Drugs are bad, mmmm-kay?

I was in a meeting the other day on a case that’s in its formative phase. That’s the time when every legal issue that you can possibly think of is tossed back and forth ad nauseam, even those issues that a first-year associate could figure out were bunk inside of an hour. The rationale is that no stone should be left unturned because thoroughness is in the client’s interest. That’s true—sometimes—but it’s certainly no skin off of our back because we bill by the hour. As a result, in larger cases I find myself wasting a lot of time researching crap that, when all is said and done, won’t have made a lick of a difference. In my early-twenties, this would have troubled me on an existential level, but I can’t say that it does now. Keep the paychecks coming.

Anyway. I’m in the middling of daydreaming when I hear the partner in charge of the case say, “Well, if all of the great minds here at this table [something something].” I managed not to snort, but I think I involuntarily smirked. Speak for yourself, pal. I just spent the last five minutes staring at my reflection in that glass wall behind you, trying to decide if I need a haircut. That’s about the highest level of abstract thought that I’ve been able to muster during the long course of this meeting. I miss being smart.