Scenes from an elevator.

I'm not a lawyer-hater, I promise. Some of my best friends are lawyers-- I just spent the weekend with one! But the attorneys that share my office elevator give me such good fodder.

The scene: Late Friday night. Three people in elevator-- me and two lawyers, clearly, a partner-in-training and his sidekick-in-training. Sidekick realizes he forgot something in the office. But instead of getting off on floor 15, and getting an up-elevator from there, he rides all the way down with us. Partner-in-training scoffs "why didn't you just get out at 15 and go up?" Sidekick replies, "Oh, that would have been a good idea. That's why you make the big bucks. 'Cause you're so smart. Mr. Phi Beta Kappa. Yale. Law review."

I wanted to barforama on their Gucci loafers. It reminds me of the hero worship that highschool girls do, when the less-cool girls gush about how cool the coolest girl is to the boys. That's what Sidekick was doing... bragging so I could hear how smart and well-groomed his buddy was. I wanted to tell Sidekick, "hey man, buck up! Don't be this guy's own personal PR! Let him do his own work. So what if you didn't go to Ivy League? I didn't either! God loves us, everyone!"

But I didn't. I just smirked, internally, and thought, with a sad sigh, so unpretty,