smells like teen spirit

One of my primary duties at the law firm where I work is to put together "demand packages," which are six-inch-thick envelopes full of evidence demonstrating a) that the defendant is at fault, and b) that our client is significantly injured. This is mailed to the defendant's insurance carrier with a long, overwrought cover letter detailing how YOUR INSURED has RUINED our client's life(!) and the DIMINUTIVE coverage your policy affords your EVIL insured can NEVER be enough to compensate for our client's RUINED LIFE(!), but we promise we will go away and not SUE YOUR ASS OFF if you give us all the money RIGHT NOW(!!). I get to write these letters, and it's kind of fun. I get to use the soap-opera language professors never approved of. As an example, here is a direct quote from an actual demand letter I wrote: "Once she got out of the car she stumbled around in a frantic daze, with blood running down her neck and soaking her shirt, only sitting down after a couple in another vehicle pulled over and tried to help her." Does that deserve a place in the Dark and Stormy Night compilation or what?

Anyway, the attorney I work for is busy enough to use phrases like "That is the last thing I feel like caring about right now" when I ask him questions, so at last check I had twelve - count 'em, twelve - of these things stacked up in his office waiting for him to edit and sign off on, since I can't mail them until they have his final approval, him being the boss and all. I have not actually gotten one of these back since early May, possibly even late April. Well, today I have the toe-curling pleasure of actually putting stamps on three of them and dropping them in the out-box, never to be seen again! There are nine left, but still.....

So I told Nate about this, and he told me I was "25% of the way to paralegal nirvana."

If this is all I live for.......


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