Happy hour

It is 6:00 pm. I am having a beer, sitting back and surfing the internet. Well, it is a rootbeer- Diet Stewart's "Fountain Classic", and lest one wonder how I could be home by 6:00 with nothing to do, never fear. I am at the office.

We have a conference call scheduled for 9:30 pm tonight. Let me say that again, we have a conference call scheduled for 9:30 PM. I was informed of this at about 3:00 this afternoon. The sad thing is that this timing is not terribly unusual, nor as late as it could be. This is New York BIG LAW at its best. The clients will be home, dialing in from their wood-panelled home offices, having poured themselves a scotch. The lawyers will still be at at the office, having dinner at their desks (if they have thought / had time to order it) and mediating the call, which will inevitably go too long and be full of inaneties (D'you see the game last night? Ha - amazing!) , all the more as the scotch get drunk. Once the call is over, the lawyers' real work will begin. We will scurry about doing our thing, ensuring things are in order for tomorrow, which by the time we go home, will have become "today".

In the meantime, I refuse to do anything vaguely productive unless it is dictated by someone with the power to make my life even more miserable than it already is. So I'll have another sip of beer, sit back, surf and wait.