Today, I am struggling with the thickness, or rather thinness, of my skin.
As a laywer, I am required to be knowledgeable, responsive, courteous and cool-headed. Like a surgeon, I am expected to pay obsessive attention to detail. Like an HR manager, I am expected to understand how to drive and motivate a team. Like a CEO, I am expected to grasp the business realities behind a complex legal conundrum.
It turns out that like a politician or a Hollywood celebrity, I am also increasingly expected to "walk it off" and move on when I am seriously dissed.
"Undercover, that memo you wrote on discovery didn't cite enough case law. Back to the drawing board!" bellows the ulcer-inducing Partner Number Two from behind his desk. No matter that his response to my previous memo had been: "Undercover, why is this draft crawling with footnotes? Take them all out! The client doesn't care about the case law!" This is one of very many reasons why Partner Number Two will never be Partner Number One.
"Undercover, what is that stink you're wearing?" grumbles Jaded Officemate after I return to my desk from Partner Number Two's office. I give him a hard stare.
"It's Chanel N° 5, you ogre, the scent of choice of millions of women around the globe. But knowing your knack for refinement, you'd probably prefer essence of flatulant gorilla or yeasted horse dung."
"I'm not into perfume," he responds gingerly as he turns back to his screen.
I am typing more aggressively on my keyboard than strictly necessary when Down the Hall waltzes into our office.
"Hi, Undercover! Turd." she acknowledges Jaded Officemate with a curt nod. They don't exactly see eye to eye. And turning back to me: "Oh my, you look like a train wreck today, are you feeling alright?"
I wince and then involuntarily pass a finger underneath each eye to catch traces of runaway mascara that could be mistaken for dark circles.
"Yeah, I'm fine, jeez. What's up with everyone today? You don't look so hot yourself you know!"
That is quite honestly not true. Down the Hall looks irritatingly fabulous as usual. Fresh-faced and wide-smiled, she looks like she is just taking a break from the movie set of Pride and Prejudice rather than being ensconced in the death traps of BigLaw.
"O-kay," Down the Hall responds slowly as she rolls her eyes, "one of us is clearly not having a good day. Oh, not you, Turd," she interjects as Jaded Officemate looks up from his papers, "nobody's talking to you." Jaded Officemate shrugs and drops his head back to his papers. "I'll, er, come back tomorrow, when you're feeling a bit more sociable."
An hour later I am still wearing my "Trespassers will be shot" expression as I run downstairs to grab something high in refined sugar from Emile's bagel shop. Emile has his day off, and his deputy makes change at the register. As I turn on my heels to go back upstairs, a tall handsome thirty-something investment banker-something calls out.
"Ah, mademoiselle!"
Cautiously, I turn around. Mademoiselle? The investment banker must be visiting from somebody's Paris office. With a deliciously strong accent, he hands me the coffee I had forgotten on the counter as he says: "Chanel N° 5, excellent choice."
Sometimes it is quite nice having thin skin, I ponder, as I wait for the goose bumps to subside.
Secretly yours,
The Undercover Writer.
