July 18, 2003

I'm Not Bitter.

Yes, I am.  I really fucking am.

This has to be one of the worst days I’ve had in quite some time and after indulging in a spectacular 2 hour self-pity party, I’m now enraged.

I just got blown off for a job that I thought I’d nailed.  I wasn’t terribly thrilled with the prospect of it in an ethical sense but I really need the work.  Things are getting pretty desperate around here these days.  (Donations of cash and/or valuable negotiables will be gratefully received, just in case you’re asking.)

Not that I’m rationalizing or anything but even as I applied for the job, I had to hold my nose.  Just faxing in my resume made me feel like I’d been written into the script of "Gary the Rat" though financial despair made ethical principles a less than pressing concern.

What, you ask, could possibly be so distasteful that a lawyer would find it repugnant?  Isn’t wallowing in slime how we lawyers get our kicks?  Won’t lawyers do anything for money?

While I like to think that my spotless ideals and unquenchable thirst for justice elevate me far above the stereotype, I confess that I wholeheartedly pursued the opportunity with a "scruples-be-damned" zeal that in retrospect is quite terrifying.

Before I reveal to you the subterranean depths to which I have sunk - depths, I might add, I am apparently unfit to explore - let me put you straight on the things that even desperation could not persuade me to consider.

I could never take a job that involved defending child molesters and/or rapists.  Even alleged ones.  I couldn’t work to free domestic violence enthusiasts or those who prey on women.  I probably wouldn’t do collections work but given my most recent experience, honesty compels me to admit that on this point, only time will tell.

I can’t do family law, but not because it’s sleazy -- because it’s heartwrenching.  Ditto child protection law.  I have the greatest admiration for the practitioners of that discipline, but I simply don’t have the stomach for the tragedy, hurt and loss this sort of thing always involves.

What’s left, you ask?

Defending cigarette companies.

Yup, you heard me. I was willing - no, eager - to jump on the "smoke ‘em if you’ve got ‘em" bandwagon of a big tobacco firm and dedicate my professional life to preserving the rights of multi-million dollar death merchants to peddle poison to the world at large with impunity.

How’s that for noble?

It wouldn’t be so bad, I told myself as I left the interview.  Regular hours, great pay and all the self-loathing I could ask for.

I can’t think why they didn’t jump at the chance to hire me.  I’ve obsessed over the interview since I got the news - what misstep could I possibly have made?  I was wearing Armani, so I know it wasn’t the clothes.  I did everything short of amputation to strap down my boobs, so I know the interviewer wasn’t distracted. I was respectful, erudite, professional and did my best to appear competent and capable.  My interview patter was exemplary - I didn’t even mention my tattoos, for example. 

Oh God, this is agonizing!!!!!   Where did I go wrong? Should I have brought a scythe to the interview instead of a list of references?  Lit up while discussing my qualifications? Wheeled in an iron lung along with my briefcase?  Was I wrong to insist on the thirty pieces of silver as a signing bonus?

I suppose I’ll never know.

In retrospect, I’m almost glad it turned out this way.  Although destitution is now only steps away, the cost of anti-emetics would have been crippling - and besides, who has time to say all those Novenas?

I must take my disappointment as a sign that I was meant for better things, that my talents were bestowed to serve loftier purposes.  I’ll pull myself together, dry my tears, pick the cat hair off the Armani and resolve to aspire to worthier pursuits. 

It’s only a fantasy, I know - just a crazy, impossible reverie - but I know in my heart that one day, I will find the perfect job - fulfilling, satisfying and lucrative  -- one that will allow me to embody all that is noble and good about the profession of law.  With a cigarette company as my benchmark, who knows how far I’ll go?  I may even find a few widows and orphans to foreclose on.

I can only dream.....

Till next time.

Morrigan