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the report of Matthew Courtney's death and comments from readers
I was always a pleaser. At school I did exceptionally well and got a
first at a top university. I was pleased because I’d got a first and pleased
because my parents were pleased. At university I’d learned how to pass exams
but not how to think for myself. Which I think is why, when my mother
suggested I do a law conversion course, I abandoned all thoughts of going in
to publishing.
My father, a City lawyer himself, was keen too. “Why not just try it?” he
said. “You can always give it up after a couple of years if you don’t like
it.” So I thought. But ten years on there isn’t a chance I’d give up my job,
and probably for all the wrong reasons. People talk about job-satisfaction
but I can’t say I enjoy mine. I don’t hate it, I’m just not very passionate
about it. I think of what I do much like I imagine a window cleaner thinks
of his job – a means to an end.
I don’t do it for the status. I wouldn’t go to a party and say “hello, I’m a
lawyer” with a beam of pride. It is slightly embarrassing to admit it
sometimes. I have a friend who introduces himself as “Chris, I work at
Chiswick Pet Cemetery,” but this makes people suspect that he is a
solicitor, so it backfires.
My parents’ generation is impressed but the job was different in those days.
Even the bankers who employ us think of us as a hindrance and an expense.
What the parents don’t really get is how ruthless the profession has become.
Everybody wants to be a partner and it’s always being dangled in front of
your nose by bosses. It encourages ruthlessness, back-stabbing, senseless
hard work and unbelievable sycophancy. Top lawyers are master politicians,
masters at the backhanded compliment, necessarily made in public to
denigrate a colleague. To paraphrase Gore Vidal, the City lawyer’s mindset
can be described as the following: “When a colleague of mine succeeds, a
little part of me dies.” If I talk to my friends doing so-called creative
jobs, they always end up saying things like “how on earth can you do that
all day?”, and sometimes I wonder.
Then I look at where they live and the size of their mortgage and I remember.
What have I learned? Well, I am an absolute world-class paper shuffler.
That’s what I do all day: and I feel paranoid. Thank God I don’t work in an
open-plan office – my paranoia would spill over in front of my boss, which
would be the kiss of death. It’s true that you should never trust a lawyer
but especially true if you’re one yourself. You can’t trust anybody except
for part-timers; if you’ve gone part-time it’s like telling your boss you’ve
lost the will to live. I spend a lot of time making sure that I don’t look
paranoid: plucked eyebrows are helpful.
There was a new guy in my office. He was nice but was obviously being bullied.
I heard later that his boss got him to write his best-man speech at 2am,
then tore it up in front of him the next day. The guy eventually quit. I saw
him a few days before he handed in his notice, stuffing a sandwich in his
mouth, obviously trying not to cry. I couldn’t have possibly said anything
to him as he would have found it too humiliating. What would I have said,
anyway? “I had my breakdown in the emergency exit stairwell of our law
firm.” Which is sort of true. That was the time a colleague “playfully”
pointed out that I had dandruff from all the stress. My advice to budding
lawyers: never wear black in a law firm.
I used to feel sick at the thought of not making partner, more often these
days I just feel sick. I know lawyers who have semi-retired at 40 with nice
cars and second homes. I don’t even like cars. What I’d really like is
another career.
A lot of lawyers think that it’s cutting-edge to work until 2am often but they
don’t need to. I’m always slightly amazed when I see how emotionally
involved some get with their deals, which after all, are deals they’re doing
on behalf of clients.
There are lawyers who will be devastated if a deal collapses. I’d rather it be
my deal in the first place, but I think I’ve become too risk-averse for
that. Working in law makes you wary of taking risks. In the end very few
lawyers chuck in their jobs.
I suppose the real reason I did law was because it was the easiest option. I
have friends who love it and friends who hated it so much that they left –
scarred by sexist bosses or the bad jokes that lawyers send to each other
via e-mail.
It’s not a great job if you can’t stand being told what to do or if you’re
allergic to hierarchies. It’s not particularly good for meeting people,
either. There are lawyers so pale from being indoors that they look ill.
You’ll find a lot of them on internet dating sites. I’m lucky, I have a
partner – not a lawyer – and a bombshell: I’ll be asking for maternity leave
later this year.
The author’s name has been changed.
As told to STEFANIE MARSH
For three months, I worked 12-14 hours every day
Jonny Goldstone began a training contract at Clifford Chance in 2002.
He left one year after he qualified, in 2005, and now runs a private car
hire firm in London with another former solicitor.
I had wanted to be a lawyer for a long time, partly because my dad was a
barrister. I chose to become a solicitor over the bar for security. I
applied for two-year training contracts to Freshfields, Linklaters and
Clifford Chance. I had always been the top of my class, gone to Cambridge
and so on, and in many way I opted for “magic circle” law firms without
thinking. I had just always thought of myself as the kind of person who
would be the best. Looking back it was all a bit of a production line.
At first I enjoyed it. The long hours were a shock but I was working on a
high-profile case, sitting in on board meetings, being flown first class to
Zambia a few times. It was exciting.
But gradually you realise how misguided that is. Magic circle law firms are
probably the worst if you want to be creative. A trainee’s work – whichever
department you’re in – is almost all dull. There’s a lot of photo-copying
and proofing – you’re involved in high-profile deals but your role is
minimal.
The real killer is the hours. On a typical day I’d leave around 9pm. If you
stayed beyond then your taxi and dinner were free – so there’s an incentive
to stick around. If you finished your work at 7.30pm, you’d be likely to
stick around. I’d often work longer than that. I’d say I stayed after
midnight many more times than I went home at six.
I once did a massive deal where, for three months solid, I worked 12 to
14-hour days, every day bar one, including the weekends. At one point I
didn’t go home for two days and had to catch a quick two-hour nap in one of
the rest rooms – they actually have rooms with beds. I had just two days off
in lieu for that whole period.
It can be really demoralising. This stuff is stomachable when there’s an end
in sight. But when you qualify after two years, you start thinking, can I
really bear to do this for the rest of my life? Loads of people want to
leave – I remember a lot of cynical conversations with other trainees in
taxis home at four in the morning, saying “What are we doing?!” – but
there’s a lot of pressure to stay. If I were still there I’d probably be on
about £70,000 or £80,000. But I’d look at some of the partners – who can
take home £800,000 a year – and see a very low quality of life. Those with
families hardly ever saw them. Ten minutes on the phone to little Billy on a
Friday night – it’s not what I wanted.
I don’t think you get much respect from lawyers and clients as a trainee
or junior. Senior lawyers start to lose all perspective on the work-life
balance, and just don’t accept any need for a social life. What they seem to
want is people who won’t ask too many questions, but will knuckle down and
get on with it.
You live in fear of having to cancel things. I missed birthdays and I
once had to miss a friend’s wedding. It was on a Sunday and I finally made
it halfway through the meal. You end up just not making plans, and finding
that a lot of your friends are other city workers who understand.
If you said you simply couldn’t stay, it would be remembered. Likewise, if you
were seen leaving the office regularly at 6pm, even if you had finished your
work, you worried that you would be considered lazy. The billable hours
system breeds a very inefficient work ethic, where people try to make their
work last longer. There is the odd story of people snapping, saying “Sod
you, go and find someone else”. But then they will and you’ll have ruined
someone else’s evening. You’re under pressure from others but also yourself.
You are encouraged to socialise with other lawyers. At 5 o’clock on Fridays, a
silver drinks trolley would come round stocked with beers, wines and
expensive whiskies. If you were still working, you’d have a drink but it was
a very artificial attempt at being sociable, and emphasised how lonely it
could be.
When I did a six-month stint in Madrid it was a totally different work
culture. When you went for lunch at 2pm you were not expected back before
4pm and you’d leave the office at about 7pm or 8pm. If you went in at the
weekends, it was empty. The clients just understood that you wouldn’t work
nonstop. Here you get the feeling that if only the partners had the balls to
say no, things would be very different.
When I left, I noticed a lot of admiration and envy. I don’t think many of the
people who stayed enjoy their work, and if I were still there I think I
would be a lot more cynical as a person and unhappy.
Some aspects of the traineeship were new and exciting. But the novelty wears
off after a while, especially when you qualify and start looking for a
quality of work that you never get. The money versus the stress of long,
dull hours and no life outside them is not a fair trade-off.
As told to FRANCESCA STEELE
What the bloggers say
Really sad story. I don’t give a c**p about my job or career, if I get sacked
I’ll get another somewhere else. Some partners really test trainees just for
a laugh. City culture needs to change. Work (especially law) is just not
that important MYSHKIN
I’ve been doing 15-hour days for the past three months . . . luckily don’t
have to work on Sunday. It’s a choice we make. We all get beasted FARANG
A huge proportion of the kids hothoused at expensive private schools to get
into Oxbridge aren’t particularly bright but are well educated. People given
everything on a plate are much more likely to feel pressure than those who
experience hardship growing up US DOLLAR
It’s a Faustian pact. You work like a c*** and then one day, with a fair wind,
you make partner and work some other c*** half to death LILY LILY
Let’s not forget the poor guy was relatively newly qualified. Keen newly
qualifieds with a boy/girl scout attitude get beasted whatever dept they are
in as the two-year qualifieds thank the lord and delegate as much as they
can to the newbie DOGWARDEN
From the City law blog rollonfriday.com
