Caseload: I Mean, it was Bound to Happen

So last week, I had a rush project that involved a sort of traditional motion that opposing counsel was making in a non-traditional sort of way. My assignment was to, as fast as humanly possible, round up some cases that spoke to it. I did, kind of, and passed them on to the attorneys less than 24 hours later. E-mail replies were along the lines of "this looks good!"

Shortly thereafter, I was informed that opposing counsel had an Epic Fail, and had filed the motion wrong. They would be resubmitting, but it gave us an extra 2 business days to clean up our response. Now, my research could be more crafted, polished, and refined. So I dug deeper, uncovering the best information I could find. I wrote up a memo, it was beautiful, and I sent it off to the attorneys on Tuesday morning. E-mail replies were even better: "This is EXACTLY what we're looking for! Thanks!"

I was on Cloud. Fucking. Nine. But that was the end of that project and time to move on.

On Friday, the clerk who sits next to me got an assignment to proofread a Reply to a Motion. He looked at it, looked at the paralegal who came in with the draft, and looked at me. "Dean was the one that did the research on it. Dean, do you wanna proof it?" "Sure!" I got really excited, because I would get to see how my research was impacting actual litigation. I mean, isn't that every would-be-lawyers dream?
So I read it. Of course not too much of my stuff was in there, but who cares? It was clearly informative to them, and they were able to use it and springboard into what I thought was a completely brilliant Reply. I made a few grammar edits, handed it back to the paralegal, and got on with my other projects.

[Redacted].

I wanted, and still want, to cry. But I guess it's a learning experience? Right?

-M.