Day 4: FRIDAY

The newly graduated paralegal has survived her first week. She's a little overwhelmed and stressed but she has made it through. All deadlines for this week have been met. All files are safely tucked away in their drawers. Client meetings for next week are set up. And now, to dump the cold coffee, and run out the door. Oh...well...Forgot we'll be hitting Friday night traffic on highway 101, but hey, no day is perfect.

Day 3: D-Day...D for Discovery.

In the world of civil litigation there is a nightmare that exists. It's something that must be done but everyone dreads when it is their turn. There are strict rules in the California Code of Civil Procedure that regulate this nightmare. There are strict deadlines. And there are severe punishments for violating these rules. Oh the world of: Discovery. Such an innocuous term for something so evil.

Discovery would be easy if you didn't have to involve the clients. But you do. Requests for Admissions: Admit that you do not have a leg to stand on... Special Interrogatories: State all the facts that support your allegations in paragraph 5 of your complaint. And my favorite...Production of Documents. This is the one where you harp on your client every couple of days to find every shred of paper that has been requested. If you're lucky, you have a helpful client. In reality, it's usually begging them, then it comes down to the wire. And then it comes to asking for an extension because in California you have 30 days to complete this.

Our discovery was due to be sent back in just a few days and we did not want to leave it to the last minute. As it was, the responses had four people in the office working on them and the signature pages and title pages had been messed up. It was nightmarish. We finally got all pages signed and corrected...right about 10 minutes before I have to leave. I breathe a sigh of relief knowing that tomorrow we can send out these HUGE collections of paper with time to spare.

Discovery - don't leave it off to the last minute.


Addition: I had nightmares over the weekend about this discovery. I woke up so stressed out I was actually sick to my stomach! Wow!

Day One: Office Administrator...or "Did they pay us yet?"

I have never been a morning person. I believe mornings should start at noon. I think there should be magic elves (or magical little-people, for you P-C crowd) that all they do is bring you coffee while you fight with the alarm. The Alarm. I will never know how my coordination is so bad that I run into walls, trip UP stairs, and fall down while standing still, but in the dead of sleep, I can accurately slap a 2 centimeter button on my phone to shut down the wailing alarm for five minutes of "Snooze" time.

I am also aware that this "Megan doesn't do mornings" thing has come to a violent end. Not just a whimper, but an "ohmigod we don't have any breaks in this 1950 Cadillac and we're careening down a steep mountain pass oh no there's a cliff aaaaaaahhhhh BOOM" kind of end. Megan is now a (reluctant) morning person. Sorta. I allowed myself time to go to McDonald's for an iced coffee. I got to work right when I planned - 9:30 a.m. I was allowed to create a schedule for myself and I figured 9:30 to 4 (allowing time for my standing evening appointments on M, T, and Th) would give me 6 hours on those days.

Day One: You are the office administrator. You work for a single attorney who has a contract attorney who shares the office set up...and you. You order supplies. You take care of the money. You do the billing. And you do this all while answering phones.

Today I get a crash course in where everything is in the office. Got it? (no!) Good, moving on. We're going to billing. And expenses. We keep double books. Everything goes into one, but not everything goes into the other. Client related - Amicus and Quickbooks. Office related - Only Quickbooks. Got it? Uhhhhhhhhh. Good, moving on...

In all honesty my trainer was my mom. I'm replacing her. So I know I can ask her if I need help when she's gone. But today...my head hurts. Can I do something easy like...uh...don't make me open the mail...there are checks in there!!! Ahhhhhhhhh!

I survive Day 1. Mostly because the Attorney is out of town so he can't bug me every 10 minutes.

Graduation Day

It's freezing. Ok, by California standards it is freezing. It's 58ºF at 5:00 p.m. And I have reason to be freezing; I am in a dress. A slinky, black dress. A knee-length, arm-baring, chest-showing, slinky black dress. I have decided that I'm wearing flat shoes and a big cozy hoodie into the "backstage" area of graduation, and there's nothing anyone can do about it, because, well, it's my night, and I want to be warm while getting to the "dressing area." I look longingly at my phone, but leave it in the car. And now...I dash...ok, I amble, better? I amble across the parking lot and go find my polyester robe and cap.

Yay. It's black. How fetching. Oh, and the cap is one-size-fits-all with an elastic adjustment band in the back. I am so glad that I decided to be me, be different, and add a purple sparkley floral hair piece in my red hair. It matches the purple stole they place around my neck for my legal degree.

The photographer totally photographs my bad side. I hate him.

I find my family and give them the hoodie (come back hoodie! It's cold!) then go mingle. Oh wait. I don't know anybody...oh I know a couple names. Everyone else is a complete stranger.

They finally invite us inside at 6:30, and tell us to find our names on the tape on the floor so we'll be in proper places for the seating. It's a pretty simple concept. You have a piece of paper showing the seating chart and your name is highlighted. In one of two colors. Green or Purple. Names are attached to the floor on index cards in one of two colors. Green or Purple. Match the two. It was like watching people have brain aneurysms to get the concept and find their own name on the floor. Especially the legal group. I muttered "These are my peers?"

We stand around and I'm starting to feel yucky. Hadn't felt well all weekend. Almost walked away from graduation...but now I'm sitting on the stage. What lovely spot lights you have Luther Burbank...I mean Wells Fargo Center for the Performing Arts. How blindingly shiny they are.

Someone talks. Then someone else talks. Then the guest speaker talks. I think. I can only hear half of it. My butt hurts. The two girls next to me have to pee. The crowd is restless. The speaker finishes and I think "Aha. Now...the walk!" ... PSYCH!

"Now we have 18 awards to hand out!" What? 18? Holy crap, we're going to be here FOREVER! None of the recipients know they are getting awards. Each department chose their best student...and each one was surprised. Now...the "Outstanding Legal Student".

They talk about this person with high regard. They think this person is pretty incredible. "The best legal writer the department has ever seen"...Wow. I'm looking around. And then it hits me. It's me. They're talking about me. I know I'm good. I just never thought I was noticed. I never believed I would win an award meant for the single best legal student. They get through the rest of the awards...and FINALLY it's time to walk across the stage.

We walk out the double doors after everyone has been announced (Me, 3.98 GPA, President's Honors, 100% attendance, Outstanding Legal Student - Specialized Associate's Degree-Paralegal). We walk out into a CRUSH OF HUMANITY (I use this term loosely). I find my family...They give me flowers and my jacket and they say "see ya at home" (I don't blame them). All I want to do is get to the table to turn in my "gown" (the polyester garb is NOT a gown. Gowns are made by Oscar de la Renta. Versace. Vera Wang. Isaac Mizrahi. This was a burkah without the hood) and my cap and find the exit for some life sustaining air.

I succeed, after diving through the sea of bodies. I probably could have crowd surfed to the table. I wonder what would have happened if I started a mosh pit? The caliber of some of those people, I think they would have joined in. I get there and turn in my non-designer "gown" and cap, and spot friends finally in the crowd...we motion toward one another and push our way outside. FREEDOM! AIR! FREEDOM! AIR! (which do I love more, I don't know, but I am reminded of my intense, visceral hatred for crowds, and my love of my personal space bubble).

My sweet friends give me some lovely gifts. A photo frame and a squeezey fish that lights up with eyes the bulge out...for when my boss makes me mad. We laugh about it, then talk a bit. Then go our separate ways.

It feels odd to be done and be called a "paralegal." For now, I'm perched on a parapet - but will I soar toward the periwinkle sky...or plummet to the earth? Time will tell.