I'm wondering what the definition of a "mid-tier" firm is. In the fuzzy picture in my mind, it's a firm with about 50 lawyers. You know - big-ish, but not huge. Anything smaller than that is... well, small. And when you're small, and you call yourself mid-tier, I think you look a little bit silly.
The crazy lawyer in the next cubicle who has driven me insane for the past year with his overly personal telephone conversations, and his kicking the divider between our cubicles, and his manic giggling, and the irritating way he uses his mouse (and so on, and so on) is leaving today. I am delighted. No longer will I have to hear about the aftermath of his wife's keyhole surgery. (Surgery of what, I thankfully do not know. I started plugging my fingers in my ears at the word "keyhole".)
My boss told me yesterday that he was going to be in late because he had some personal matters to take care of and he couldn't go into the details. I almost knelt down before him to say, "Thank you! Thank you! I don't want to know the details! This is as it should be."
In two weeks my year of cubicle life will be at an end - the firm is moving, and I will be getting an office. With walls. And a window. And (although it was a near thing) a door. Yes, I had to make an argument for the benefits of a door. But I will have one, which is the main thing. I imagine my new work space will be fairly small and box-like, but no-one will be chatting to me about keyhole surgery, and I think this will have wide and far-reaching benefits for my state of mind.
The crazy lawyer in the next cubicle who has driven me insane for the past year with his overly personal telephone conversations, and his kicking the divider between our cubicles, and his manic giggling, and the irritating way he uses his mouse (and so on, and so on) is leaving today. I am delighted. No longer will I have to hear about the aftermath of his wife's keyhole surgery. (Surgery of what, I thankfully do not know. I started plugging my fingers in my ears at the word "keyhole".)
My boss told me yesterday that he was going to be in late because he had some personal matters to take care of and he couldn't go into the details. I almost knelt down before him to say, "Thank you! Thank you! I don't want to know the details! This is as it should be."
In two weeks my year of cubicle life will be at an end - the firm is moving, and I will be getting an office. With walls. And a window. And (although it was a near thing) a door. Yes, I had to make an argument for the benefits of a door. But I will have one, which is the main thing. I imagine my new work space will be fairly small and box-like, but no-one will be chatting to me about keyhole surgery, and I think this will have wide and far-reaching benefits for my state of mind.
3 comments:
SO no pink pain then? I'm disappointed.
Pink paint, I meant to say.
Pain is more a flaming red.
Hah - no, unfortunately not. I would have enjoyed that, and it would have clashed rather with the subdued blue and brown (brown? why?) colour scheme they've got going.
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