Attention, law school students and baby lawyers (i.e., those of you in your first three years of practice):
Don't do it. Get out while you can. Don't succumb to the golden handcuffs.
This was my day today, albeit my name is not Alexander:
I won't bore you with details. I will just say that it was exasperating, ridiculous, draining, and generally shittastic. I am actually blogging from my office while I wait for the hubs to pick me up. And thank God for the hubs. And thank God he used to be a lawyer, too.
It is difficult, if not impossible, for non-lawyers to understand the horrible, no good, very bad days. You just don't get it unless you've been there. It is more than just the hours. The hours are nothing. I can take the hours. As we used to scream while running down the halls in my old firm's New York office, sleep is for the weak! We were delirious, yes. But hours can be weathered. Hours are not the problem.
What gets to me is the soul-sucking and spirit-snuffing. The backstabbing. The prestige-grubbing. The pummeling of your psyche until you feel this small. This, I cannot bear.
As our word processor left tonight, she stopped by my office to ask me if I was ok. "You don't seem yourself," she said, "I don't see you smile nearly as often as you used to." To this, I replied, "There isn't that much to smile about these days."
I used to be filled with the hope and naiveté that what I did actually mattered. That, if I worked hard, people would take note. That, if I did good work, I would be rewarded.
I am now well aware that none of this matters, and I don't matter one tiny bit.
This profession has aged me, fattened me, and made me bitter and ugly. It has made me lose faith in humanity. It has opened my eyes to how vile, cruel, and unfeeling people can be.
A special note to Ms. Calcetines Rojos, if you're reading -- remind me to tell you about today when I see you in SF in a few weeks. I'm sure you will relate or at least fathom the horror.