satisfaction

Sometimes there is nothing quite as satisfying as a simple, "excuse me?"

For the past few months, I've had the opportunity to interact with a guy at work who regularly shoots out little zingers. You know those snide remarks that people say that leave you wondering, "hey-what was that?" Comments, in particular, about the field I work in--legal--and about those in the same job as my boss--an attorney.

I know that, contrary to popular opinion, there are many different types of lawyers. And when I say different types, I don't mean lawyers who practice family law and criminal law and contracts law or corporate law. I mean there are good lawyers and bad lawyers--and you can break that down into bad lawyers who don't know how to practice law effectively as well as bad lawyers who are sleezeballs and dopes and also some who don't know their clients because they are only practicing law to make as much money as they can. The ones who will seemingly say or do anything for a buck.

But there are also good lawyers. There are many attorneys who know the law, understand how to represent a client, and still can sleep at night because they are decent, honest people. They know the area of law that they practice in because they have learned it in school and have spent years working in that area. They stay abreast of changes in the law in their area. They understand the importance of civility and professionalism and courtesy and compromise.

So, back to the guy at work. For several months now, he's been poking me when I'm not looking. He's the guy who sends an email to everybody up and down his chain of command and mine when he needs something from me (that I've already provided) or when he needs to cover his backside because he's let something slip so he cleverly directs the blame my way when he and I both know what he's up to. And instead of replying to everybody when I respond, I have simply replied to him, re-supplying whatever it was that he needed, ignoring his little jab.

But this week was different. A couple of days ago, he sent me some information that was in conflict with directions his boss had given me. It wasn't a big deal, but his boss was waiting for me to send him a document and I didn't know what to do with the information the guy had sent. So I sent his boss the information as the boss had requested and said that the guy had requested that I change it in this different way, again, not a big deal kind of thing, but would the boss please let me know how to proceed with it. The change in direction was something related to how my lawyer boss wanted something done versus how the guy's area lawyer wanted something done and the big boss wanted the two lawyers to figure out how to resolve things so they were both doing this thing the same way.

I didn't hear back from the guy's boss, but a few hours later, I did get copied on an email the guy sent to his team saying that they needed to stand down until the lawyers worked out their issues. I responded to his next email by answering a different question and also mentioned that I had forwarded his earlier request to his boss for direction.

A bit later I was copied on another email from the guy to his team where he said,

"Hold off for now. We need to wait until the elephants (legal) finish their dance."

Yes, that is a direct quote from his email including legal in parentheses.

I sat for a few moments, stunned that he referred to legal (and by legal, I mean not just my boss and the guy's area attorney, but me, hello, I'm in legal too) as ELEPHANTS.

My immediate thought was that he was referring to us as elephants because

a) we are big and slow moving (which is not even true, we are catlike and quick), or
b) we are elephants as in the 800-lb elephant in the room that no one wants to deal with (or is that an 800-lb gorilla?)

No matter how I tried, I couldn't see any possible way that being referred to as an elephant in this situation was a good thing. So I did the only thing I could think of.

I replied to his email and said, "Excuse me?" "Elephant?"

He immediately replied by saying, "Oh, not you. I meant John and Bob." (note: names changed to protect my job.)

I did not respond.

I received another email from him that said, "When I referred to legal as elephants, I only meant that elephants are the top of the food chain like lions and I was referring to legal as elephants and the vice presidents would be the lions. That is all I meant. Period."

I did not respond.

Towards the end of the work day, I responded to another email from him regarding another question related to the original topic. And then I went home for the night.

Early, early, early this morning, the office door opens and in walks Mr Animal Namer Man.

He cheerfully greets our assistant (who was aware of the earlier email and graciously greeted him while still remaining a bit distant).

Next he pokes his head into the Big Elephant's office and says good morning to my boss. (I wish I'd told my boss about the email so he could have trumpeted out a greeting.)

Finally Mr ANM enters my office and stammers out some nonissue question about the document I'd been working for him.

He asks how my son is feeling. (He became aware of Stu's liver transplant after complaining [to me and copying everyone up and down the chain] that I was not responding quickly enough to his emails during the first few days after the transplant when I was not in the office but was checking email. I had apologized for not getting back to him immediately because I couldn't use my laptop in the ICU. Oh, and it was Labor Day weekend for heck's sake!)

And then, as he rises to leave, he asks me if I'm okay, I understand about the elephants, right? He didn't mean anything derogatory, okay? And I say, sure.

And he points through the wall towards my boss's office and conspiratorily whispers, "Bob. Bob is the elephant."

And instead of telling him to explain that to me--because I thought he told me being an elephant was a good thing because it's the top of the food chain but now he's telling me that only Bob is an elephant so doesn't that mean I'm no longer the top of the food chain, so what does that make me?--but instead of asking him to explain this, I let him off the hook.

And he slides, snakelike, under the door.