It's Good to Know One's Limits

The last day was a mix of happiness, wonder and dread. I wore the Outfit of Spite all day, along with a shit-eating grin for most of the day. By the end of the day, I ran out the door as fast as I could hoping no one would see me and wish me well or say they'd miss me or anything like that.

Outfit Of Spite
Let me take you back a spell, to ~ May 11, 2006. It is a Friday (or should be if my math is correct -- I'm not working from a calendar), CASUAL Friday, in fact. It is my one-month-a-versary with the firm. Snotty Partner has already, and inexplicably, begun shunning me, the Quinnipiac Mafia continues to observe radio silence. I am wearing linen pants, a big, untucked polo shirt, and clogs. My outfit, albeit casual, is in line with the majority of outfits on my floor.

Late in the day, Office Manager ("I am not an office manager! I am a Director of Human Resources!" ) comes into my office and informs me that someone brought my outfit to her attention and that I am not dressed appropriately for an associate. I am, in fact, dressed like support staff (gasp!). She directs me to dressed like one member of the Quinnipiac Mafia (who, it should be noted, has no kids, no mortgage, and wears size 2 when she's bloated), because I am not to dress like support staff. I'm mortified and so I wear suits every Friday until I truly no longer cared, and started wearing khakis. (FWIW, I suspected that Snotty Partner was the source of the complaint. This was never confirmed.)

I wore the offending outfit on my last day. I didn't run into Snotty Partner, so I couldn't gauge his reaction. But I saw the Office Manager (IANAOM! IAADOHR!). She took a gander and her voice halted for a moment. She pretended not to notice, but she knew. Hell! I was barefoot and moving boxes when she came into my office -- how could she not notice?

I direct all to the entirety of chapter 8 of The Curmudgeon's Guide to Practicing Law, entitled Dress for Success . "I don't give a damn what you wear. Just make sure the brief is good."

Shit-Eating Grin
When you really have no like of your co-workers and bosses, and they've been kind of obnoxious to you anyway, and you have no "good times" to hearken back to, and you are leaving, how do you graciously say goodbye without saying, "See ya', suckers!" I struggled with what to write in my farewell email for weeks because I refused to write anything untrue like, "I will miss you", or "I really enjoyed working here". Once you take the sentiment out, there's only about two sentences you can write before it reads like, "See ya', suckers!"

Anyway, because of this, I tried to avoid engaging in any farewell discussions with anyone other than the 3-4 people I will miss (none of whom are associates in my department).

Dread
Around 3:30, the head of my department asked me if I wanted to join her for a drink after work. I hadn't planned on staying the whole day, and the Hubbins had karate, but I thought it mightn't be a bad idea. I have a great deal of respect for her and I like her. Since the Performance Eval from Hell, she and I had many constructive discussions about my experience with the firm and my future, and I see her as an important professional contact. Why not have a drink with her and cement the relationship? I told her I'd check the evening plans and get back to her.

Not ten minutes later, one of my friends came by and told me that Back-Stabbing Senior ASSociate asked her if BSSA should ask me out for drinks and that if I'm interested, BSSA will round up people. Uh, what?

I freaked. BSSA obligatorily "rounding up" "people" for obligatory drinks with the chick who's leaving? Nevermind that she would have to "round up" "people" to wish me well because there were few voluntary takers, I could not imagine anything more uncomfortable than being stuck in a bar with the smiling faces of people who treated me like a turd for the past year, all wishing me luck and congratulating themselves for being so congenial and collegial, seeing off one of their own. Plus, I only had about $3 on me, I'm not sure I could depend on that crowd to buy.

A drink or two with a partner or two who know the score and have no illusions about my experience (and who would most certainly buy) - yes. A drink or two with a bunch of jerks who want absolution for treating me like an interloper for the last year - NFW!

The second offer caused the walls of my barren office to close in. I made some unavailable noise to the partner and ran for the exit.

I kept the happy face on for a year, the last 4 months of which has been particularly difficult. But I had reached my limit -- I couldn't keep it on for one minute longer.