A generic bar on an arctic Saturday night, and what appears to be two brunettes sipping vodka tonics at a remote table is actually a scene of reconciliation. I’m sitting with R, a childhood friend blessed with the rare ability to recall my adolescent self, piles of stringy waist-length hair perpetually falling in my face to hide the pubescent confusion, and still see me now as both a product and independent entity of the awkward teen. It’s been easy to brush aside these friends during the frenzy of our twenties, a decade consumed with domination of those hurdles standing between us and that ephemeral chimera, adulthood. New jobs, relationships, degrees, social groups, always another step towards carving out the “right” career, the “right” life. Suddenly two years have passed, and a spare moment’s glance around the expanse of my little universe reveals an incalculable void left by her absence. So I call her, leave one of those attritional voicemails lasting 8 full minutes, and we set up a meeting. Within minutes of our reunion we’ve fallen into that easy rhythm of true connection with a friend, in which years of absence are instantly washed away and you laugh as if only minutes had passed since your last conversation.
“So how is the dating horizon? Are you seeing anyone?” Caught up in my excitement, I suddenly want to devour her life, know everything at once. She’s just started as a first year associate at a huge firm, and the strain is already etching itself into her features.
“Abysmal. Sheer misery. O, you really have no idea.”
“That bad? Is it just that you’ve been meeting the wrong people?”
“First off, I haven’t been meeting anyone, that’s 90% of the problem right there. When am I supposed to be social, hit the bar scene when I’m working 100 hour weeks. And when I get home at night, if I get home, all I can do is sleep, same on the weekends.”
I nod sympathetically. Firms will legendarily morph into black holes, easily swallowing your social life in their cavernous maw. Plus R presents a unique challenge; an intimidating combination of magnetic beauty and commanding intellectualism, she’s every mildly insecure white collar male’s nightmare. Thus eliminating half the men in this city from her dating pool. Had I not known her since the days of prank calls and muppet nicknames, I’d likely be intimidated by her as well.
“Plus there’s the whole cancellation aspect,” she continues. “Let’s assume, by some miracle of nature, I do meet a great guy. I’ll agree to a date, then there’s a huge chance something will come up at work and I’ll have to cancel. He’ll be slightly offended the first time, decently miffed the second time, and then the third time he’ll torch my number with a lighter.”
“Unless, of course, he happens to be a lawyer as well. Which automatically limits you to the lawyer population.”
“Exactly. They’re the only ones I meet anyway. No way am I dating anyone at my firm, I’d sooner join a convent than be that stupid. So the pool is reduced to the occasional lawyer I meet through other lawyers.”
“Yeah we travel in herds, and inter-career dating is strictly frowned upon. Didn’t you get the memo when you accepted your offer?” I smile, unsure of how to respond, falling back on a glib remark out of habit.
“Yeah really. And that leaves me with almost nothing. Here’s an example that’ll sum up the entire experience. Last weekend I went out with this guy, I met him at a law school alumni event, he’s a senior associate over at X firm. He was cute, decent conversationalist, he asked for my number, I figured why not.”
“Sounds promising.”
“Ah, just wait for the story. So he picks me up, we go to dinner, and I’m literally inhaling my entrée just to try to get the meal over with as fast as possible. O, I kid you not, he’s God awful, a complete egomaniac, called the waiter a cretin when he mispronounced one of the specials, he even asked me whether I was on law review and laughed in my face when I said I decided not to do the writing competition.”
“Yikes. Ok, I stand corrected.”
“So we get to the lobby of my building and it’s the classic cliché scenario, I’m trying to extricate myself from the date as smoothly as possible, he has no concept that I might not be madly in love with him and thinks it’s going fabulously. I say thank you and good night, and tell him I have to work all day tomorrow so I need to get to bed.”
“Ok, so it was a dud, but I’m sure there are -“
“Oh no, I haven’t gotten to the good part yet. I start to turn away and head inside, and in all seriousness his face instantly transformed into something out of Dante’s cantos. Standing in the street, he starts yelling at me, ‘I cant believe this, I invest 3 hours of my night only to get the cold shoulder at the door!’”
“Oh Lord, one of those.”
“Just wait, there’s more. So then he launches into, ‘Christ, what the hell is the matter with you! Do you know how much those three hours I just wasted would be worth to my firm? I could have been billing this whole time, and now you won’t even hand out so much as a fucking good night kiss.’”
“You have got to be kidding me!”
“Not in the slightest. And, for his coup de grace, he calls me a frigid bitch, remarks that I ‘wasn’t as hot as I think I am,’ and stomps away to hail a cab.”
“Well, at least he ends his closing argument with a bang. What a fall down utter piece of shit. There’s really no obtainable excuse for that.”
“Now you see. And the rest haven’t been much better. Just less outrageous.” She shakes her head and glances wearily at her barely-touched drink. “I don’t know O, I knew it would be bad as a first year but it never really sunk in. The hours, the constant exhaustion, plus the toll it takes on every aspect of your life. It’s only been a few months, but I’m already sure this isn’t how I want to spend my twenties and thirties. Does it get any better? Be honest.”
I hesitate, unsure of how to respond, momentarily terrified. If I slice open my “double life,” spill the messy events of the past few months onto our table, the blog, my plans, will she laugh? Silently dismiss it as senseless and juvenile? Think I’m immersed in utter fantasy? I suddenly realize that I fear her judgment far more than the intense scrutiny and grating manifestos of thousands.
“This may sound ridiculous, but I write this blog on the internet, it’s all about my experiences with firms. It’s just my opinions and perspective, but it’ll definitely answer your question.”
She grins, laughs unabashedly for the first time that evening. “I knew that was you. I read it a while ago, and I knew it couldn’t be anyone else. It’s fantastic.”