Pardon Me, Sir. Your Insecurity Is Showing.

First of all, let the record reflect that I’m writing this on my lunch hour. I just returned from the Park Shops and grabbing lunch for me and Bossette. I rode up in the elevator with one of the new associates. (In Acidman-speak, I suppose he would be a young pup, but I have another dictionary definition. We won’t go there.)

Anyway, I cheerfully greeted him, “How are you doing today!?” A nod and/or a smile would have required minimum effort.

Just about the time I decided he must be mute, the elevator door opened and in walked a partner that I knew very well. He greeted the young attorney first, who then magically sprang to life. If he’d had a tail, it would have been wagging furiously. The partner then (probably to the chagrin of the young associate) proceeded to turn to me and ask me about my car (he’s always been fascinated by the fact that I love old 300ZXs and refuse to drive anything else).

I’m sick of some of the lawyers in our firm — and it seems to almost always be the young ones, though some of the older ones are guilty too — treating the support staff like less than second-rate office furniture.

Not that I’d brag or anything, but I can count a few times when my sharp eye was the only thing that stood between my boss and a malpractice suit (or at the very least some amount of professional embarrassment). Despite what they may teach you in law school, not all secretaries are lazy, unmotivated slugs.

To the “young pup,” I say:

Grow up. You have alot to learn. Just because I’m a “mere secretary” is no reason to think that you shouldn’t extend the most basic of courtesy to me and speak when spoken to like I hope your momma taught you. The partner in the elevator, aside from being a brilliant attorney, I’m sure is a partner because he possesses the basic social skills that you, young pup, sorely lack. You could do worse than to emulate him.

Now, would you please do me one last gentlemanly courtesy and hold my drink while I climb down off my soapbox.