Partner Stupid

2002-04-01 - 1:35 p.m.

There's this partner at my firm. No one's sure how he got there. I mean, we know we hired him, we know where he worked before. What escapes us is how he found the exit to his house this morning.

This guy is a moron. He's unprofessional and incompetent and is in need of a kick in the head.

He's the guy that I had to take to our storage cage in the basement of this building so he could pick out a chair to bring home to his son (who I can't imagine isn't a moron also). When I brought him down there, it was like he was taking a secret tour of something amazing. He commented on how the basement area was the "seedy underbelly of the building." He was in awe of the differences of the basement from the 17th floor law firm we work at. After he picked a chair (fuck people who are choosy about their free stuff) and I retrieved it (by climbing over everything to the very back of the storage area, then climbing back with a chair on my head) we rode the freight elevator back up.

"You like it here so far?" he said.

"Sure" I said.

"When did you start?" he said.

"About a year ago" I said. That ended the conversation.

He's the guy who my boss and I had to bring two file cabinets to. Heavy, cumbersome file cabinets. When we got them to him, he commented on how they didn't match the decor of the office. He actually suggested we spray paint them. I began to laugh out loud at what an unbelievable rectal sphincter this guy is. He wanted the cabinets cleaned, a task which, thankfully, got delegated to someone other than me. During the cleaning however, he was very inquisitive about the cleaning product being used (Goo-Gone). After being told that the citrus cleanser would, in fact, not eat the paint off the file cabinets, he dove into a story about how he grew up on a citrus orchard and used to throw oranges at passing cars.

He's the guy who lower echelon attorneys hate to work for.

He's the guy who, at the large reception for the firm's clientele, picked up a straw-like pastry and pondered loudly if it was for snorting coke.

He's the guy who was in the kitchen with me 10 minutes ago. I was making some oatmeal for myself. Oatmeal and Cup-of-Soup are the two packeted, just-add-hot-water forms of sustenance that the firm supplies (and has for years) to us for free in every kitchen we have. I emptied the contents into a bowl and before I could add the afore mentioned hot water, he inquired of me in a very honest tone, "What is that?"

He's the guy who makes more than I ever will monetarily, even though I've taken dumps smarter than him.

He's the guy who is my constant reminder that things don't work the way you think they should.

He's the guy who breaks my heart.