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Pants Down: An Eyewitness Account of an Ill-Fated Firm Retreat (Part 1)

hope winters.jpg[Ed. note: This is the first contribution to ATL by former practicing attorney Hope Winters (not her real name), whose byline you may see in these pages from time to time. Please note that a few years have passed between the events in question and the writing of this account. Accordingly, as is often the case with memoirs, it may contain errors, as well as a certain amount of poetic license. Enjoy.]

When I was a first-year associate at a major international law firm, I got the e-mail, on an otherwise perfect June summer day. It was news all of the associates dreaded.

“Please reserve the weekend of July 13-15 for our annual firm retreat at the Lansdowne Resort in Virginia. We welcome the opportunity to meet our colleagues from around the world…. on Saturday afternoon, you will have your choice of recreational activities….”

Blah. Blah. Blah.

My mind started racing as I was running the clock in Westlaw. I immediately started thinking of reasons I could not attend this event: a family wedding, a prepaid vacation to Italy, the funeral of my brother-in-law. AS IF I wanted to spend one more day with these insecure, undersexed, overpaid, workaholic, boring lawyers.

Let alone an entire weekend. I cherished my weekends — half of which were spent in the office, and half of which were spent on massive spending sprees at the nearby mall, in a desperate attempt to assuage the pain of the firm.

And now they were bringing over all our “global” colleagues, from places like the Czech Republic and Bratislava. I thought about all the money this would cost. And, just like all the unnecessary art work and antique furniture the firm proudly displayed, this just meant more billable hours for us.

This sucked. AND, to top it all off, we find to had “roommate” for resort lodging. This is not college. And, just like high school gym class, the distant memories of rejection immediately resurfaced. I had to quickly find a partner, or I would be alone or, worse yet, assigned a roommate. And, I hate everyone here.

All the e-mails between the girl associates had already gone out. I knew that much. Girls operate out of insecurity, panic and fear when it comes to pairing with other girls. I quickly texted my only real friend in the firm, Rachel.

“This retreat blows. Ughhh. Do you want to room with me?”

“I know. Totally. Sorry, Maria just asked me.”

Here we go. The mad dash to find a suitable roommate. I bet the partners don’t have roommates. Those greedy bastards. Hello? I haven’t had a “roommate” since I was a 20-year-old residing in a sorority group house.

In any event, after myriad attempts to secure a girl, my quasi-friend, Eleanor in Litigation, agreed to be mine. At least that part was over.

TO BE CONTINUED…

* * * * *
Hope Winters is an early retired lawyer, turned Senate staffer, turned corporate lobbyist. She lives in Washington, DC, and blogs at Here’s the Thing.

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