Washington Lawyer - July/August 2024 - 56

A SLICE OF WRY
Good Luck Moving Up
By Paul Kiernan
A
t some point in your career,
you will have to move. The
occasion may be voluntary
or in-, but out you go. And
lawyers hate moves.
Lawyers really hate when the whole office has
to move. Moving an office triggers deep-seated
anxieties and unleashes unbecoming behaviors
that otherwise lie hidden beneath layers of education
and civility. Indeed, whole new breeds
of humans replace the people you thought you
knew well. Consider these types:
The Holdout. I'm not moving. Just move
around me. If I shut my eyes tight, maybe the
move won't happen. You can't make me move.
I am so angered by the notion that we are
moving that I might just leave the firm! Although,
in that case, I'd have to move - which
I just hate!
The Duplicator. I'll move, but I insist that everything
in my new office be exactly the same
as my old office. Every picture, every stick of
furniture, every book, every plastic spoon in
the middle drawer. Just take a screenshot of my
surroundings, reproduce it down to the dust
motes, and I'll be fine. My goal is to freeze time,
like The Room Where Lincoln Died, although I
will not insist upon the rope across the entrance.
The
Hoarder. I cannot practice unless my tortclass
study guide is within arm's reach. And
those files over there. And this nametag from
the 2011 bar association meeting. And my
form-file drawer. Don't mess with my form-file
drawer. Why I started that back in 2010, and
I use it every ... um, every ... time I use it!
The Equalizer. Moving is the perfect opportunity
to make sure that I have precisely the same
square footage as the people I see as my peers,
56 WASHINGTON LAWYER
* JULY/AUGUST 2024
and more room than the people below me.
I am measuring carpet tiles, monitor sizes, window
dimensions, chair mat square inches, parking
spaces. And this better tally up the right
way.
The Chronicler. Plenty of time for me to work
my way through the entire office and collect
every slight and grievance that people have
about this move. I'll make sure to document
why this is a bad idea and how much money
this is going to cost and how the whole place
might as well declare bankruptcy now.
Moving an office
triggers deep-seated
anxieties and unleashes
unbecoming behaviors.
The prospect of moving also brings out a perverse
nostalgia in some people. That strange
sandwich place in the next block - MexicanInuit
fusion? - is now celebrated as an irreplaceable
shrine to the American lunch. The
garage attendant who you know was the one
who dented your mirror is now viewed as a
skilled wheelman who could fit cars into spaces
like the inventor of Tetris. That other security
guard - you know, the one who cannot be
bothered to look up from her phone - is
hailed as a witty raconteur overflowing with
holiday cheer the year round.
And then there's the packing. Whether you
have worked in the same space for 2 years or
20, it is remarkable how much stuff you accumulate.
Old files, scraps of paper, business
cards, newspaper clippings, outdated reference
materials, a shoe (not sure where the other one
went), a not-completely-broken umbrella. What
in heaven's name to do with that junk drawer in
your desk? Why do I have three boxes of rubber
bands?
So, you excavate, uncovering strata of deals not
closed, invitations missed, outdated rulebooks,
and 14 packs of saltines. Say, here's a treasure: a
pink " While You Were Out " pad in mint condition
(a buy-now item on eBay).
Of course, moving a practice is not as complicated
as it once was. For many attorneys, their
practices take up the space of one laptop, one
printer, and one Stanley™ cup (coffee, not hockey).
Just plug in and start billing. But even with
minimal operational requirements, people
want their offices to have amenities for those
few days when they actually go to an office.
Moving opens the possibilities of a better gym,
upgraded beverage selections, concierge functions,
and onsite taco bars.
The biggest change in law firm offices may be
the furniture. When I was younger, law firm offices
could resemble a Going Out of Business
parking-lot furniture sale on Leesburg Pike,
showcasing random, mismatched pieces manufactured
out of dubious composite materials
- an eclectic mix of the good, the bad, and
the really bad.
Nowadays, standardized offices are in, but at
least one person will have that quirky piece.
When our office moved a few years ago, a partner
insisted that his office couch come along. I
reminded him that in the years we had worked
together, no one - not even he - had ever
sat on that ratty burnt-orange couch. Another
lawyer wanted to move his desk, but it
wouldn't fit in the new space. But I love the
desk, he said. Wonderful, I said, take it home
with you. I was told: My wife won't let me; she
doesn't want it in our house.
Washington Lawyer - July/August 2024

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