Boyfriend and I are sitting at an outdoor bar enjoying margaritas with two older couples, both friends of his father. Instead of the stuffy, oppressive correctness masking disapproval bestowed by many “older professionals” on people our age, the four of them laugh with us and exude a vibrance mixed with calm, as if they’re fully at peace with their place in the universe. I’m enjoying the somewhat uncommon spectacle of people in their ’60s who actually still enjoy the company of their spouse.
F, the wife of the slightly younger couple, turns to me. “Dear, you know G is a professor at X Law School.”
In a single moment, my festive mood is shattered. “Uh, really? That’s great.” A law school professor. The group whose judgment I fear more than the most petrifying law firm partner. G’s attention is on me; she’s clearly expecting a response. I glance around the table for salvation, to no avail; the rest of the group has fallen into a discussion of Manhattan real estate. “So how long have you been teaching?” I ask, breaking the increasingly awkward silence.
“Over fifteen years now. Prior to that I was a practicing attorney.”
“Uh, that’s great.” I gather every ounce of mental energy and direct it into a single message silently beamed at Boyfriend: “Please do not look this way and tell her I’m a lawyer. Just let it go.”
“Melissa’s a lawyer as well!” he tosses in cheerily, turning from the other conversation. Crap. Well, ESP is safely crossed off my list of talents.
“Oh really?” G asks.
“Uh, yes.” I shoot Boyfriend a look that says, “Drop it now, I’m serious.”
“Actually, she’s a big lawyer blogger!” he exclaims, beaming with pride. I cringe, anticipating the incredulous look that, sure enough, spreads across her face.
“You have a blog?” she asks. Her pitch changes slightly, which I interpret as condescension or something in its general family.
“Uh, well, I started this thing when I was practicing, and it became this whole other thing, and then I got all caught up, I mean, well, I eventually quit my job as an associate.” And in less than two minutes, my vocabulary has reached a new low. I wonder if I’ve ever emitted such an incoherent sentence before in my life.
I can feel the confusion emanating from her body in waves. “So you were practicing? For how long exactly?”
“A year and a half. I sort of forced myself into a situation where I had to quit beacuse of the blog.”
“How did you do that?” Her eyebrows form a crescent in the center of her forehead, and her husband, hearing the interest in her voice, turns to listen. Perfect; now I have double the audience for my humiliation.
“Um, well, I wrote about law firms, and lawyers. And I said things that weren’t exactly kosher…”
I stare at her face, trying to quelch the mortification bubbling in my chest. She thinks I’m a complete idiot, one of those glassy-eyed pseudo-neanderthals in the back row of her classroom who accidentally squeezed through the law school admissions door because of an LSAT fluke.
“What really happened is, I realized through the blog that I wanted to write as a career, and that the whole law firm game was sort of a no-win situation. So I left.” Ugh - why would I say that, to a woman who sends people to firms for a living? I contemplate admitting defeat and ordering another margarita. Or ten.
She nods, her expression unreadable. “I know it must sound completely weird,” I add, desperate to salvage the situation.
Without a second of hesitation, she replies, “It’s not weird. It’s life.” I blink in momentary shock. “I think it’s wonderful,” she continues. “Every year these firms come in and sweep away 99% of my students, most of whom have no clue what they’re getting themselves into. Dollar signs everywhere, you know the drill. And for women, it’s a complete joke at these places. I’ve often wondered why young lawyers don’t start a revolt against the whole system. I guess we’re not in the ’60s anymore, you all don’t see protesting as an option.”
“I guess not.” I grin, awash in delighted relief. “I’ll admit, I thought you were going to think I was completely nuts.”
She laughs. “Are you kidding? I was afraid you were going to be one of those automaton kids droning about how they do corporate law at Joe Giant LLP and think it’s the best thing ever. Now I actually want to talk to you.”