This story is from a while ago now, and it is very much paraphrased and some of the legal language has been simplified to layman’s terms.

I am applying for a legal job that’s very much inside my profession — so much so that when sending in my resume, I include in my hobbies section my personal blog, which at the time is a relatively well-read website about the very niche section of law I studied. (This is before social media, and the average Internet user’s attention span was, shall we say, longer?)

I started the blog when I was in law school, and I thought including it when applying for this particular law firm was a good idea since they notoriously only hire graduates from my particular law school.

I am halfway through my interview, and I feel it is going well. I am answering the questions calmly and quickly, making sure to showcase my deep knowledge of the subjects. I am being interviewed by three partners at the firm, and one of them has been silently glaring at me the whole time. He finally speaks up.

Partner: “I noticed that on your resume you lied about your authoring [Legal Blog]. That’s not a good look.”

Me: *Momentarily taken aback* “I… I didn’t lie about that. That’s my blog.”

Partner: “That blog is written by an A.B. Smith.”

Me: “That’s a pen name. I am the actual author, and I have the credentials to prove it.”

Partner: “That blog is written by a man, and not by a fresh graduate.”

Me: “Can you please specify where in the blog it indicates the gender of the author or reveals any details about their age or professional status? If you’d just let me—”

Partner: “It’s just not a good look. It’s not a good look for us to consider hiring someone who tries to plagiarize someone else’s work, and it’s an even worse look for you.”

Despite my attempts to protest, this partner seems to hold a bigger sway over the other two, so the interview is cut short, and I am given the polite “Thank you for coming in” speech that means, “It’s a no.” I can’t be sure, but I also get the distinct vibe from this older man that he can’t be convinced that a young woman could write my blog.

When I get home, I admit that I am angry, and when I am angry, I write. I write up a blog about the interview. (I don’t name names, but I do name the law firm.)

I write about how ironic it is that a law firm dedicated to upholding the law has partners who are self-appointed judges, juries, and executioners who are disinterested in looking at the evidence.

I write about the disappointment of going to my particular law school in the hopes of working for this particular firm and that, despite my obvious knowledge of my material and my darn-good score when passing the bar, I have been dismissed because of one item on the “hobbies” section of my resume.

I also write about the hint of sexism in the experience, being very careful to word that section in a way that isn’t libelous (lawyer here!).

I put the blog up and go about my day.

A few weeks later, I get a call from a woman I have never heard of.

Caller: “Hi, this is [Caller] from [Law Firm that I interviewed for]. Is this [My Name]?”

Me: “That is me.”

Caller: “Great! Do you also go by [Pen Name] and write the [Blog]?”

Me: “What is this about?”

Caller: “I am calling to ask you to take down [blog about the interview]. It contains information that is factually incorrect, and we—”

Me: “Who is ‘we’?”

Caller: “I am calling from [Law Firm].”

Me: “Yes, but who are you, exactly? Are you a lawyer?”

Caller: “I’m a legal secretary.”

Me: “And who do you work for?”

Caller: “[Law Firm].”

Me: “Yes, again, I know that. Do you work for a particular partner?”

Caller: *Hesitantly* “I work for [Partner].”

As I suspected, this is the same partner who outright called me a liar.

Me: “Have [Partner] call me directly.”

Caller: “Well, he’s a very busy—”

Me: “Have him call me. I won’t talk to anyone else.”

I hang up, feeling my anger rising again but also feeling a shot of adrenaline from the knowledge that I’ve rattled the cage of the lawyer who wronged me.

Less than an hour later, I get another call. It’s the partner himself! Ignoring niceties, he jumps straight into his demand.

Partner: “Look, take down that hit piece. It’s a blatant lie and—”

Me: “Oh, so in the interview, you accused me of not being capable of authoring that blog, but now you expect me to take down something from that very same blog? Which is it? You can’t have it both ways.”

Partner: “Look, you’ve made your point, but the fact remains that what you’ve written is factually incorrect and—”

Me: “Tell me anything that’s written in that blog that didn’t actually happen.”

Partner: “You called me sexist!”

Me: “Did I mention you by name?”

Partner: “You know that’s not relevant—”

Me: “I know what’s relevant in a court of law. Do you?” 

Partner: “Look, can you please take down the blog? It’s been commented on a lot at [Law School], and it’s affecting our recruitment.”

Me: “Why? Are you worried it’s ‘not a good look‘?“

There is a pause. He recognizes the phrase.

Partner: “Take it down, or we’ll sue for libel—”

Me: “Send it to A.B. Smith.”

There was another pause. I decided right there and then that if this man apologized and admitted his mistake, I would gladly take down the blog and move on with my life. Instead, he just hung up, and I kept the blog up.

Over twenty years later, I still haven’t been sued.

I’m an assistant in a law firm with offices all over the world, including multiple states and the District of Columbia in the USA. Our headquarters where all our bosses work is in the US, but I don’t work there. We make money from boring corporate law, but we also do pro bono cases, mostly for veterans or their families and immigrants. I’m assigned to the attorney in charge of our office’s pro bono services for veterans. Veterans looking for legal help usually call our main number, and the receptionist takes down the information and then emails it to [Attorney] and me.

One day, while [Attorney] is in another state for a case, the receptionist gets a call from an old woman saying our firm represented her in the past. When? She can’t remember. Names of the attorneys? She can’t remember. What did we do? Can’t make any sense of it. The receptionist emails the information as usual, but the woman doesn’t give [Attorney] a chance to look at it and call or write to her; she calls the front desk back. Again and again and again.

[Attorney] eventually delegates me to call [Woman] back and try to make sense of what she’s asking for. I’m able to gather that we did something in the past to help her with a title dispute in her veteran husband’s name after he died, but she still can’t remember who or when, nor can she clearly describe the current problem someone is now telling her is still wrong with said title. She doesn’t even want to talk about it over the phone with me; she wants to come in for a “free consult.” (That is not how this works.)

I email a summary of our phone call to [Attorney] and then start researching. I discover that our previous work for [Woman] was seventeen years ago, sixteen years before I started working here, long before the firm went almost completely electronic and started using its current online system to store, organize, and maintain case files, and well past the firm’s file retention policy. Fortunately, I’m able to find four files that someone uploaded with her last name in the file name, all letters from us to her. They don’t say what work we did, but I do learn the names of the two attorneys who worked on it (both long since retired) and the fact that we sent all the files to her after her case closed. During this time, she keeps calling the receptionist and me demanding to come in for a free consult with [Attorney].

[Attorney] tells me to call [Woman] back and explain that we gave all her files to her after her case concluded, and we will need them back for him to look at to see if we can help her again. She can mail them in or drop them off.

I call, and, as you can imagine, it does not go well. First, [Woman] doesn’t seem to understand what “files” are; they’re not in accordion folders! Switching to calling them “paperwork” seems to help with that part. Unfortunately, she still refuses to return them. She will not accept the next step being anything other than her coming in for a free consult. My explanation that we need to examine the case files before determining if that is even possible changes nothing.

I email the results of the phone call to [Attorney] (still in another state), who says he will take care of it now. He later reports to me and the poor receptionist that he called [Woman] and learned that there is a conflict of interest now anyway, so the firm cannot represent her. I get no more calls from her, but the receptionist does.

A few weeks later, [Attorney]’s grandmother-in-law dies, so he takes some time to go to New York with his wife to help her settle things. While he’s gone, I get an email revealing that [Woman] has somehow started calling the [Office Administrator] directly. [Office Administrator] repeatedly tells [Woman] that she is not an attorney and that all she can do is forward her messages. I forward [Office Administrator] all my previous emails with a new summary, telling the story of our interactions with [Woman].

Once [Office Administrator] knows [Attorney] has determined that we can’t represent [Woman] and told her as much, she begins telling [Woman] that if [Attorney] has said we can’t represent her, we can’t represent her. I’m told not to bring it up with him until he gets back.

[Attorney] eventually returns, and I’m the one to announce to him that [Woman] resumed calling. He explains that she has actually begun calling our DC office now. I assume she thinks this is the law firm equivalent of “calling corporate”, but even if that was how law firms worked, there’s another problem with her assumption…

I relay this news to the [Office Administrator], who laughs at her calling DC to complain about us.

Me: “Should we tell her our bosses and headquarters are in Cleveland?”

Office Administrator: “No, let her keep calling DC; she’ll no doubt call us back eventually.”

I worked with a lawyer who had zero common sense.

We recently filed an adversary case in bankruptcy court, and we cannot serve the defendant until the judge issues a summons. I am checking the docket to see if there has been an update.

Lawyer: “So, have we gotten any response from the defendant yet, or their counsel?”

Boss: “No, we haven’t served them yet. How would they know about the case if we haven’t served them?”

Lawyer: “Well, I wasn’t sure if they somehow just knew.”

Me: “So, if someone sued you, do you think you would just get a chill up your back with the innate knowledge that a lawsuit has been filed against you?”

Lawyer: “No.”

Me: “Exactly. They don’t know until someone tells them, and we haven’t told them yet.”

CONTENT WARNING: Gross
 

It was a hot and humid day in Mississippi. We had a client, an older gentleman, who was (honestly) just wasting time.

He had a lot of questions about the legal status of churches but no relevant reason to want to know. He mostly wanted to be angry whenever he felt that the answer we gave him was “unjust” or “discriminatory against Christians”.

The paralegal on duty at the front desk was relatively new and didn’t yet have the presence of personality to tell the older man to f*** off. This wasn’t the first time they had a hard time telling a non-client off, and we all wanted them to resolve it themself.

Thus, we were making bets in the back if the old man would leave first, the kid would get upset and ask him to leave first, or if one of the senior partners would come in, notice what was happening, and make the old man leave first.

Suddenly, we became aware of an awful smell, as though someone had the most rancid fart. We looked through the door to the front office and saw the paralegal’s eyes watering. I was selected as the sacrifice to find out what was going on.

What was going on was that the man had soiled himself. He had continued talking to our paralegal, even as it dribbled down the back of his legs, into his shoes, and onto the floor.

I murmured quietly to our paralegal while the man blathered on in the background.

Me: “Tell him to f*** off.”

Paralegal: “He’s a client.”

Me: “He hasn’t paid us anything except s*** yet. Tell him to f*** off.”

Paralegal: “You’re a full associate; I’ve not passed the bar yet.”

Me: “I’ve told people to f*** off for you three times already this week. You’ve got to get the confidence to do it yourself.”

Our paralegal returned their attention to the older guy.

Paralegal: “Sir! Perhaps you’d like to go home and wash up?”

Old Guy: “No. I’m fine.” *Slips back into his complaint*

The paralegal looked to me for help. I rolled my eyes at them.

Me: “Please, sir, leave to wash up. The smell is bothering other clients.”

Old Guy: “Are you saying I stink? I’ve never been so offended!”

Something broke in my paralegal’s heart. They hardened their face. I could almost see them putting together parts of my prior speeches to unproductive not-clients.

Paralegal: “Sir. Kindly f*** off. F*** right the h*** off. F*** right the h*** off and go right the h*** away. We neither need nor want your custom. I understand that you’re very lonely, but unless you’re willing to pay us a retainer and an hourly, f*** off.”

The man started to argue back, but I raised myself to my full height.

Me: “It’s time for you to leave.”

Old Guy: “Okay, okay. You didn’t have to be rude!”

Me: “Yes. We did.”

I locked the door as he left, and then I looked at the muddy trail of s*** across the floor.

Me: “Right. Anyone here got biohazard training?”

A chorus of nos came from the back. I turned to our paralegal.

Me: “First off, great job. In the future, please do that sooner to unproductive clients. Second off, we’re closing the front office until it’s clean. Let’s start rescheduling appointments.”

It took almost four hours for the emergency cleaning crew we called to arrive and start cleaning, during which time we had to endure the rancid human s*** smell hanging in the hot, humid air. But they surprised me by cleaning it up quickly and efficiently and removing all trace of the smell!

I worked with a lawyer who had absolutely zero common sense, especially when it came to talking with clients. I sat right next to him, so I could often hear how bad some conversations would turn out.

Lawyer: “Now, I was just curious, but what kind of business operates at this address? I looked it up on Google Maps, and all I see is a really rundown, decrepit-looking house.”

Client: “Um, well, the business we’re talking about is mine, and I work from home.”

Lawyer: “Oh.”

He was eventually fired.