Opinionistas Rising

Julie D. has introduced me to Opinionistas. The pseudonymous blogger of this masterpiece exposes the life of today's junior associates at a mid-town Manhattan law firm. Her scathing wit and superb storytelling abilities have already won my respect.

Here's a sample of her brilliance:

"Hi, O Smith, nice to meet you."

I extend an arm and deliver my practiced lawyer-to-lawyer handshake, reminding myself to make steady, even eye contact, and grip his meaty palm with deliberate firmness, all to display my presumable mastery of the standard corporate greeting. He returns my adamant gaze with a tepid glance, drops his flaccid hand and turns back to his notes, muttering stormily at the various pages. I stand motionless for a minute or two, curious at his greater-than-typical rudeness, then gingerly move to sit down. His eyes flitter towards me for a moment, detecting movement.

"So, did you have a pleasant flight?" The female instinct to break all silences kicks in, and I blurt the first thing that fires into my gray matter.

He grunts noncommittally. "Long, but relatively painless." Instantly, he turns his back to me and the muttering recommences.

"I'm sure." That went well. Perhaps the small talk approach isn't optimal.

"Would you like for me to come back in a few minutes when you're ready to begin?" This time, he ignores my question entirely. While I'm accustomed to chilly slights from partners, his behavior is reaching entirely new levels of disdain. My physical presence alone seems to actively offend him.

After a brief silent eternity, he finally turns from his various binders and looks me in the eye. "Here, I'll need these copied, and these edits made to the designated pages. Call my secretary, she's in my home office, she'll tell you how I like it done. And I'll need coffee, milk no sugar, keep it coming all day. And order lunch if you haven't arranged it already."

I blink twice and return his blank stare in less-than-utter disbelief. So that's it - he thinks I'm a secretary. A woman, obviously young, not clad in an $800 suit, no visible expensive jewelry - the notion that I might be an attorney apparently never entered his consciousness. I bristle instinctively, wondering how to react. He's hardly the first to make this obnoxious mistake, though he's certainly winning prizes for sheer lack of tact.

"I would be happy to arrange for a secretary to handle all of this for you, I'm sure one has been assigned to assist you today."

His head snaps up, peering sharply at me for the first time.

"So in what capacity do you work at this firm then?"

"I'm an associate, Favorite Partner asked me to come by and provide an audience while you practiced your argument."

Panic flashes momentarily across his asymmetrical features, realization of his offensive error whitening his eyes, but with practiced litigator skill he coolly wipes away all trace of surprise.

"Well then, O, would you mind please calling whichever secretary is assigned to me and asking her to put in these edits? I would greatly appreciate it." His tone has changed dramatically, he is suddenly addressing me with full cordial attention, likely judging my reaction to his blatant gaffe. Will I let him off easy, shrug away the slight, brush his sexist blunder smoothly under the polished oak table, where it can join the hundreds of similar incidents regularly occurring in this building? Or will I be one of "those women" who creates a fuss, distracting everyone from their billable objectives and razing valuable time with my harpying shrieks about asperity and bias in the workplace.

Do visit this 27-year-old phenom, whom the New York Times has already profiled, btw. You'll thank me later.