Almost 10 years ago, about 8 weeks after my daughter was born, I went to work as a contract attorney for a mid-sized law firm. After a month or so there I transitioned to a staff position. I was nursing my daughter when I was there, and as contract employee, I didn’t want to rock to the boat, so I made do with pumping in my car till I knew how the gig would go.[1] It wasn’t bad in early October when I went back to work, but when the weather turned that just wasn’t going to work anymore.
So when they offered me a staff position, I asked about a place to pump. And the woman in charge of such things asked why the car or the restroom didn’t work (so much the enlightened solidarity of sisterhood). Thankfully, I worked with a really great associate and fabulous partner who did not think this was a remotely acceptable answer and quickly got something set up.[2]
This should have been a sign, but I didn’t see it.
Instead I waited for a firm party to see my sign. At the party, I committed two faux pas in a row. Mistake one, I actually talked to the catering supervisor as he was gliding through the room. I was supposed to pretend he just dispensed tasty bites and alcohol, like a handy, free, mobile, vending machine.
But you see, they had these perfect little moist cornbread mini-muffins they were serving. As a woman with strong feelings about cornbread, about a dozen recipes for different occasions, and her late grandmother’s corn-shaped cast iron cornbread pans, these were completely worth both praising and discussing in detail. So I said something like –
“These are wonderful little cornbread muffins!”
Which contained mistake two, as he replied –
“Oh – you mean, the petite maize soufflé?”
Right – now that sign I saw, and I left the firm not long afterwards.
But I have remained mindful of the petite maize soufflé in my writing and thinking ever since. Now let’s be clear, that wasn’t a “petite maize soufflé” we were eating; that was a little corn muffin, made with an extra egg, a touch of sugar and maybe some extra leavening.
Calling those little corn muffins petite maize soufflés only functions to exclude people from the conversation, and has the added bonus of letting you charge more because it sounds fancy and/or complicated. I think of those muffins more often than I probably should, but they have come to remind me of the importance of being clear in substance and in form, and they have come to symbolize two of the most common failings of my profession – a tendency to use exclusionary language unnecessarily and a desire to engage in puffery.
I remember how impossible it was to continue the conversation once they weren’t little corn muffins – I felt like had nothing to add, and more than a little embarrassed. I didn’t like the feeling, and don’t want my client, or anyone else I talk to feel that way. So in my practice, I strive to be a corn muffin kind of lawyer, and to stay away from the maize soufflés; it think it has served both me and my clients well.
[1] This was in late 2006 and early 2007 – not that long ago, but it was a different time. For example, the D.C. Council adopted a breastfeeding nondiscrimination law in late 2007, so all this was still new. As the one year mark of Marion Barry’s passing recently came and went, it seems worthwhile to note that he was supporter of this legislation, in a way only he could be.
[2] Madeline Albright said “There is a special place in hell for women who don’t help other women.” I think of this as two women earning their Albright-angel-wings and one, umm, not.
Part of the Human Experience 