NYC Lawyer

Sidebar: While this entry may seem a bit off-topic, I have included it because I feel it is my civic duty to give any of you who may be thinking of going to law school the real down low on what practicing is like. Because it sucks. I think about 10% of graduates like practicing law. You may be in that top ten percent. Kudos. But for the rest of us, gag.  

Shortly after Kelly and I stopped communicating, I graduated from law school. My time that summer was consumed with studying for the Bar Exam. A blessing in disguise. I did not have much time to miss her, to wallow and feel sorry for myself. I poured myself into my studies.  

After taking the Bar Exam, I found a job working for an insurance defense law firm. I thought I wanted to be in litigation. Still hoped I could be like Ally McBeal. Turns out, the firm was a 20-person factory. The firm’s only clients were several large car insurance companies and we represented them against thousands of accident claims. We had over 10,000 open cases, and the attorneys were expected to touch the case once and resolve it. I shadowed an attorney for all of one day and then was thrown to the wolves (because litigators are wolves). 

I spent my mornings in court and my afternoons writing motions. I traveled to court in the Bronx, Manhattan, Queens, Staten Island and sometimes Long Island. To get to court on Staten Island, I had to take the subway, the ferry, and a car service. For a girl from the Midwest where we own actual cars and drive ourselves straight to where we want to go, this felt like too much.

Getting to court felt like a feat in and of itself, about the only thing I was able to do successfully. Because I did NOT know what I was doing. Going to court consisted of sitting in a courtroom with 50 other attorneys. I’d have anywhere from one to ten cases that I had to deal with on any given day. I first looked over the cases while waiting for the judge, because we were that busy and had that much volume.

Here’s how court or motions practice worked. The judge would call out your case and you would yell out what you wanted the judge to do. “Continue” or “Dismiss” or whatever you were asking. Basically 100 out of 100 cases settled out of court so you were usually asking for a delay so you could contact the other side and settle. If you could, you would try to find the attorney representing the other side before entering the courtroom and get them to agree to what you wanted. Judges usually granted up to three postponements. If you were on your third delay, the judge may make you come up and argue why another delay was necessary or he or she may decide to make you argue the case right then and there. 

I was ALWAYS on edge when I was in the courthouse, trying to expect the unexpected, but dreading it nonetheless. I felt like a guest on the Ellen show, knowing that, at some point, during the interview someone would pop out of somewhere and scare me half to death but, even armed with this expectation and with my defenses up, I still jumped out of my seat when it happened. And, you know, something always unexpected did happen in court and, even knowing it was coming, I was always taken aback. 

The judge and the other attorneys used a bunch of lingo that I never understood. If I had to ask for anything other than a postponement I was toast. One time the judge called out my case and I yelled out for him to dismiss it. Thank heavens the attorney for the other side was not there so the judge granted it. Later, when he called out my case again, I realized that the one he had called out earlier was not even my case! 

Another time, I actually had to argue a motion before a judge and I did such a poor job, he began giving me prompts to help me along in my argument. It only got worse.

Once, after I made my argument before a judge in the Bronx, she told me that next time I needed to “Do Better.”   

One morning, after having had too much to drink the night before, I woke up late, and did not have time to take the subway to Queens. I had to call a car service, which was faster, but once we arrived in the general area, we could not find the courthouse. (This was before map apps and Lyft.) We drove and drove. Round and round. The longer we drove, the more stressed out I became. I didn’t know what would happen but missing court seemed like a pretty big deal. 

My driver stopped to ask multiple people directions to the courthouse and no one knew where it was. I was going into panic mode, mumbling to myself and leaning forward telling the driver to turn here and here. At a stoplight, I took matters into my own hands. I rolled down my window and asked a man who was sweeping the sidewalk in front of his mechanic shop where the courthouse was. “Please sir can you help me? Where is the courthouse?” He looked up very slowly and said, “You mean to tell me you are in a taxi and are asking me for directions?” My driver got mad, called him a derogatory name, and sped off. We finally, thanks be to Jesus, just happened upon the courthouse. I sprinted as fast as I could into the building and immediately saw my colleague who was there to litigate an actual case. He had been calling me to find out where I was. He said the judge was about to start and I better hurry. I was sweaty and disheveled. An utter mess.  

My colleagues were too busy going to court and billing their own hours to help me much. My boss had given me a couple samples to follow when writing motions. But, apparently, my work was sub-par, because shortly after I started he asked to review everything I wrote before it was filed with the court. It wasn’t long after that he told me I needed to bill more hours. I was too slow.  

I felt like Bridget Jones when she becomes a tv reporter, inept and blundering and awkward, but with none of her charm or humor.

I could not do anything right. I lasted all of four months. It felt like four years. The longer I worked there, the more unsure of myself I became. I second-guessed my work. My work product had to be better, but to be better I needed to work more slowly. My work wasn’t getting better and I wasn’t churning it out faster. Court wasn’t getting better either. I hated it more the longer I did it. The work was far from the noble meaningful stuff I envisioned doing when I started law school. And litigation. Who was I kidding? I was about as quick on my feet as…well, I don’t know. See? 

I was pretty sure I did not even want to practice law anymore. It was so different from law school. Why had no one mentioned the billable hour for one thing? Measuring out my time in six-minute increments was the worst. It was hard to lose myself in the work when I was constantly eyeing the clock, worried and stressed over how long it was taking me to write the stupid motion. I loved writing and had enjoyed writing papers in law school. But practicing law left little room for originality.

Especially insurance defense.  

In the midst of this hellacious job, I was still lonely. Still shut down. Still thinking about Kelly all the time. Still stuffing down my secret and my shame. I had never felt so insecure in all my life. I was ill-at-ease in my own skin, which affected how I conducted myself in my personal and professional life. I avoided human interaction because I felt so NOT right. The human interaction I did have was oftentimes awkward and disconnected. Void of humor or joy.

I barely recognized myself.

Working at the factory/law firm did not help. I doubted my ability to do my job. I wasn’t smart enough, assertive enough, witty enough…just not enough. 

My flight instinct kicked into high gear. I wanted out. A different job. A change. Something else. My dad happened to be working on a real estate project in Colorado. He suggested I come work for him. I loved the idea but wondered if maybe I was giving up on the law too soon. I wasn’t sure what to do. But I did know I did not want to work for the firm any longer. I told my boss that while I appreciated him giving me a chance, this job wasn’t for me. He seemed skeptical like he was going to give me some push back, like he was going to question if I really should quit (they were always training someone new as the firm had a revolving door for young attorneys). I was scared that he was going to make suggestions to help make the job better and talk me into staying so I blurted out that I was moving to Colorado. Right then and there, I had made my decision.