Getting Started

So, I got this bright idea, with a little nudging, that I would write a blog.
I mean, isn't everyone writing blogs now? 

Allow me to introduce myself.  Seems like a great beginning. 

I am a paralegal.  Not a journalist.  Not a doctor.  Not a sales person.  Not a vet.
Although I love animals. 
No lives are saved at the end of the day when I turn off my computer - except maybe my own. 
I don't sell anything.  I help people wade through the difficult legal system. 

Specifically, I am a Plaintiff paralegal.  Of course, it didn't start out that way. 

I worked for years as a legal secretary in a defense medical malpractice firm in Ohio.  Loved that job.  We sat at beautiful desks made of mahogany; we took up two floors and the insurance company who insured the doctors / facilities / groups took up two floors.  Everyone working together in peace and harmony. . . .

Wait.  It's starting to sound like a Disney movie; no offense to Disney, of course.

We somewhat all got along. . . . then the department of insurance stepped in and took over.  Seems the CEO / President of the insurance company "allegedly" embezzled upwards of $10 Million Dollars and we were all out of jobs. 

In the blink of an eye - 13 years, gone. 

Somewhere back in time, mixed in that 13 years, I decided I wanted to go to law school.  I mean, I worked with new associates all the time and discovered - the "seasoned" secretaries were the ones training the associates. (Along with the partners, naturally.)  Law school teaches how to research and apparently how to think.  Not how to file pleadings.  Not how to prepare documents.  Obviously, if they could do it, so could I.  Obviously. 

But I didn't want to defend doctors.  Not that there's anything wrong with that. 
And I didn't want to represent people in car accidents - sorry, collisions. 
Or do probate work.  Or work for a corporation. 

I wanted to be the Prosecutor.  Not Assistant Prosecutor. 
Prosecutor. 
Of Cuyahoga County, Ohio. 

Yeah, I know.  No money.  It's not about the money.  It's about helping abused women.  Or it was for me, anyway, in my mind. 

So I went to school.  Husband traveled 5 days a week.  Two small boys. . . . and I worked full time. 
I went on the weekends. 
For.  8.  Years.
8.  Years. 
Every other weekend. 
Poised to graduate "shortly" - there was a glitch with a stupid computer class and I had to take "just this one last class" my counselor told me. . . . . I discovered I was pregnant with a wonderful "bonus" baby. 

Just like that. 
Going to school for 8 years - to get the B.A. I needed to go to law school. . . . in the blink of an eye. . . . halted.  Not over.  Just on pause.  I'll go back. . . someday.  I mean, law school isn't going anywhere.

While I was in school, the firm shut down and I traveled down the street to another firm (not nearly as large)with the attorney I worked with for 8 of those 13 years.  I worked there another 5 years, but never really fit in. 

I'm not an ass kisser.  Sorry for the language.  But I'm not.  I'm the one who sits in meetings - in the board room - listening to the big head blather on and on about all the wonderful changes the firm is making "to help you do your job better" - and I'm the one who says "wait, whose stupid idea was that?"

Everyone turns to look at me.  Waiting for me to open my mouth - asking the questions they are all afraid to ask.  Because face it - generally, they are all stupid ideas.  And, you can't fix stupid.

When I was not offered a paralegal position at firm two, due to my inability to kiss anyone's ass - and some garbage about this attitude problem. . . I moved to a well-known Plaintiff firm to represent Plaintiffs in malpractice cases. 

I had to take everything I had done for 13 years, and do the total opposite. 
Now, I wasn't filing Answers - I was drafting Complaints.  Against the very people I used to help represent.
Watching statutes to make sure we didn't miss one.  Getting medical records.  Ugh.  The medical records. 
One of the larger facilities in town had a "Chinese wall" built so I couldn't work on any of "their" cases for over a year.
A "Chinese wall" is just what it sounds - figuratively.  I was forbidden from doing work or listening about cases or giving my opinion on any case that had to do with this facility.
That facility didn't realize - by doing that, they were significantly cutting off my ability to make a living.  I was entitled to bonuses based on the cases I worked on.  No working on them - no bonuses.
This too, shall pass. 

I didn't fit in there, either.  Too "clicky".  Too "junior high school".  Not even high school - junior high. 
I.  Was.  Fired. 
It was personal. 
Really didn't care. 
Wait - I cared.  But I pretended like I didn't.

I went back downtown briefly to work as a secretary in a defense firm again.
I.  Hated.  It.
I realized while I sat in the hallway of this tiny firm, with NO responsibility, that I was a good paralegal.
I enjoyed helping people.
I felt. . . am I really going to say this out loud - I felt like I made a difference at the end of the day.

Granted, generally, while I was at the larger firm, speaking with doctors and those who run facilities - they did not want to talk to me.  "No offense, but you're a secretary. May I please speak to the attorney?"
Oh - no offense taken.
Wrong - all sorts of offense taken.

But when I worked with "real" people - I enjoyed it.  I got to meet them, get to know them, cry with them (I am a HUGE sympathy crier) - and, most importantly, help them.

Okay - so I'm not a Prosecutor. . . but still. . . . .

Then, one day, right before the end of the year in 2005. . . the office manager of the little defense firm called me in the conference room and told me that they weren't busy enough and they were going to have to let me go.  Actually, truth be told, it was the managing partner with the office manager.  They were nice about it and promised a nice reference. . . .

And I packed my stuff in a box.
And left.

Relieved.
Terrified.
But relieved.

I had been looking for a job for months.  And I had only been there seven.

Three weeks into unemployment and a week before my birthday, I got a phone call from an agency wanting to know if I was still looking.  I apparently contacted them while I was looking and forgot about it.
Yes, I about screamed into the phone.

It's perfect, the woman told me.
Okay, stop.  That's not what she told me.
She told me the former secretary got up and walked out.
I laughed.  Secretaries do not get up and walk out for no reason.
She hesitated. . . told me the name of the guy.
I said - okay, but you tell "Mr. Big" - we'll call him Mr. Big - "he throws a stapler at me, I'm throwing it back."

I have been there five years.
I.  Love.  My.  Job.

It's not all roses and perfume and warmth and happiness.
And, just for the record, there are no staplers being thrown.
Temper tantrums, maybe, but never office objects. 

It's alot of hard work.  There's alot of tears, sometimes my own. 
Alot of days are long and difficult. . . some fly by.

So that's what my blog will be about.
The Diva at work.  Working hard.  Day in and day out.
I've got a ton of great clients.  I've got a handful of difficult ones.
I will never reveal their names.
Some, I've sat and cried and will never forget them.
Others, sadly, not so much.

I won't blog every day.  Hey, cut me some slack.  I sit at a computer all day - unless I'm driving to Rocky River to pick up a Will and get it filed with Probate Court . . . at 3:00 in the afternoon.
But alas, I won't share that story now. . . that, my friends, will be for another day.
Same with the time I went to Geauga County Court...was late (which is never my fault, by the way yet seems to be a big issue).  I was running and threw my keys at the deputy - I was afraid I was going to get tazed.
Or the time. . . .

So - welcome to "The Day In The Life".
And thank you for reading.

Diva, out.