In which the strange, strange world of law is exposed.
I'm beginning to wonder if there isn't a slightly disturbing common theme when it comes to law firms. Besides the usual grumbling about clients and joking about money, I mean. I say law firms because the newspaper office I worked at never had this problem. The accountancy firm was prone to internal politics of the sort that would take a series of qualified diplomats several weeks to untangle, but nothing quite like this. It all started a couple of weeks ago when I got a call from someone at a magistrates court.
Magistrates Court Person: I'd like to speak to a Mr. Beefy Balls please.
Ro: ...That's the most unusual sales pitch for your type of product I've had on the phone all week.
MCP: (*haughtily*) I'm sure I've no idea what you mean. All the legal aid forms that came through by fax overnight from your firm were signed with your company's name and the email address of a Mr. Beefy Balls underneath. I can't really present them to the judge.
Ro: (*feeling a little puzzled*) But if you fax that over I can probably -
MCP: I'm afraid I really do need to speak to whoever signed these papers in the first place
Ro: ...
MCP: ...
Ro: There is no Mr. Beefy Balls, is there?
Eavesdropping Colleague: Ahem. Actually, you can put whoever it is through to me.
Ro: ...
Eavesdropping Colleague: Don't judge me.
I don't really see why she should have had trouble presenting them to the judge. I think judges must have a highly developed immunity to the ridiculous, since most of them are middle aged to elderly men who dress like this in court:
At the beginning of this week one of the (nicer) solicitors, whom we shall call 'Alan', rushed in to tell my and fellow receptionist to look out for a certain client, whose very important documents he was leaving in our care for her to sign.
Alan: She will have the largest pair of fake breasts you've ever seen.
Fellow Receptionist: That covers about a quarter of our female client base.
Alan: Well, she's blonde too.
Fellow Receptionist: This helps us...how?
We understood what he meant when the client eventually turned up. It's obviously catching.
Ro: *busily sorting files alone in the reception*
Client (*wandering in*): Excuse me.
Ro (*glancing distractedly up and then stopping to blink*): You're here to sign some documents, aren't you?
Client: How did you know without asking my name?
Ro: Ahaha, ahem, just a hunch.
Senior Solicitor (*stopping to gawp*): You're Alan's client, aren't you?
Client (*smiling*): You all seem to know who I am! How personable, I do like this firm. I'll just use that empty office to get this done out of your hair.
Senior Solicitor: *waits until the door clicks shut before reaching for her phone*
Ro: What are you doing?! Why are you phoning every woman in the building?
Senior Solicitor: Hush child, we have a walking testament to the miraculous abilities of modern plastic surgery here. Go get the popcorn. And something to take notes with.
It doesn't stop with the people who work in law either. The clients, (regardless of whether we're helping them with criminal defence, personal injury or immigration problems), seem to share a completely different kind of eccentricity. I had a phone call from a lady who didn't speak English very well. There have been several calls like this in the few months I was at the firm. She made several frustrated attempts to communicate, before deciding to stop a random passerby, communicate with him by gestures, and force him to communicate with me over her phone. It was like trying to help someone to play charades without actually being able to see anything.
Random Passerby: Excuse me? Hello?
Ro: *extremely frustrated by this point* Who is this?
Random Passerby: *sounding alarmed* She just stopped me and told me to speak. I was too scared to say no. She wants me to say that she is...she is in prison? No, someone is in prison, someone else is in prison, and...they're...walking? moving? Um...oh! They want to get out. They're - someone's flying, flying away, oh hang on, she's getting a pencil and drawing something. They're...they're leaving the country.
Ro: Can she say what they were in jail for?
RP: *after communicating the question* ...They, assaulted someone? No, they, they killed someone? Oh, no, they...assaulted and then killed someone? I don't...what is that? Vandalism? Parking tickets? Someone giving parking tickets? She's, I think she's starting again. She's trying to say, what is that, a stick? A ball? They threw...she's pretending to eat it - a vegetable? A round vegetable? Which you can throw?
Ro: *fascinated* Did they kill someone with an aubergine? Was it the traffic warden with the potato in the library?
RP: I think she's getting angry with me. I'd better give the phone back.
So, if any of you are thinking of heading to anywhere in London outside zone 1, be prepared to be stopped and forced to play charades with a stranger whilst on the phone to a confused receptionist.
That said, I think I am going to miss law firms for a little while.
Magistrates Court Person: I'd like to speak to a Mr. Beefy Balls please.
Ro: ...That's the most unusual sales pitch for your type of product I've had on the phone all week.
MCP: (*haughtily*) I'm sure I've no idea what you mean. All the legal aid forms that came through by fax overnight from your firm were signed with your company's name and the email address of a Mr. Beefy Balls underneath. I can't really present them to the judge.
Ro: (*feeling a little puzzled*) But if you fax that over I can probably -
MCP: I'm afraid I really do need to speak to whoever signed these papers in the first place
Ro: ...
MCP: ...
Ro: There is no Mr. Beefy Balls, is there?
Eavesdropping Colleague: Ahem. Actually, you can put whoever it is through to me.
Ro: ...
Eavesdropping Colleague: Don't judge me.
I don't really see why she should have had trouble presenting them to the judge. I think judges must have a highly developed immunity to the ridiculous, since most of them are middle aged to elderly men who dress like this in court:
At the beginning of this week one of the (nicer) solicitors, whom we shall call 'Alan', rushed in to tell my and fellow receptionist to look out for a certain client, whose very important documents he was leaving in our care for her to sign.
Alan: She will have the largest pair of fake breasts you've ever seen.
Fellow Receptionist: That covers about a quarter of our female client base.
Alan: Well, she's blonde too.
Fellow Receptionist: This helps us...how?
We understood what he meant when the client eventually turned up. It's obviously catching.
Ro: *busily sorting files alone in the reception*
Client (*wandering in*): Excuse me.
Ro (*glancing distractedly up and then stopping to blink*): You're here to sign some documents, aren't you?
Client: How did you know without asking my name?
Ro: Ahaha, ahem, just a hunch.
Senior Solicitor (*stopping to gawp*): You're Alan's client, aren't you?
Client (*smiling*): You all seem to know who I am! How personable, I do like this firm. I'll just use that empty office to get this done out of your hair.
Senior Solicitor: *waits until the door clicks shut before reaching for her phone*
Ro: What are you doing?! Why are you phoning every woman in the building?
Senior Solicitor: Hush child, we have a walking testament to the miraculous abilities of modern plastic surgery here. Go get the popcorn. And something to take notes with.
It doesn't stop with the people who work in law either. The clients, (regardless of whether we're helping them with criminal defence, personal injury or immigration problems), seem to share a completely different kind of eccentricity. I had a phone call from a lady who didn't speak English very well. There have been several calls like this in the few months I was at the firm. She made several frustrated attempts to communicate, before deciding to stop a random passerby, communicate with him by gestures, and force him to communicate with me over her phone. It was like trying to help someone to play charades without actually being able to see anything.
Random Passerby: Excuse me? Hello?
Ro: *extremely frustrated by this point* Who is this?
Random Passerby: *sounding alarmed* She just stopped me and told me to speak. I was too scared to say no. She wants me to say that she is...she is in prison? No, someone is in prison, someone else is in prison, and...they're...walking? moving? Um...oh! They want to get out. They're - someone's flying, flying away, oh hang on, she's getting a pencil and drawing something. They're...they're leaving the country.
Ro: Can she say what they were in jail for?
RP: *after communicating the question* ...They, assaulted someone? No, they, they killed someone? Oh, no, they...assaulted and then killed someone? I don't...what is that? Vandalism? Parking tickets? Someone giving parking tickets? She's, I think she's starting again. She's trying to say, what is that, a stick? A ball? They threw...she's pretending to eat it - a vegetable? A round vegetable? Which you can throw?
Ro: *fascinated* Did they kill someone with an aubergine? Was it the traffic warden with the potato in the library?
RP: I think she's getting angry with me. I'd better give the phone back.
So, if any of you are thinking of heading to anywhere in London outside zone 1, be prepared to be stopped and forced to play charades with a stranger whilst on the phone to a confused receptionist.
That said, I think I am going to miss law firms for a little while.