Putting on the Ritz (Carlton)

What exactly does “banned forever” mean?

Step 1: Get an invite to a high dollar consultant’s CLE

From: Single Chick #1 [mailto:do.me@the dinnertable.com]
Sent: Monday, March 05, 2007 1:05 PM
To: mailing list of bastard lawyers
Subject: Seminar Confirmation — March 7, 2007

CONFIRMATION

This is to confirm your attendance at our Dinner Seminar on Wednesday, March 7, 2007.

SPEAKER: Some wordy dude
TOPIC: “Causation in Economic Damages or some other shit you’ll probably sleep through”
PLACE: The RitzCarlton
TIME: Cocktails: 6:00 p.m. to 6:30 p.m.
Dinner Seminar: 6:30 p.m. to 8:30 p.m.

NOTE: One hour of general CLE credit is available. There is no attendance fee and complimentary parking will be provided.

Step 2: My Old Boss finds himself inexorably compelled by the phrase “There is no attendance fee” to invite his entire firm to dine in his regal presence.* (They can go back and work after the show, after all.) Even a law clerk is invited (only one – the other one needs to stay behind and reduce the secretaries’ workload by doing his own typing after hours.)

Step 3: open bar reception.
M.O.B.: None for you, Olivier, unless you have finished writing your list of 175 things to do tomorrow to justify your existence to me.
M.O.B.: mmmm, cocktails.
Jack: Look. M.O.B.’s here.
Me: %^%&#%^_(*%_!!@!!!
*finds beer guy*
Me: mmm beer

MEMORANDUM

To: M.O.B.

Re: To do 3.7.07
_________________________________________________________________________

Avoid former employees who loathe you as you loathe them.

[Revise and edit office memo 0.3]

Step 4: M.O.B. sits with his scion at the imperial potentates table. Lesser mortals from M.O.B.’s firm attempt to sit at my table, but are whisked away by scion to a table more befitting their intermediate caste. CLE hotties join Jack and me. Karma continues to shine on me a little.

Karma: No cooch for you!
Me: Mmmm, eye candy.
M.O.B.: Mmmm, sea bass. Why yes, I’ll have a refill of the wine.
Me: Mmmm, wine.

Step 5: open bar reopens.

M.O.B.: Mmmm, scotch.

M.O.B.’s  minions scurry back to the Esplanade to overbill a couple more hours

Me: *talks to everyone left except M.O.B.* Mmmm, beer.

I even had a nice chat with scion and said good bye about 12 times.

Step 6: my notes are unclear, although some unknown amount of hitting on the seminar babes, drunk calling someone local, and reconnaissance of the bar in hotel ensued.

Me: Mmmm, beer.

Step 7:

Me (inner monologue): Mmmm, hotel babes. They are “working it” in more ways than one.
Karma: Because they’re hookers. Where’s your wallet, party boy?
Hookers: “We’re not ‘hookers,’ we’re ‘escorts'”
Me: *furtively searches for cash*

Step 8: there are two bars.

Me:  Mmmm, beer.

M.O.B.and scion are just leaving the other one.

Me: Scion! Buddy! How you doin’? M.O.B., you motherfu —
M.O.B.(on autopilot): —How are you? Good to see you! How about those women? That one is – Which one do you like?

Scion hurriedly shuffles M.O.B. off to waiting car, before the awfulness of recognizing me happens.

Step 9:  M.O.B. is gone. Chicks are gone. The bar is still here. I am somehow able to adapt.

Me: Mmmm, beer.
Ritz Carlton: WTF? Sir. Seriously. Please drag your drunken ass out of our fountain. No. Sir, you CANNOT sleep on the hood of that Bentley. Yes, sir, it probably is warm like that one chick’s…  Sir, we have an irrigation system to take care of that…

Step 10: Arrange booty call.  Sheriff Joe ensues. Or pursues. Or whatever.

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