My entry into the workforce began at the age of 15, at a pool across the street from my parents’ house. It was a painless job. My responsibilities were limited to working at the front desk and the concession stand, and the best part was that if I had to be at work by
10:00 am, my alarm clock could be set for
9:58, and I’d still be there early.
Besides the occasional 20 minutes of dishwashing at night, the job was simple. People at the pool were usually in a good mood, and my friends would hang out there all the time, plus I only worked 20 hours a week, so I had little to complain about. Of course, the experience of working at a pool could have been more fulfilling had I been better looking or had some semblance of game. But then again, the experience of going to high school could have been more fulfilling had I been better looking or had some semblance of game.
At the time, my mom worked as a bank teller, and one of her regular customers was a local attorney (I’ll call him Will.) One day Will mentioned to my mom that he needed someone to work for him. Knowing that I was a big Matlock and Night Court fan, combined with the fact that although my teachers constantly complained about me, they always suggested that I go to law school because of my skilled arguing when trying to avoid punishment, my mom thought I might like the job.
As my second summer at the pool was coming to an end, my mom told me about the opportunity to work for Will. She mentioned that he wanted someone who was a good writer, and that got my attention. I wasn’t a good writer, but I had just won an award for a story that I’d written for my school newspaper, so at least I could pretend I was a good writer. (The story was about the varsity men's basketball team. (I knew a lot of the players, so they gave me permission to take liberties with their quotes.) The story cemented me as a sports writer for the paper, and essentially began the end of my interest in journalism. Sports writing for a high school paper isn't all glamour and glitz. Three straight issues of writing in depth about girls’ basketball is too much for even the most dedicated young male journalist.)
Working for Will sounded kind of fun to me, so told my mom that I’d do it. Will called me in for an interview shortly thereafter.
When I arrived at his office, his secretary told me to wait for a few minutes until he was ready. Will's door was open, so I could see right into his office. Up to that point in my life the only attorneys I’d ever seen were Ben Matlock, Dan Fielding, and Christine Sullivan, so I was eager to peek in and watch him operate.
The first thing I noticed was that he never picked up his phone. Don’t get me wrong, he was talking on the phone the entire time, but he was always on speakerphone. Sometimes he worked on other things while talking, but most of the time he just had both hands on the back of his head.
His voice was loud, and he was aggressive. I couldn’t make out who he was talking to, but when orders were given, he was the one giving them. If conversations were like ballroom dancing, Will was leading. Every time. I was already beginning to feel intimidated as he called me in. (I was a sarcastic, insecure, 5’9, 110lb, dark-skinned kid. I couldn't imagine the two of us hitting it off.)
I quickly learned that Will was a loud talker in general. We sat no more than four feet from eachother, but I could have been outside behind a closed window with a construction crew working behind me and still heard every word he said. I started to think that maybe he spoke to everyone as if he was talking to them on speakerphone. Maybe the speakerphone talking was practice for being loud in person.
Will might have been a nice guy, but I wouldn’t have known. He wasn’t mean at all, but he certainly wasn’t pleasant. He talked fast, with very little bullshit. He seemed like a guy who knew what “exchanging pleasantries” entailed, but was consciously trying to avoid them. Most adults I’d met up to that point in my life would sit around and bullshit with me for a few minutes before cutting to the chase. But my interview with Will went like this:
(I walk in)
Will – Have a seat. So your mom tells me you’re a good writer.
Me – Yeah, I won an award for a story I wrote last year, and so our class got a field trip..
Will – (Interrupting) Ok, that’s great. Word Perfect. Word Perfect is important. It’s huge right now. You know how to use Word Perfect?
Me – Yeah, I took a class in it last year, I…
Will – (Interrupting) Good. You’ve gotta know Word Perfect these days. Do you have a car? (he does a 180 in his chair, so now he’s got his back to me)
Me – Well, its my dad’s old car, but I can use it.
Will – because I’m going to need you to run some stuff to court for me. Can you start tomorrow?
Me – Yeah, what…
Will – (Spins his chair back around and faces me) Ok, I can give you $6 an hour, I’ll see you tomorrow at 9.
Me – Ok, I’ll see you tomorrow.
(I got up and left, no handshake)
I was confused. My interview for the pool job was 45 minutes long! We discussed school, my extra-curricular activities, my likes, dislikes, the responsibilities of the job and more. But Will might have had me in and out of his office in under a minute.
A small part of me was glad because I didn’t have to tell him that I got a “D” in my Word Perfect class in high school (which was especially ironic because it was the only time I got less than "B" in a high school class.) And $6 an hour was a big bump from $4.45 at the pool. But I was worried about how his “no nonsense” personality was going to mesh with my “predominately nonsense” personality. My excitement level had decreased significantly.
The next morning I showed up for work at 9am sharp, his secretary showed me to my workspace. Will’s office was the first floor of a big renovated house, so I got my own room. He was a successful attorney, so everything had been rehabbed to the point where I forgot I was in a house. And I was happy about getting my own ‘office’.
Will came in right away and directed my attention to three big boxes on the floor. The boxes were full of documents; it was my job to put them all in chronological order and flag the important ones. Simple enough.
By 10:15 I was asleep.
Flipping through those documents was killing me. It was a personal injury case that had been going on for years, so half of the documents were motions and court papers. The other half were medical reports. I didn’t know what any of it meant, so I had to read it all to try and determine if it was important enough to flag. I was bored and confused.
By 10:45 I was looking for something else to do. I asked the secretary if Will had left me any other work, so she gave me some papers to deliver to the courthouse. I was relieved.
Both of my parents’ cars were pieces of shit. I took my mom’s van that day, a brown, 1986 Plymouth Voyager with spotty air conditioning. The only thing worse than the 30 minute drive to the courthouse without A/C, was the 45 minute drive back to the office without A/C but with an increase in traffic and temperature. I had half a mind to ask Will if he'd let me take his Cadillac next time. (slightly less than half)
I picked up some lunch and ate it in my office. The entire time, the boxes of documents stared at me ominously, like a 200lb girl whose house I’d drunkenly left my wallet. I didn’t want to go back there, but I knew I had to.
As I was putting papers in chronological order I realized that if he had me doing grunt work like this, he certainly wasn’t going to let me write anything important. I was a naïve kid. So naïve that I actually had visions of helping him with closing arguments and cross examinations. I really did. It wasn’t until my first day that I realized he only wanted me to know Word Perfect so I could type out the notes he was dictating in his office.
I learned that 9 to 5 in an office, was quite different from 12 to 6 at a pool.
Thankfully, I had to work at the pool the next day, so I let Will know that I couldn’t come in to work. He told me to call him on Monday and we’d figure out my hours for the next week.
I never spoke to him again.
Today was my first day working as a licensed attorney. Its a temporary job for a Chicago law firm.
Guess at what I was doing all day?
Karma is a bitch.