I’m a paralegal at a law office. We have to send a bunch of letters out for a case we are working on. All the information is put together on Excel sheets, and we just have to copy that information and format it into each letter.

One day, a letter gets sent back as it had the wrong address. Since another lawyer working there on a trial basis did all these letters with me, our boss comes and lets us know.

Boss: “Hey, this letter had the wrong address, so if we could just send a new one out, that would be great. I’m not mad; accidents happen. That spreadsheet was long and it was probably easy to mix things up.”

IMMEDIATELY, [Lawyer] starts throwing me under the bus.

Lawyer: “Well, I know I did everything right, so it wasn’t me. It was probably [My Name] or [Other New Lawyer], but I double-checked everything, so it couldn’t have been me.”

Me: “[Other New Lawyer] only worked on one letter since he couldn’t access the computers that day. Relax. It’s a little mistake — no big deal.”

Lawyer: “Yeah, but it wasn’t me. You remember that Shaggy song from the 2000s? That’s me right now because it wasn’t me.”

I bit my tongue. I saw that I was the one who did that letter, but it wasn’t my fault, either, as the actual address was incorrect on the sheet.

What’s worse is that while reviewing [Lawyer]’s letters before we sent them out, he completely f***ed up some of the addresses, and I fixed them. It pissed me off so much how willing and ready he was to blame me for a problem when it more than likely would have been his fault.

I’m letting my boss know that I got selected for jury duty and might be out for potentially two weeks the following month. [Coworker]’s desk is right between mine and my boss’s. [Coworker] is very nosy and likes to enter into the conversation even if it’s in no way about him.

Coworker: “So, what’s the case on?”

Me: “I don’t know. You’re not supposed to know what the case is so you can’t do research on it prior to going to court. That way, you don’t already have an opinion on the case; your bias could lead to a mistrial.”

Coworker: “Oh, yeah. That makes sense. I didn’t think about that.”

He’s literally a lawyer!

I did IT consulting back in the early 2000s. I am out at a law firm that has a bunch of older women for secretaries. Their scanner/copier/fax machine is completely down. The toner has somehow exploded on the inside and coated every last internal piece; they have no idea how, no one will cop to it, and that’s how it is when we get the call.

I am NOT the copier guy, and they have a contractor to call when that stuff explodes, but they instead call me to drive out there to CALL SOMEONE ELSE to come fix it. They will not let us call from our office — oh, gods, no — we have to drive twenty miles to their downtown office to CALL the number on the front is in big bold letters that says:

Sign: “CALL US FIRST IF THERE IS A PROBLEM: 1-888-DON’T-BE-EFFING-DUMB.”

I take out the toner and do some spot cleaning just to be nice. The scanner/copier/fax machine is wide open, all the doors on it are open, and the toner cartridge is sitting next to it. This unit is like four and a half feet tall, so it’s hard to miss when it’s broken.

One of the ladies walks up and pushes the filthy cartridge over. It hits the floor and goes “poof”. There is ink everywhere.

She then closes the doors to the machine and tries to scan a document. The unit is off with no power so, of course, she yells at me.

Worker #1: “WHY CAN’T I SCAN?! I NEED TO SCAN! HURRY UP AND FIX THIS!”

Me: “This machine is obviously down. The company that you have a contract with is coming out to resolve the issue.”

She storms off and yells very loudly at the boss that I am incompetent. Sigh, fine. Mind you, the office manager sent out a companywide email thirty minutes ago saying that the unit will be down for the next day or two.

I then grab a white sheet of legal paper and write on it in giant Sharpie letters.

New Sign: “UNIT IS NON-FUNCTIONAL. USE UNIT ACROSS THE HALL.”

I then go grab the broken parts and put them in the trash. I come back two minutes later.

Another lady has taken the paper note that I wrote, crumpled it up, tossed it aside, and is trying to scan.

She looks at me covered in toner, then at the walls covered in toner from the previous worker knocking it over, and then at the unit covered in toner with the doors wide open.

Worker #2: “Is the scanner not working?”

If I had any humanity left in me, it would have died right at that moment.

It’s 1980, and my parents are in the middle of a divorce. Mom finds a place where you can meet with an attorney for free legal advice on a one-time basis. They are very strict about that.

Mom gathers up all the documents she thinks might be relevant and heads off to her appointment.

Mom: “I’m [Mom]. I have an appointment with [Attorney].”

Receptionist: “You’re [Mom’s Full Name]? You can’t see [Attorney].”

Mom: “Why? Is he out sick?”

Receptionist: “No, because you’ve been here before.”

Mom: “No, I haven’t.”

Receptionist: “Yes, you have.”

The receptionist opens a file folder and starts reading.

Receptionist: “You are [Mom’s Full Name]?”

Mom: “Yes.

Receptionist: “Your husband is [Dad’s Full Name]?”

Mom is getting a little creeped out at this point because she doesn’t remember telling them Dad’s name.

Mom: “Well, yes, but…”

Receptionist: “You live in [Wrong Town].”

Mom: “No. I’ve never lived in [Wrong Town]. I live in [Correct Town].”

Receptionist: “You have three sons.”

Mom: “No. I have two daughters.”

Receptionist: “But you have been here before.”

Mom: “No, I haven’t.”

Receptionist: “Yes, you have.”

Mom starts pulling out all of her documents. 

Mom: “Look, here is my driver’s license. It has my full name, birthdate, and address — in [Correct Town]. This is my marriage license. It has both of our full names, my maiden name, and our birthdates. Here are the birth certificates for my two daughters. This is the most recent mortgage statement. It has the address in [Correct Town] and how long we’ve lived there. I brought some other bills, too: gas bill, electric bill, water bill, and phone bill. They all show our address in [Correct Town].”

The receptionist brings out a phone book that covers the whole county. 

Receptionist: “Look, here you are in [Wrong Town].”

Mom takes the phone book and turns the pages. 

Mom: “And here we are in [Correct Town]. This is obviously another couple who just happen to have the same first and last names as my husband and me. As a matter of fact…”

She flips back to the other listing.

Mom: “…they have different middle names than us. See, they included their middle initials.”

The receptionist flips back and forth between the two entries for a few moments.

Receptionist: “Ohhhhh… So, when did you move out of [Wrong Town]?”

She eventually let Mom see the attorney. She didn’t look convinced, though.

I was a legal secretary in a huge law firm. A young attorney decided he didn’t like me and managed to get me transferred to another department.

But the firm hired a new secretary who was supposed to have a stellar amount of experience in that particular area of law, and I got to train her on the firm’s procedures, brief her on the big ongoing court cases, upcoming deadlines, and stuff like that.

During that handover, she asked me:

New Secretary: “Why do all the court pleadings start on line three instead of line one?”

At that time, this was a quirk of the particular court in this jurisdiction and had been for decades, as I recall. I was surprised that such an experienced and exemplary paragon of a legal secretary in that particular area of law did not know this.

Three weeks later, she was gone. I just smiled.