12
“You need to turn off all mechanical devices so that we can be cleared for takeoff,” the stewardess said, leaning over Jack. He turned off the DVD player that he was playing
“Hand me that movie and I’ll put it away with
“Why are you putting those in that?” Vanessa asked, referring to the litigation bag I was using. A litigation bag is not really a bag, and it’s certainly not your typical carry-on luggage. Rather, it’s a hard case used by litigators when they go to court. Now, the casual observer may have thought she was asking me this because junior associates at a big firm, even those who are litigators, rarely, if ever, go to court, but I knew that she meant, “Why do you have that large eyesore on a plane?”
“Because I narrowly escaped death trying to get out of the office tonight,” I explained.
It was a little trick Jack had taught Vanessa and me when we were first-year associates. Whenever you are sneaking out of the office early (read: anytime before 9:00 p.m.), do so with a legal folder or large box of documents or even a litigation bag in your hand, so as to give off the appearance of your intention to work at home. I had used this trick mere hours earlier on my way out of work and discovered that my litigation bag actually made a very handy carry-on bag for the flight.
There I was with my suitcase in my hand, trying to make my escape for the weekend, when one of the partners on the Healthy Foods case came to my office to ask me to do some research that he needed for Tuesday morning. (He thought he was being a hero by making it due on a Tuesday instead of a Monday. As if I couldn’t figure out that the assignment entailed weekend work either way.) I told him that I could not do it since I was traveling out of town, thus, the suitcase in my hand. He explained to me my duty to the firm and to the case and a whole host of other things that I didn’t hear because I was already tuning him out. When he finally started to tell me how I was the only person who could do this assignment, I managed to grab a litigation bag that was filled with papers (from my last narrow escape from the office a week and a half earlier) to show him that even though I was going out of town for the weekend, I would actually be doing work on another case the whole time, so even if I really, really wanted to, I was not going to be able to get his work done for him by Tuesday. He grumbled something about “Wednesday, then,” and left my office.
Vanessa got off from work scot-free, but as she suspected, her husband got stuck at the hospital on an emergency shift.
Once we got in the air, it was back to all things Scotland. Jack watched DVD upon DVD to start perfecting his accent while Vanessa and I brushed up on our research, finding out more things about Scotland and Scottish culture in general. Vanessa was really focused on learning all that she could and I wasn’t sure why. Other than the fact that she’s a great friend, that is. And a kick-ass researcher, I might add. One time, a partner called her from oral argument in federal court to get contrary authority for a case that opposing counsel had just cited. Before the judge’s ten-minute recess was over, Vanessa had five cases for the partner that enabled her to win her oral argument. See, that’s the difference between Vanessa and me: a partner calls screaming and demanding case law on a ten-minute deadline and Vanessa is completely unfazed, whereas I would have been — well, completely fazed.
I myself was using my credit card to call Douglas in his office from the airplane phone in the seat in front of me. I had to lie to Jack and Vanessa and tell them that I was calling into office voice mail, so when Douglas’s secretary picked up, I had no choice but to dial random numbers into the phone as if I were entering my security code. It was then that I realized that one could not fake a phone call to her ex from a middle seat.
Our plane touched down in L.A. five hours and twenty-seven minutes after takeoff. We were all exhausted, and looking forward to getting to our hotel as quickly as we could. Vanessa’s mammoth Louis Vuitton case was the first to come off the conveyor belt at baggage claim, with Jack’s army-green duffel following close behind. I hate it when my bag doesn’t immediately come off the conveyor belt. I always get that overwhelming feeling of complete dread.
“Oh, my God, my bags are lost,” I said to Jack and Vanessa. Vanessa was so tired that she was sitting on top of her suitcase.
“Your bags are not lost,” Jack said matter-of-factly, while his eyes betrayed him, darting around the baggage-claim area furiously. “They just haven’t come off of the plane yet.”
“Yeah,” Vanessa chimed in, “the laws of karma would not allow it. There is no way in hell that, on the way to your ex-boyfriend’s wedding, your bags could possibly get lost.”
Vanessa was right. I was overreacting. I was probably just jittery and nervous about the whole perpetrating a fraud on the Scottish community thing. Which is totally natural.
One hour later, two flights from Houston and one from Miami had already landed and gotten their luggage. Vanessa told me that I must have been a very bad person in my former life.
“Thank you for flying Northeastern Airlines. How can I help you?” an airport employee asked me as if reading off a script. Her monotone voice matched her monotone…well, everything else. She wore the blankest expression I had ever seen.
“My bag never came off the conveyor belt,” I explained, smiling a big smile. (The same look you employ at the post office can also be conveniently used at the airport.)
“So your bag is lost,” she droned, seemingly on autopilot, “You can fill out —”
“No, it’s not lost,” I explained like a kindergarten teacher to her four-year-old students. “Of course, it just hasn’t come off the conveyor belt. It can’t be lost. It must be somewhere. Could you please just help me find it?” Don’t these people know anything about customer service?
“So your bag is lost. You can fill out —” she repeated. I guess they don’t. Perhaps the look is better kept for post-office use only.
“No,” I said, pushing away the paperwork, “I don’t need to fill that out. My bag cannot be lost. It cannot. My ex-boyfriend’s wedding is tomorrow night and I need my dress and shoes, not to mention my makeup and hair stuff….”
She looked back at me with that same blank stare. Judging by her own lack of makeup and hair, I could tell that this was not a compelling argument for her.
“See, this is why people hate L.A.,” I said to Jack and Vanessa. Jack shook his head in an “I told you so” manner.
This cannot be happening to me. This. Cannot. Be happening. To me. Okay, be cool. You can make this happen. You’re a big-time lawyer at a big-time law firm. You’ve faced much tougher foes. In litigation, you always need to know what the other party needs in order to give you what you want. Now, this should be easy enough. This is clearly a very disgruntled airport employee. She just needs someone to be nice to her. And give her a makeover, but let’s fight the battles that we can fight, shall we? Just be kind to her and watch how you get more flies with honey than vinegar.
“Listen to me, lady,” I said. “I am
13
“No, I do not have any bags,” I said to a very blond, very tan, very smiley man behind the reception desk of the Beverly Wilshire. “No bags at all.”
“We have two bags here,” Vanessa chimed in.
“And we are very hopeful that the airline will recover the third bag shortly,” Jack said. Very optimistically, I might add. Unfortunately, I was in no mood for optimism. Optimistic people suck. I never had that problem with Douglas.
“The airline lost mine,” I explained to the Ken doll at reception, “on the eve of my ex-boyfriend’s wedding. Can you believe that?”
