You are probably wondering the story behind Little Girl Attorney. It was a dark and stormy night. Actually, it was a fairly hot February morning in San Diego.
I work for a small litigation firm specialized in the financial services industry. We represent some heavy duty national financial institutions in lawsuits that should never have been filed around the country. Our clients happen to get sued a lot in San Diego. Haven’t quite figured out why yet, but let’s not digress here. Before I even came onboard to the firm, one of our clients was sued by what turned out to be a lunatic attorney. For privilege and confidentiality reasons I can’t go into too many details about the case, so you are just going to have to trust me on this one. This guy was severely unethical, irrationally adversarial, and completely out of touch with reality. He was a lunatic. Like attracts like, as they say, because he associated with another lawyer on the case of the same perversion. Two lunatics.
After nearly three years of highly contentious litigation, we finally get to the first day of trial. Trial has a special anxiety that comes with it. The client is nervous because they can no longer control how things go. The lawyers are nervous because they are facing the ultimate battle. The client and witnesses are all present. The court reporter is setting up. The bailiff and clerk are at their posts. The seal of the State of California sits on the wall behind the dais, somewhat threateningly. And the only sounds in the courtroom are the creaky whine of the hinges on the swinging bar door, and rustling of papers.
I was particularly nervous. Less than two years into my career at that point, with little live courtroom experience. Here I was second-chairing a multi-million dollar trial. A trial I knew could have ripple effects in the financial services industry. I was sweating. Literally, beads of sweat rolling down the small of my back. Aren’t these courthouses supposed to be freezing? Deposition citations are running through my mind as I lug the heavy dolly with boxes of documents into the courtroom.
I see the other side — two lawyers, one client. I see my clients, clearly nervous. Here we go. Lunatic attorney number two, sees me enter. “Hey look, it’s a little girl attorney,” he says with a sing-song voice and a smug grin. My first thought was, have you seen yourself? Disheveled, washed up attorney. At least 70 years old. Yellowing beard and emphysematic cough from decades of smoking. Not pleasant. The frail pinstripes on his brown suit looked like they were trying to escape him. I don’t blame them. Ok Jenny, just ignore him. Wait, did anyone else hear that? I know your game, old man. You think you can intimidate me by pointing out my height and my gender. Those two things make me mighty! Don’t you know how scared of me you should be? In that instant the beads of sweat on my body turned into fire within me. Time to bring this guy to his knees.
Before the trial started I posted a quick rant on Facebook:
“So, when I walked into the courtroom today opposing counsel said “hey look, it’s a little girl attorney.” Wonder how he is going to feel when this little girl attorney beats his sorry freaking ass…”
Phone off. Trial on. This is going to be fun.
It was amazing, he tried every schoolboy trick he could think of. Tapping on the desk with a pen repeatedly while our side was speaking on the record, name-dropping other attorneys, repeating how many thousands of jury trials he’s done. It’s amazing that lunatic attorney number two, who was hardly present over the last three years, was the star of the crazy parade during most of the trial.
Like I said, like attracts like, because they both used every opportunity to intimidate or insult us. Every court recess was an opportunity to badger both the partner and I. But with me, it was a special kind of insult — one that related solely to the fact that I am a woman. At one point the judge asked us to meet and confer during a short recess regarding a subpoena. The lunatics did not make eye-contact with me. Just as I was chiming in, lunatic attorney number one raises his index finger, inches away from my lips, and says “you don’t know what you are talking about.” Oh hell nah.
“I don’t know what I’m talking about?” I said, trying not to go crazy on this guy, “I am counsel of record on this case, I know exactly what I’m talking about.”
“Have some f***king respect!” chimes in the partner. Yes.
The rest of the trial was more of the same. They couldn’t tolerate anything that came out of my mouth. I was wrong or “unprofessional.” At one point lunatic attorney number one had the audacity to say I was “adversarial.” Yea, you idiot, this is a trial!
I struggled over the four-day bench trial with how to address the sexism. Do I somehow bring it up with the judge? Does that put my client’s position in jeopardy? Do I wait until the end of the trial? I didn’t want these guys to get away with it, but I just couldn’t find the path to justice.
Little did I know, a momentum was brewing. This old man had called me a little girl attorney to scare me, and all it did was light a fire within me to prove that a little girl is something to be reckoned with. At the end of the first day of trial, I switched on my phone — there were over 300 reactions to my post. People wanted this guy’s head! This little girl attorney has an army.
I will never forget the day the decision came in. A week had passed since the last day of trial. Felt like weeks. Everyday the partner and I would check the docket like manic first year law students checking their grades. We won everything. Everything! Everything. It was glorious. The only thing that would have made that day better was if I could see the faces on the lunatic duo. Imagining it was still pretty good, I must say.
The next day I printed out the Order on pink paper. On a post-it note I wrote, “David, I printed a courtesy copy for you. All the best, Little Girl Attorney” and had the paralegal mail it. Imagining him receive that was fun!
While the pink paper gave me personal satisfaction, I walked away from the whole experience dissatisfied with the fact that they were able to get away with what they did. People started messaging me and sharing how much they loved following my story online. Did I really mail that to him? Yes, yes, of course I did. Why is that so hard to believe? Because the prevailing mode of operating with respect to this kind of behavior is to just ignore. Ignore — that you are treated like less than a human. Don’t let it get to you — when they demean you. Rise above — when they are rude to you. After the trial I searched everywhere for a better solution. Can I report him to the state bar? Is there a professional code of conduct that he violated? How about a code of ethics? How is there so many rules about having sex with a client, but no rules about treating people with respect? Female federal judges on panels that I went to would look upon a sea of female attorneys and say things like “I use the three-time rule. If it happens a third-time, then I may involve the judge,” or “don’t forget, you are always representing your client” or even “the best thing to do is ignore it.” What? How is this the pervasive thought on this subject? It’s 2017! I want to pull my hair out! The worst is when older female attorneys say things like “you have it so good, it was way worse when I was starting out.” No, none of this is ok. Men shouldn’t be permitted to treat women with lesser respect, period, let alone in the highly esteemed profession of the law. If nobody is going to codify it, then we need to demand that they treat us with respect by standing up and pushing back.
And that’s what Little Girl Attorney is all about. I’m tired of letting men get away with this kind of behavior, and I want to empower my peers (men and women alike) to stand up and push back. Let’s change the status quo.