[Ed. Note: The following piece was authored by "The Legal Tease" of Sweet Hot Justice fame. You can check out all of Legal Tease's other musings from Sweet Hot Justice here.]
My first intervention went down pretty much exactly like the ones you see on TV. Well, except that there were no cameras. Or tears. Or therapists. And it took place in a shoebox office in a law firm instead of, say, in my living room, surrounded by friends and family. Still, the core elements were the same: I had a serious issue and it needed addressing. No, I wasn’t a junkie, or an alcoholic, or addicted to fetish porn. My issue was far more dangerous. More destructive. More worthy, apparently, of the powers that be at the firm stepping in to make sure the situation didn’t get further out of control.
The issue? My billable hours were too high.
It was a couple of years ago, when it was actually possible to have billable hours, no less ones that were too high. The day started like any other: sitting at my desk on three hours’ sleep, mourning my former life as a person who…had a life, and wading through diligence for a massive public company merger that had consumed every billable, no less waking, hour of my life since I’d started working at the firm a few months back. I heard a knock on my door and looked up to see Bess, a senior associate I’d never met, smiling at my door.
“Hey there!” she chirped. “How’s it going?”
I looked down at the heaps of SEC filings covering every inch of my desk. How does it look like it’s going?
She kept smiling. “Sooo, gotta sec?”
No. “Sure.”
“Great! I figured we could just go grab a coffee and talk for a bit.” Oh, Jesus Christ. What the hell is this about? I don’t have time for this.
Turns out, that was the whole point.
Having a life, after the jump.
Continue reading “Sex, Drugs, And Billable Hours!”