that Mr. Cell Phone would have my back. Rather than stick around to find out, I got the heck out of the jail and made it safely to my car and eventually home.
Super blah
So, yesterday was the Super Bowl. Last year's party at Penn State Fan's house was rather awkward so I decided to skip it this year. I knew Treehugger would be there, most likely with his girlfriend and I just wasn't up for it. The Editix did attend however and this morning she reported that Treehugger has a big beard and his girlfriend is best described as frumpy.
Of course he has a beard. He likes to have a beard in the winter. I never liked the beard though - it was rough and scratchy and he always got food stuck in it. So, I would encourage shaving. He has a nice face and the beard made him look not like my boyfriend, but like a lumberjack. It was a beautiful color though - a deep auburn that many girls envied.
And the girlfriend is frumpy. Which makes me laugh through my unexpected tears. Because, if there is one thing that Jersey is not, well, that's frumpy. I wear Seven jeans, carry a Kate Spade bag, and wear BCBG heels. I love clothes and always put thought into what I wear. Frumpy? Never. Well, except maybe in the 90s when big plaid button downs were stylish. But even then my flannel shirts were from JCrew.
Maybe this is what makes him happy. Having a beard and a girlfriend who is apparently oblivious to fashion. She probably doesn't nag him about how the beard scratches her perfectly moisturized by Kiehl's lotion face. Or points out that the green tshirt with the blue striped pants is just a little bit too much. Maybe the fact that he is with someone who is so completely the opposite of me should make me feel better. Help me to realize that it really wasn't right. Stop myself from feeling sad and miss him. But it doesn't.
I realize this post makes him sound a bit like a boyfriend who put up with a nagging girlfriend who couldn't just accept him for who he was. Maybe I couldn't. I certainly couldn't accept the lying and the cheating. Despite my protests, my heart still skipped a beat when he showed up at my house in a mismatched outfit, with converse sneakers from ten years ago, and a serious five o'clock shadow.
Interns
I am sitting here waiting for Judge to get off the bench so he can finish signing a box of orders so that I can bring said box of orders downstairs and then I can get the hell out of here. This is the first time I’ve been able to sit at my desk and take a deep breath in about two weeks. Hence, the blogging drought.
But, I MUST take this time to tell you all about my interns. Yes, interns. While people who don’t have interns might be thinking, “Wow, it would be great to have an intern…I could give him/her all that crap work that I never want to do….I can send him on the ridiculous errands that [insert your Boss here) makes me do…I can teach him/her things and she/he will look up to me.”, I don’t not even remotely feel that way.
Yes, the idea of “interns” is a great idea. Kudos to the people who came up with the idea of having people work for free and getting them to perform menial tasks all under the guise that they are “learning something.” I do not criticize the system. One of my interns is in law school and is fantastic. Mr. Wendell cranks out the legal memos quickly and accurately. Having Mr. Wendell around actually makes my life a little bit easier. Granted, I still have to review his work before passing it off to Judge, but that does take less time than doing it myself. So, props to Mr. Wendell for improving my quality of life. Even only by a little bit, I will still take it.
So, what is the basis of my rant against interns, you ask? Two words: Cabana Boy. Heis my other intern who is a friend of my judge’s daughter’s boyfriend. Which is problematic for this reason - I can't complain about Judge in front of him. Not that I would, I really don't have many complaints, but I can't say "Yeah, don't ask him that - it will put him in a bad mood." Or "I usually wait till he has had coffee before going in his office." Or "Don't talk while he is reading something. He likes it quiet." What if Cabana Boy says to Judge's daughter that sometimes her dad irritates his law clerk by being a curmedgeon at times? I have to be careful with the griping.
There are many things that bug about Cabana Boy, in addition to the fact that he is not in law school and is of very little use to a judge or a law clerk. Judge didn’t really give me any warning that he was bringing on another intern so early one morning last week, before even eating breakfast, I was called back to chambers and introduced to the new intern. Actually, I was eating my breakfast at the time, which will be an important fact in a moment.
Judge had his “Teacher” cap on and was clearly enjoying the eagerness with which Cabana Boy is approaching his internship. I inwardly rolled my eyes at the enthusiasm while thinking of all the other work-related things I could be doing. I was then instructed to show Cabana Boy around. I brought him back to my office, so I could finish my breakfast. We chatted for a few minutes, he explained he desperately wanted to attend my alma mater for law school and was hoping to boost his resume with a judicial internship. Made sense. He then handed me a two and a half page resume – which seemed extremely long for someone who is only 26 years old and doesn’t have a graduate degree. Is that too judge-y of me? I apologize but my resume is a page and a half, which I felt was pushing it a bit despite seven years work experience and a graduate degree.
After I finished my breakfast, I took Cabana Boy to meet Cool Mom, who supervises the law clerks and the interns. Cool Mom is a former law clerk who patiently answers all my inane work questions. I am calling her Cool Mom because she is just one of those cool moms. Not all moms are cool. But she is. And that’s the best alias I can come up with at the moment. So, Cool Mom read Cabana Boy the rules that apply to interns. One such rule is don’t eat or drink near the computers. As in within 10 feet or something. He looked over at me and just said “Ahem”. I was confused, until I realized that he was actually selling me out to my supervisor about eating oatmeal at my desk. Cool Mom figured out what was going on and clarified that the eating rule does not apply to law clerks. Just interns. “Jersey can do whatever she wants, we trust her!” Thanks, Cool Mom!
After the meeting with Cool Mom, he took off for the day and thankfully didn’t come in again until Thursday. Unfortunately, he started off Thursday by knocking on my door with one of those sing-songy knocks that once someone grates on your nerves and then try to knock you a tune…not a good start. I had come up with some things for him to do and sent him off while I frantically tried to finish preparing the docket. (Side note – Docket prep with Judge is at 2pm. I receive approximately 15-20 files Thursday morning that I need to review and brief by 2pm. Little bit of running around involved with that and I tend to get a little stressed. So, that’s the context).
A half hour passes and Judge calls me back to his office. I had asked Cabana Boy to do something for me and he brought the finished product directly to Judge. Well…that’s not exactly how it works. Judge told me that he considers work from an intern the same as my work. Which means if it is not good, he won’t gripe at the intern, he will gripe at me. I run interference between a somewhat demanding boss and an apparently incompetent intern. AWESOME.
Basically, Cabana Boy (who by the way is here “as long as you want me!”) might very well cause me to dislike a job that I absolutely love. He is just so eager. But not in a good way. In a “I ate my lunch in five minutes so you can give me more work to do even though you told me that you were in the middle of something and would get me work as soon as you could but I insisted on scarfing down my lunch and coming to ask you again if you had work because I am just used to having work and being helpful and could you please just give me something to be helpful?” way. I almost gave him my car keys and told him to get my car inspected but Cool Mom intervened and suggested he go watch court.
And then she looked at me with pity, and said “Yes, Jersey. This really does suck for you.”
A little longwinded, I apologize. I am sure there is more to come on Cabana Boy. Oh, I dubbed him Cabana Boy before I discovered how incredibly annoying he was. Cabana Boy was to give the impression that I was going to now have someone to bring me drinks and snacks. Instead of bringing me drinks, he is actually driving me to drink.
