Dear diary … the General

Dear diary, on Tuesday, working on Front Street near the Waterfront – it’s amazing how every country has a waterfront on or near a Front Street – I had to be up at the first spark of dawn to polish the shoes of an eighty-year-old gentleman and have his suits and uniforms steam-cleaned by hand and his hat buffed. He was a fussy old fart, had never married, but had medals and such to show that he had fought somewhere in a war. The problem I had with the general was that he thought he was still in the army and did things on the hour, marched rather than walked, and was fastidious down to the socks on his feet.

I wasn’t used to all this pomp and largely ignored the eccentricities, doing my work and wondering if someone can really be so steeped in the past. He reminded me of some of those old Englishmen who never married, didn’t know and didn’t want to know anything about women, and saluted in their sleep. Well, all this changed one drizzly afternoon on Front Street when I was busy ironing the general’s shirts and a piercing scream was heard outside. I was stunned by its shrillness and ran out where a group of women had already collected.

What’s going on, one woman asked. I don’t know, another one said. In the middle of the road the general stood with my boss’ six year old son who was returning from pre school. The boy saw me and ran up. The neighbor tried to get him to talk, but he wouldn’t say what was wrong. Another neighbor knew the phone number and called his mother to come home. While they waited for his mother the general who lived across the road swept away in his car. His mother arrived. I tried to tell her, but she was outraged. What happened, Willie, she asked. Did someone hurt you? No, he said. What then? What did you do all that screaming for?

Eventually, Willie had enough courage to speak. I was coming home from school. The general came out of his house and said he was looking for his dog and asked me to help him look for it. He said he would give me chocolate.
What then, his mother asked.
We looked and looked and we couldn’t find the dog and the general said perhaps we should look for the dog near the park.
For God’s sake, Willie, what happened?
Willie looked at her with tears in his eyes. The general touched me.
What do you mean he touched you? Speak up.
He gave me some chocolate. He told me to get in. And then he … touched me.
He touched you where?
On my willy.
His mother pulled his ear and dragged him into the house. Didn’t I teach you not to get into anyone’s car? Where’s that stiff son of a bitch, she shouted.
I put on my coat. It was five to five. Willie was crying on the bottom step of the stairs. His mother was on the phone calling his father.
Do you know what happened here, Arthur? Has anyone called you? That general you admire so much is a faggot!
I watched Willie. My heart broke. I kneeled down and held him. Tomorrow, Willie, after I finish at my other job, we’ll go out; just you and Annie. Would you like that?

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Dear Diary … Ian and Dan

It is Wednesday, the worst day of the week to go out in the fog and clean up the mess of two teenage millionaire geeks. Theirs is not the usual mess of pizza boxes and beer bottles; rather the mess is a result of all the drinking and binging. The parents are weak and the sons have control of the house, the business, and their father’s money. While they make a good looking pair in their suits when they actually put on something that resembles a pants and a shirt, they are not cut out for the corporate world and the mess I have to contend with besides vacuuming and cleaning the house and telling lies on their behalf, is that I am part of a secret because the boys have no sense and frankly do not care if the house comes tumbling down at their feet.

Their names are Ian and Dan, tall lanky lads with long hair, wearing glasses. The secret I’m talking about is what they do on Wednesday afternoons when I am at their house cleaning up. I am ordered by them to clean the living room and the bedrooms first when I come to the house. Ian is the computer whiz and can do research, buy and sell anything on the internet. Dan is the sleaze. He also wears glasses but is a much better-looking guy than his brother. Dan gets the girls.

On Wednesday afternoons after lunch when their parents are both at work, the doorbell rings and Dan answers the door. Five minutes later four girls arrive – American, Australian, Japanese and an English rose. They wear cheerleader outfits consisting of a quarter Tshirt and bottoms with an ultra short white frill, and start to dance on two poles, sliding up and down showing off their perky bottoms. Ian and Dan lie back on the beds and watch the girls perform. They are actually eating popcorn and laughing like kids. The girls start to kiss and they laugh like schoolboys. They can do anything with each other, but they can’t touch. At four, the girls put their clothes back on and Ian, the money man, hands them a wad of money.

The first time I caught them they begged me not to tell their parents. Getting their fortune at eighteen depended on their behaviour and how they did at school. Their father and mother who knew nothing about the dancing afternoons were not money wasters or insensitive to the boys; they were just tired of the boys wearing them out with their pranks. I told them that I felt uncomfortable not telling their parents and did not want to lose my job. Oh, don’t worry about that, Ian said. There’s more where that came from. Dan and I will pay twice what they pay you. You do a good job, luv. What if your father finds out, I wanted to know? He’ll say I knew all the time and did not tell him. Dan laughed. There you go again, Annie. If you lose your job, Dan and I will employ you. Do you want to come with us for an early supper at The Trailer Park Lounge and Grill?

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Starting out as a legal secretary

This writer worked for eighteen years in the legal profession in both Canada and South Africa and knows something about what goes on in an office where lawyers go back and forth from court leaving their secretaries with mountains of work. For the most part the offices resemble those of Boston Legal without the shenanigans of Danny Crane. To get serious, the following is what is required of a legal secretary who works in a legal office for the first time:

* Take a course in etiquette in a legal office as well as legal studies and the law.

* Typing up of a summons, statement of claim and other legal documents including a petition for divorce, a Decree Nisi and so on. One learns how to do all of this on the job.

* Preparing affidavits and supporting documents.

* Interviewing clients and witnesses in personal injury cases where the clients have been in an accident and are suing for back pain and broken legs and other damages.

* Writing lengthy reports for the lawyers and preparing affidavits to go to court.

* This area of criminal law is a harried and fast-paced experience which can sometimes take up to five and six lawyers to participate in defending a case. We have all seen the dream team in the OJ Simpson case.

When you first start out in a legal office you are strange to the process and the people who are all smarter than you and you have to have energy and work fast to accommodate this kind of work. In between all the work that needs typing, you have to answer your phone, look for documents, talk to clients, run out for croissants and coffee from Starbucks. In corporate law the process is quieter, smoother; in criminal law it is harried and fast paced and everyone gathers around a table and give their dime's worth on a big or difficult case.

Cases and evidence are parcelled out to the different attorneys depending on their skill, such as being a good closer for closing arguments or where another lawyer is good at putting a case together and managing it but not good in front of the jury sealing the deal. Watching programs like Damages and Boston Legal can sometimes skewer one's perception.

For the most part in your first year you will be a typist, note taker, errand girl, and be at everyone's beck and call. Because you are in your first year; you won't say no. You learn the personalities of the staff. You are not qualified yet to interview clients because you are not yet familiar with the law and you don't know enough. Working in criminal law also means that you come across witnesses and offenders in difficult criminal trials where a day in the life of a lawyer can easily become a nightmare. A job as a legal secretary is exciting, but do not go near it if you can't handle the pressure and expect to only sit and type all day. That is the least exciting part of the job.

http://www.raydajacobs.blogspot.com