RE: Super Duper Urgent – Client NEEDS final draft of motion, like… now?
I opened it.
Not only was it not urgent, it was barely comprehensible. Some intern had attached the wrong template, uploaded anoutdated statute citation, and managed to cc a partner who hadn’t worked at the firm in four years.
My eye twitched.
The next email came from Stacey in finance:
Hey! Quick question, do you remember the client code for the Hillerman account? We can’t seem to find it anywhere. NBD if not. :)
I stared at that cheerful little smiley face like it was mocking my existence. Hillerman was a case we closedlast year.The file had been archived, boxed, and stored. Yet somehow, this was now my problem. The client's case number now had an x at the end. Simple as that. Something we should all be aware of by now.
I moved on.
Client call rescheduled. Can you make 8:15 a.m. EST tomorrow? It should only take an hour or two!
I resisted the urge to bang my forehead on the keyboard.
That would be 7:15 a.m. my time onvacation.
Another ping. Another notification. Another well-intentioned disaster with the subject line:“Need your eyes on this real quick.”
Real quick, my ass.
They needed more than my eyes. They needed a miracle and probably a babysitter.
I closed the lid of the laptop slowly, like I might scare the gremlins back into hiding.
It didn’t work.
I stared at the ceiling of the lodge’s guest room, the sunlight filtering in through the curtain in warm stripes, and all I could think was:Why am I doing this?
This wasn’t supposed to be my life. The constant tension. The email-induced ulcers. The Sunday nights were lost to document review, and the Monday mornings were filled with meetings that could have been handled via email, if anyone knew how to write one.
And now, here I was, sitting in the middle of adreamI didn’t even know I’d had until I arrived, until I met Fifi, and I was ruining it one “urgent” ping at a time.
She made it look so simple. Honest. Joyful. She worked harder than anyone I knew, but she laughed while she did it. She smiled with herwholeface. And her dreams? They were rooted in love, community, and connection. Not billable hours.
And here I was. Ruled by a damn inbox and a title I wasn’t even sure I cared about anymore.
My phone buzzed again.
Text from an associate I barely knew.
“Sorry to bug, but where do I find the PDF generator plugin?”
I stared at the screen.
Typed: “Ctrl+P.”
Then deleted it.
Typed: “You’re kidding, right?”
Deleted that, too.
Closed the laptop again.
