I, however, had a reputation for scrivener’s errors. And therein laid the problem.

The firm’s policy on errors in contracts was simple: they were unacceptable. Typos, misplaced commas, and errant defined terms were the mortal sins of BigLaw, and I, despite my GULC J.D., had a habit of committing them. More than once, my inattentiveness had transformed a multi-billion-dollar transaction into something legally indistinguishable from a chili cook-off sponsorship agreement. And Eleanor, with her particular sense of justice, had devised a rather peculiar method of correction.

“Four spankings for every error,” she declared one evening as she loomed over my glass-walled office, holding aloft a printout of a stock purchase agreement like a disappointed Moses descending Sinai.

I laughed, assuming this was some sort of partner-level humor, the kind of deadpan wit that emerged after billing 3,200 hours a year. But then I found myself bent over the sleek walnut desk in her office, being disciplined like a mouthy toddler in 1880s Prague - with a firm spanking.

The first time it happened, I told myself it was a one-off. The second time, I started to wonder. The third time, I began to correct my errors with the careful reverence of a rabbinical scholar parsing the Talmud. By the sixth time, I felt the stirrings of something I could only describe as an odd sort of intimacy.

This dynamic continued for months. Every time I committed a scrivener’s error, Eleanor summoned me into her office, closed the door, and, in the same tone she used when negotiating material adverse change clauses, administered precisely four spankings. Never three, never five. The slaps were neither cruel nor particularly affectionate — rather, they were delivered with the detached efficiency of a partner approving a first-year’s diligence memo.

I then began to read into the situation. Could it be that Eleanor, beneath her icy demeanor and surgical intellect, harbored feelings for me? Surely, this was not normal behavior. Surely, she was sending me a message!

I made my move on a Thursday evening. I intentionally misformatted the signature block on a term sheet, and Eleanor’s email had been swift and ominous:

--------

From: Eleanor [REDACTED]

To: [REDACTED]

Subject: Scrivener's Error

[REDACTED],

See attached. You know what this means.

Thank

--------

I stared at it. Was this a test? A subtle invitation? No partner — especially not one who had clerked for Antonin Scalia — would let such an obvious typo stand unless she meant something by it.

That was when I made my mistake.

I walked into her office, closing the door behind me, exuding what I hoped was the confident charm of a litigator who knew he was about to win a case on summary judgment. “Eleanor,” I began, “I think we both know what’s going on here.”

She looked up, vaguely irritated. “Do we?”

“Yes,” I said, leaning in slightly. “I know what the spankings mean.”

She blinked. There was a long silence.

“Excuse me?”

“I just—” I exhaled sharply, as if I were delivering a closing argument. “I know this is more than just punishment. I know there's something between us.”

Eleanor steepled her fingers. “Between us,” she repeated, her voice so devoid of emotion that I felt a sudden chill.

“Yes,” I said, forging ahead, like a summer associate foolishly volunteering for an unnecessary all-nighter. “You’ve been disciplining me because — well, I think it’s clear that you feel something. You want something - something more with me”

Another silence.

Then, in one motion, Eleanor pressed the intercom. “Mary, please come in.”

A moment later, Mary, the firm’s HR director, appeared in the doorway, wearing an expression she reserved for associates who thought they were entitled to vacations.

“Mary,” Eleanor said. “[REDACTED] has made a clear, uninvited sexual pass at me, in what I can only describe as an ongoing pattern of sexual misconduct.”

Mary frowned. “Oh, that’s unfortunate.”

I felt my stomach drop. “Wait, what?”

“I’ll send you the necessary paperwork,” Mary continued. “We’ll need to inform the firm's employment counsel.”

“I’d also like to initiate a lawsuit,” Eleanor added, removing her glasses and rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Sexual harassment. A hostile work environment.”

“I—” I stammered. “I thought you—”

“No,” Eleanor said, standing. “You thought wrong.”

And so, I found myself not only terminated but also named in a lawsuit that would go on to be cited in various employment law CLEs as an example of What Not to Do. My legal career, once promising, was reduced to an ignominious footnote in a Westlaw database, buried beneath a pile of summaries about hostile work environment claims and the importance of professional boundaries. The closest I ever came to the esteemed legal profession thereafter was posting on an obscure Web 1.0 message board that had once been populated with prestigious law students.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5683120&forum_id=2#48676490)