why is burning bridge so bad? there are other ways to cross river than a bridge

Now that I've officially been sacked, I keep being told not to burn any bridges. Of course the sensible part of me knows that I should do as suggested and not haul off on the boss and the people that have made me so miserable for the past two years, but the other part of me really really wants to. And I mean really. In my family if you have a problem with someone you let them know. I cannot even count how many times my brother and I swore at each other and spent hours yelling about exactly how much we hate one another. Now adays my brother and I have really open and honest relationship where we can still yell and swear at each other but we always make up and appreciate being able to wig out on each other. It's so relieving to tell people what you really think, especially if you can use one of George Carlin's 7 words to never say on tv in the process. So if your work is supposed to be a kind of family, why can't you rip into them the same way? Because work is not a family, instead it is a group of people largely pretending to like one another but secretly not giving a rats ass if one of them got hit by a bus on the way to work. True, there is usually one or two people that you become friends with, but the rest of them...feed them to the wolves! Realizing the wisdom in that trite saying however, I have bitten my tongue until it bleeds and instead dream about telling off my boss (really, I've probably had at least 4 dreams where I really tear into him). And because I realize that while yes, there are other ways to cross a river, like making a home catapult, that is much more difficult than using the damn bridge, and so instead I will choose to seek my catharsis through some time honored passive aggressive behavior. I plan to make as big a production as possible when I pack up my stuff this Friday and may even hide something really smelly like a rotten potato or leave a honey trail for ants in my office. And of course I'll finish it with a great big "I know you are but what am I?" while sticking out my tongue as I walk out the door.

I thought the blog needed a law-themed photo. This was the nicest looking Law photo I could find. Enjoy!

So little time, so much to do....switch that, reverse it.

So aside from memorizing the postings on Careerbuilding and stalking Linkedin contacts, what will I do with all this stuff called 'free time' that I will soon have? Well, I've decided to start a blog, inspired by Julie and Julia, chronicalling my journey through the grapes of the world, alphabetically. When I say grapes, of course I mean the fermented ones that come in pretty bottles with labels I can't pronounce. What will I achieve from this quest for wine zen? Scerosis of the liver and an extra 10 pounds....okay, so maybe not the best idea. Perhaps I'll take up knitting.

Writing from Behind Enemy Lines

I am camped out in my fox hole of an office, alternative rock and the space heater blaring, daring anyone to knock on the door. Last Friday I officially became a POW of the law office. I was given the ultimate PFO (please f-off) and told I had two weeks notice, things just weren't "working out" (code for the boss took a bonus and bought a new BMW so we can't afford associates). Because I must squeeze every last cent I can from this fortress of desperation, I am forced to show up every day until next Friday, working to close cases and keep a low profile as my status as enemy combatant requires. This place for which I used to have mixed emotions of pride, belonging and loyalty tinged with resentment has become my jail cell. With an air of superiority and pity my soon to be former coworkers viligently try to ignore my presense (although their social awkwardness did not allow for much meaningful interaction in the past), and while this should bother me the only thing I can think of is my pending release. Sure, I'd love to punch half the office in the face and have a good Lewis Black style rant, but of course I can't do that since one day I may need something from my captures. My confinement will end next week and I suppose my sentence here will be what most call "good experience", but for me it will have been an exercise in frustration and join the list of things I can say I did without any desire to do it again. As I clean out my desk, leaving only spilt Splenda packets and business cards, I can't help but be excited by the rush of relief and the knowledge that I am the one getting the better end of this deal and will be the one feeling pity for those I leave behind.