Originally published on November 29, 2010 in our free BigLaw newsletter.
First, they spot you in a crowded room. You flirt. You exchange contact information. Eventually you meet in a more intimate setting where you chat for just long enough to size each other up. Before you know it, you're being introduced to the rest of the gang. Don't they seem nice? Aren't they just the kind of folks you could see yourself spending some serious time with? And it turns out that they like you, too! They welcome you into their well-appointed inner sanctum, where you spend a blissful summer dining well, basking in praise, and admiring the fabulous new accessories you can suddenly afford. But then a year or so later everything changes.
Is There a Cure for the Post-Summertime Blues?
Ah, the thrill of a new relationship! The all-consuming immersion. The heady sense of possibility. The flush of novelty … and, of course, the big paycheck. We're talking of course about those early days at the large law firm where you summered and accepted an offer.
The lusty beginning eventually gives way to something a bit more measured — perhaps a relationship based on mutual respect, or more likely, one characterized by simmering resentment and financial dependence.
No matter that you think of yourself as a steely pragmatist who sys things like, "It's only a job," or "I'm just trying to pay down my loans because what I really want to do is [insert noble public interest job here]." The trappings of biglaw — the exaggerated sense of importance, the cushy surroundings, and the fluffy paycheck — make it hard to leave despite the enervating and unfulfilling existence.
Which is precisely why, when hard times come a-knockin' and the firm delivers the unfortunate news of your pending unemployment with a blandly unapologetic "It's not you, it's me," speech, it's hard not to feel like a jilted lover.
Like all jilted parties, you probably go through a painful recovery. You cry. You mope. You cold call headhunters. You send out 13,000 resumes. At some point, Starbucks calls to tell you that you're overqualified for the position. You wonder if sending a resume there in the first place made you look desperate, but why dwell on it?
Sooner or later, you're back on your feet, or at least leaving the house in the morning to go to an actual office, rather than the table in the back corner of the Starbucks to which you applied. You don't need that stinking law firm! You don't need those
jerks!
Alas, sooner or later, you'll run into those jerks. With any luck, you'll know ahead of time — say, if you're going to a professional conclave where you're likely to come face to face with your former colleagues. This scenario is far preferable to an unanticipated street encounter — during which you're invariably clad in sweatpants, eating a
Starbucks marble pound cake, and sobbing — as it gives you time to think strategically.
Have a Ball
Indeed, such was the case with an associate whom we'll call Cinderella — a pseudonym that — wink wink — has nothing to do with the fact that Cindy often found herself trapped in the office toiling away while her evil "stepsisters" engaged in frolic and detour. In any event, Cindy was a devoted associate who fell victim to the layoffs that swept our profession last year. After a hard landing, uncushioned by even a handkerchief-sized severance pillow to break her fall, Cindy found work at another firm. Suffice to say that, between a massive pay cut and a career "readjustment," Cindy's life is very different today.
Cindy called me recently to say that she would be attending a professional function at which she expected to see not just any old colleague, but her Former Boss (FB). What, she wanted to know, should she say to the woman who had worked her like a pack mule before kicking her unceremoniously to the curb? What should she avoid saying? What if she got wasted and threw a drink in her former boss's face? "I don't know," I told her. "Just make sure you look TOTALLY HOT." "We're not talking about my ex-boyfriend," Cindy reminded me with an exasperated sigh. Then she asked me to consider the following conversation starters, points, and comments, all of which she hoped to make part of the encounter.
1. "Oh, Hi! I Didn't Recognize You Without Your Axe!"
In case you didn't catch her drift, Cindy is referring to the axe used by her FB to remove associate bios (such as Cindy's) from the firm Web site. My advice: Take the high road. Being canned — even as a result of the worst economic downturn in 50 years — can be a demoralizing experience. Why compound matters by wearing your humiliation on your sleeve? Practice the following mantra: "I left to pursue other opportunities. I left to pursue other opportunities. I left to pursue …"
Interestingly, the laws of nature provide that Cindy's FB is due some humiliation of her own. While it would be immature and unprofessional for Cindy to cause such humiliation (no pig's blood dumped on FB's head from a rafter in the conference center's meeting space), Cindy is under no affirmative obligation to prevent mild embarrassment. Thus, if FB happens to walk out of the ladies' room with her pantyhose tucked into the back of her skirt (as she was wont to do when Cindy worked for her), Cindy need not feel bound to point out the, um, "inadvertent disclosure."
2. "The Biggest Challenge of My New Job Is Figuring Out What to Do With All the Extra Money!"
I know that Cindy has taken a massive pay cut. You know that Cindy has taken a massive pay cut. But does FB need to know? While traditional notions of fair play and justice might have required Cindy the Associate to be forthcoming with FB, no such standard applies to the person who issues your walking papers. So what's the harm in a little white lie?
Thus, when it comes to money, my advice: Take the low road. While Cindy might want to tone her wording down a bit (since talking about one's salary is, after all, in poor taste), it couldn't hurt to work in an innocuous comment that communicates the same sentiment. Perhaps something along the lines of, "My new job is great! Oh, excuse me — I think that's my personal shopper calling." A quick eye-roll, and a muttered "she wants me to send my driver to pick her up on Tuesday — can you believe it?" should hammer the point home.
3. "So, What Are You Doing With All That Empty Office Space?"
As I mentioned, Cindy wasn't the only one who got the axe. A number of her colleagues suffered the same fate, plus the firm has continued laying off lawyers this year. Cindy and her former comrades suspect that the firm is a sinking ship, and often picture FB picking up the phone, prepared to order an associate to rewrite a deposition summary at 11:00 at night, only to find that she has dialed (yet another) disconnected extension.
Cindy now wonders whether it is permissible to rub FB's face in the indignity of her changed circumstances. My advice: the situation calls for a mixed route, traversing both the high and low roads. Specifically, while it would be unseemly to say something like, "Wow, you seem pretty shorthanded these days — are you doing your own copying?" it probably wouldn't hurt to land a minor jab. Perhaps she could mention the fact that she and a few former colleagues are planning an "alumnae gathering" to celebrate the fabulous good fortune they have experienced since leaving the firm.
No matter that, when Cindy and her old firm pals get together, it'll be for questionable half-price sushi or a gourmet cheeseburger. Cindy should feel free to substitute "Shake Shack" with the name of the swanky restaurant where they would meet if they had more than $82 left over from their unemployment checks at the end of the month. Cindy might also want to mention a complex litigation matter that she's working on, and say something like, "Do you handle those types of cases anymore? They call for a lot of manpower, so you're probably focusing on matters that are, um, a little more conducive to lean staffing."
We wish Cindy the best of luck with her encounter, and hope that you'll weigh in with your own stories or suggestions for Cindy on how to handle the dreaded FB rendezvous. And, if you're also facing an FB rendezvous, remember this piece of advice: check your skirt before you leave the ladies room.
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