The contrary paralegal manages a two-office law firm in the southwest, as well as her young family, which consists of ‘the man’ and her three ‘dramas’ whose names are 17 (or VT = vile teenager), 11 and 8. For 15 years she has worked in almost every area of the law – seen everything, mentored plenty, done a lot, learned more, and pretty much made herself irreplaceable. She is writing for WWDS when the mood strikes her. She’s irreverent, hilarious even, and very real. She might be EveryWoman, but she goes by UsedToBeMe. She blogs often at whyrustalkingme.

By UsedToBeMe, the contrary paralegal, exclusive to WWDS

I’ve been doing this for a lot of years. I’ve worked with some real assholes and some attorneys who I would gladly bear children for – just so long as those children went home with the attorney at the end of the day.

My first job was as a part time receptionist making $6 per hour. Within six months I had moved to full time and was the office manager. Five years later, I was making around $9 per hour and I had just had my first child. We couldn’t live on $9 per hour. I asked for a raise. I took job surveys and highlighted all of my job duties, averaging out what someone on the low end, someone with my experience and degree and someone with five more years of experience would make. I prepared a kick ass memo and gave it to my boss suggesting I make the $13.24 a median ranged person would earn. The next Friday they give me a raise. $9.32 per hour. Her parting words were “does that make you happy?” Not so much.

I started looking for another job and landed at a personal injury firm. The attorneys at that firm were less than human. I am certain they were all created in a petri dish and cultivated to survive absent a heart, morals and in some cases, personality. I lasted three months. The final straw was when the first name on the door came into my office, ranting and raving about something someone else had done. I was the AP/AR clerk. He was complaining about a paralegal. When his tantrum was done, he took his arms, swept them across my desk and all of my papers, keyboard, calculator, etc. landed on the floor. As he walked out of my office, he said “clean that shit up.”

I stewed all weekend long before deciding that was it. I had to find another job though, before I could leave. Thankfully, it only took me a week.

I landed at a mortgage foreclosure/bankruptcy firm. I worked there for six months. I knew that the job wasn’t for me the first time I had to talk to a person whose house we were going to foreclose the week before Christmas. The person had filed for bankruptcy and my job was to file motions to get them out of bankruptcy if they missed one payment. We filed motions daily. We kicked so many people out of their bankruptcy protection that I started to lose sleep at night. I had to get out. I started looking again.

I’ve had three other jobs since then. I have loved every minute of it. I have stories to tell that would make you laugh, cry and shake your head. I yearn to get back into criminal work as that is my passion. There is so much dirt and gossip and scratching of heads. Not to say insurance defense doesn’t have its laughs. Like the time I got the medical records for the 74 year old man suffering from pulmonary fibrosis, asbestosis, using oxygen 24/7, can’t hold down food, and suing the makers of asbestos. I was summarizing his medical records and came across a note from the doctor where the man had requested a penile implant and Viagra prescription for when his wife got home from her cruise. Ah. Good times.