There is no crying in baseball.

But there IS crying in the practice of law.

I suppose the party is over, here at The Firm. I'm finishing my third month, and I wept my first tear at work today. One of my bosses called me to task (rightfully, I should add) for not being up-to-date on a case I'm working on and that has a Friday filing deadline. I'm not up-to-date because I'm spending all my time fixing work that was not done and/or done poorly by a subordinate who is on vacation. There is no one here I can depend upon to pick up the slack created by my doing the subordinate's work, so I'm freaking out over not doing my work as well.

Anyway, the kicker today, what really sent me over the edge, was missing yet another social gathering with the promise of free food and socializing. I missed a fabulous lunch with visiting lawyers from the Left Coast office a few weeks ago because of some deadline, and tonight was a farewell dinner for a departing office manager. I expected to return to the office afterward, but I was kinda hoping for some free eats. Instead, I was stuck on a conference call for 2 hours.

Still, I was OK until I retrieved a voicemail from my boss, with a message he left about 45 minutes earlier, telling me that they just ordered and it's not too late to stop by. I thought, "No. It's too late. I can't show up now. I'm stuck doing the heavy lifting while my subordinates drink and eat good wine and food and take vacations and get full nights' sleep. Why am I doing this ty myself?"

So now I'm hungry and weepy and pathetic, and if I leave the office now to get food, I may run into my boss and/or co-workers, who should finish the fabulous meal in a little bit, while looking hungry and weepy and pathetic. Also, my boss is likely to stop by after the dinner and promise a "make up" meal, which is likely to get me teary again. And I don't want to look hungry, weepy or pathetic before The Man.

I don't remember how soon after I started working at The Old Firm that I was reduced to tears. There never was a party there, so there was no point at which the party ended. The Outfit of Spite incident occurred around the end of week four, and I know I worked behind closed doors for several hours, but I don't remember if I cried. (I probably just ruminated.)

Oh. Who. Cares. The Old Firm sucked and I'm hungry. Time to hold my head up high, march across the street, and grab me a Happy Meal and a Coke.