Ah the wonder of face time at law firms. It’s a universally accepted doctrine, worshipped by all associates with mute recognition. Denial of its existence is the single greatest fib told during that subsidized gong show that is 2L recruiting. Picture the well-scrubbed, eager young law student perched erect on his or her chair during the interview lunch, nodding attentively as a slightly anemic associate delivers the following oration, while sucking down as many Diet Cokes as the allotted firm lunch budget will allow:
“The great thing is, there’s really no face time here. As long as you bill your hours and get your work done, no one cares when you’re in the office. You can leave at 5 to go to the doctor and no one bats an eye. It’s great.”
The candidate may as well be handed a pamphlet at that moment entitled “Translation” stating: “Don’t be a dunce, of course face time is required here, as it is in every large law firm in this country. The partners look at you and see only walking dollar signs - since the skyrocket of associate salaries in the ’90s, they harbor nothing but resentment for the ridiculous amount in paychecks and bonuses they have to shovel in our direction, all in the name of staying competitive in the market. They want to see your ass cheeks rubber cemented to your desk chair, your eyes locked in a tractor beam to your computer screen, each and every time they happen to stroll past your office. And if your door is closed, they’ll automatically assume you’re napping, shopping online or looking at porn.”
It’s the primary unspoken rule: Don’t ever let a partner see you leave the building. Sneak out the back stairs, head four flights down and catch an elevator rather than risk standing in the lobby of your floor clutching a purse and coat like a wandering woodland creature during hunting season. If actual departure is necessary, be sure to march confidently through the halls exclaiming loudly that you’re “just running out for coffee, does anyone else want?” Bluffs such as this, however, are thwarted if a naive counterpart actually takes you up on the sham offer.
WIth necessity inevitably breeding invention, the associate ranks go to inordinate lengths to create the appearance of omnipresence at their desks. There are the basic moves - computers and office lights left on, screen savers removed to create the illusion that you unglued your face from the laptop only moments earlier, decoy purses and coats left in conveniently prominent locations around the office, emails routed from your Blackberry through the firm system at midnight. B, an associate friend, recently informed me of his plan to leave the overhead lights on, shut his office door and play sufficiently loud recordings of his “phone voice” so passing partners would think he was speaking to another partner, or perhaps opposing counsel.
“It could work O, seriously. I know it sounds totally corny, some sort of bad movie prank, but it might actually be effective with the right equipment. I’m planning to do some tests this weekend.”
“Uh, you are joking here, right? You don’t seriously want to go to these lengths to try and fool people into thinking you’re here at 11 on a Tuesday night?
“I’m sort of half kidding. You know, like the guy who goes up to random women at bars and asks them to go home with him - I’m only kidding if it doesn’t work.”
“Fair enough. So lets think about this. You wouldn’t want to start the recording too early, people will figure it out. And the first years next door will definitely know.”
“I could set it on replay, maybe with a delay. It wouldn’t be for every day, maybe just once a week. X Partner saw me leave twice last week, pretty soon they’ll all think I’m never here.”
“Your billables are fine, from what you’ve told me.”
“Yeah but nothing beats face time.”
“True. You could try a method my friend C told me about, he’s a fifth year over at Y Firm. He rearranged his office so that his computer screen faces the office door and trained himself to fall asleep sitting in his chair, facing his computer with his back to the outside. Partners walk right past and think he’s working.”
“Yeah but I don’t want to sleep, I want to get the hell out of the office, pretend I have a life. I know, the whole thing sounds completely idiotic.”
“It wouldn’t if we were all living in the screenplay for ‘Animal House.’”
“Ha ha, funny girl. Maybe I’ll just construct myself in effigy and leave it in my desk chair at night.”
“You could commission a replicant, you look a little like Rutger Hauer.”
“Quit being a smartass. You’re not helping here. I’m serious.”
“Sorry, sorry, I’ll stop. Seriously, I think you’re stressing for no reason. Honestly, what are you so worried about? There are x associates on this floor, the partners are all super busy, do you really think they’re paying that much attention to when you leave every night?”
“Yes. I do.”
What amazes me is that everyone knows the unwritten rules of the face time game, yet plays along in mute agreement, despite the fact that the partners are as aware of our antics and methods as we are. Sometimes I wonder whether the blue-suited safety gurus up in the security office are munching popcorn and laughing hysterically as they watch cameras filled with stealthy twentysometings creeping through hallways, glancing around corners to avoid partner run-ins, and padding down stairwells with their coats held behind their backs. I’ve made a concentrated effort to remove myself from the game, but still I can’t help feeling like I’ve landed on Park Place and gone broke every time I pass a partner at 7 p.m. on my way to the elevator. In the battle between logical reason and blind herd-adherence, it’s clear which is winning.