By: Jamie Collins (or some other paralegal)

There once lived a crazy paralegal. (Are y’all with me here?) One I may be …ahem, I mean know. Definitely know. The being stops in this paragraph, people. Keep reading.

Anyway, this story begins on a day that started out like any other—that is—until this particular paralegal learned that her brilliant boss a/k/a supervising esquire decided, for at least the fourth time in this decade, to stop smoking again.  While in many regards, this epic undertaking may eventually work to fortify the longevity of a certain paralegal person’s career, in the short term, it tends to drive one out of one’s friggin’ mind. Welcome to the outer rung of work hell-oooooo, my paralegal friends. You’ve arrived. Go ahead and strap that seatbelt across your executive chair, people.

Exaggerating?
Me?

I. Think. Not.

Since the aforementioned day, I have learned that while I did not believe myself to be equipped with the “I-can-ignore-other-people-or-small-children-repeatedly-calling-my-name” parenting attribute (as I only have one child and not the 2 or more I believe one must have in order to hone this internal, sanity-saving device), I was apparently wrong. Dead wrong. About 45 minutes into day one of the “longer career only if you don’t kill him games,” the coworker was about to go off the legal reservation. Why, you ask? Because she’d heard my name bellowed aloud at least 20 times. Yes, in a 45 minute span, people. I tell no lies. The sad thing is, I apparently had that ignoring device fully-engaged in the on position, so while I did comply with each verbal request made of me by the esquire, I somehow failed to actually hear my name called aloud 20 times. We can chalk it up to pacing one’s self for a future nervous breakdown.

I have also learned that about the 4 hour mark is my hard limit for dealing with a nicotine-less, name repeating esquire within the confines of the work space, at which point I require a brief respite AWAY (read: as far, far away as my little high heeled legs can friggin’ carry me) from my desk, joined by the coworker, to a place serving semi- nutritious food morsels, and chocolate chip cookies. (You local peeps know what I’m talking about…Para…Para…Paradise, as in the cafe, definitely not the soul soothing, attorneyless escape, complete with sun and umbrella drinks. Get your minds out of the beach cabana and back to reality, people.)

Why he cannot stop smoking on a Wednesday, I do not know. Note to Esquires: If you ever decide to stop smoking, please do all paralegalkind a favor and do so on a Wednesday, Thursday, or Friday. No other day will do. This whole week-long stretch thing may be the end all of a certain blogging someone and what remains left of her soul. I find myself at the beginning of a smokeless, seemingly endless pilgrimage back toward what was formerly known as the paralegal promise land, twenty times removed. I have already pondered walking across the street to the courthouse to legally change my name, so it will be easier to ignore over the next 4 days. What type of name would y’all say is fitting?

Cue the start of paralegal games.
The first round consists of an exciting game known as…

Name that paralegal:

I’m open to suggestions here. It’s kind of like that dreaded foreign language class (in my case, German or French), where you get to pretend to be someone new. I’m listening…so long as you aren’t an esquire calling out my real my name, prior to me being accepted as the next inductee into the Paralegal Sanity Protection Program.

Sincerely,
Jamie Who
(no, really…)

Shhhhh…don’t tell anyone about this post. Just kidding—I’m going to have to live this one down. Share away!

_____

Thankfully, since the time this post was originally written a few weeks ago, the small, white sticks of death have returned to the land of legal. As has my sanity.

Some days—that’s all you need. A bit of sanity. A happy boss. And a weekend on the way. If you’ve ever experienced a day/week/month like this, I’d love to hear about it! I’m also dying to hear your name suggestions for the aforementioned paralegal.

Wishing you a great one, TPSers! Go get ‘em.