“Planning day” is yet to begin. It was supposed to begin 5 minutes ago but all the lawyers are still feverishly writing things down and engaging in serious, intense conversations with each other. It’s sad really. There’s probably a very expensive and very lovely feast waiting for them in some posh conference room in some posh hotel. But no, there’s no stampede, there’s not even a certain stirring as they gather up their “planning materials” and gravitate towards the door. See, that’s the difference between artists and lawyers. You say free meal and booze to match, tether yourself to something sturdy as the running of the bulls would have nothing on the thumping hordes of artists racing towards some biscuits and cheese. In fact, artists are wonderfully adept at time management. No meetings, and then dinner, and then drinks. Whack it all together people, pass the wine and what do you think our marketing strategy should be?
They’re still here. Someone called out 10 minutes about 5 minutes ago but it only seemed to make them all hunch their shoulders and work harder. I haven’t heard the dum di dum of computers being shut down or last minute instructions on what to do if an emergency crops up – if so and so rings, call me on my mobile immediately and get a judge on standby. I’ve heard those instructions about seven trillion times – know how many times I’ve had to get a judge on standby. That’s right. Zilch. Lawyers usually say this in loud and booming tones, making sure that their boss and their boss’s boss hear it in clear tones and hopefully will take the young tacker aside and call him Superman or Iron Man or Beast or Take No Prisoners Guy or Hit Em Where It Hurts Guy or Brutus (all lawyers think that Brutus is misunderstood. A guy has to do what a guy has to do and if someone hadn’t ratted on him, you know that Caesar would be nothing but a footnote in history because Brutus was the man dude. THE MAN!)
All is still silent on the western front. My mid-life crisis lawyer has two computers which I can’t help but think is greedy and begs the question – how much information on a screen(s) can your brain take in? These are the things I’m left to ponder.
Mid-life crisis guy still can’t remember my name. He just turned to me, opened his mouth and then turned away. My name is on my security pass which is hanging around my neck. He has a post-it with my name stuck to one of his computer screens. I send him emails ever 5 seconds with MY NAME on them. When he calls me I say my name. Seriously, I’m thinking of tattooing his knuckles.
Okay, it’s now 23 minutes since planning day was supposed to start. And it’s sucking all of my energy to look focussed and interested in my work when really I’m just blogging. Blogging and blogging. Mid-life crisis just asked me to show him how to save a document. Seriously. The guy charges out at $500 an hour. I get $26. Kiddies, never let anyone tell you the world is fair. Oh, and he didn’t call me by name.
25 minutes and counting. If my ears aren’t playing tricks on me, I can hear some movement down the other end of the department. I don’t know whether they are let’s get this show on the road stirrings or all of this has to be done before anyone can get to the food. I can feel my shoulders sagging and my love of life evaporating. I just heard the word ‘go’ but … oh wait! I see a lawyer with his bag standing in the corridor. Mid-life crisis is impervious to such subtle suggesting. They will have to go in and drag him out. Lawyer with bag is one of the young ones too. What he thinks, says or does is worth less than what I think, say or do. I can save a document. I’m worth more than he will ever. He might as well stay back here with us. We could teach him to save a document and increase his value. We could order in a Nandos party pack and make a celebration out of it.
Okay, lawyers are now leaving. Rushing out the door like they do for court or other important events. Don’t start the planning without me! Mid-life crisis ploughs on in his office. We are now at the 37 minute mark. At the 40 minute mark I’m creating a diversion and sneaking out.
40 minutes on the dot and he is gone. I feel strangely nostalgic for the times we had together.
No comments:
Post a Comment