I was probably an underachiever in the classroom because of my zeal for remaining in top physical condition. There were many times in college and even law school when I wouldn't be studying as hard as I should for a test, or even a final exam, in order to be sure to work out at least 90 minutes a day, alternating between weightlifting and related strength training, and aerobic exercise. Fortunately I had enough innate intelligence to get by, although in the lower 40% of my class in law school.
Despite my physical fitness, and the fact that exercise is supposed to produce pleasure-causing chemicals in the brain, I wasn't as happy as I should have been. The reason seemed to allude me.
I had a number of decent romantic/sexual relationships by the time that I graduated law school at 25 years old, but unfortunately it seemed that the women who were attracted to me were rather shallow; maybe it was because I was shallow too and put physical fitness above romance in my life's priorities. Women seemed to be more attracted to my body than to me. I can't really complain, however, because I had the same attraction to them because of their physicality. The one intellectual woman I dated scared the shit out of me; I didn't really know quite what to make of her.
Anyway, I got a job in a major Midwestern city in the U. S. at Austin McKenzie, a private law firm, despite my less than stellar academic achievements. Maybe I was chosen as an associate because I nailed the interview, or because they were seeking diversity and they wanted a token physically fit person since the rest of my associate class was -- well -- not physically fit.
The Saturday after my first week on the job I was at a local park running on an aerobic day shortly after a rain. A woman jogging in front of me apparently slipped on a wet spot and fell. I ran up to her, helped her to her feet and inspected her knees (and being a red-blooded hetero male, the rest of her too). She seemed to be a little older than I was -- maybe by five or six years -- and she was definitely hot, but I was trying to be a gentleman and be concerned about her knees than how hot she was.
"I'm Brian Shacklee," I said shaking her hand when she was upright and stable.
"Brenda Johnson," was her grimacing reply.
"I think that you need to have your knees cleaned out and some ointment put on them. Do you have a first aid kit in your car?" I said and asked.
"I live nearby so I didn't drive," she said.
"I have a kit in my car; let me help," I replied. I could see apprehension on her face. "Look, if you're worried that I'm an axe murderer call one of your friends and send him or her a photo of me so that if I do murder you I will be sure to be caught and punished," I said with a smile, even though I wondered whether my attempt at humor would scare her off.
Fortunately Brenda laughed. She took out her phone from a fanny pack, snapped a photo of me, and obviously sent it with a text to a friend of hers. I didn't ask to read the text. When done she said "OK, I'll take you up on your offer."
We were only about a quarter mile from my car and despite some obvious discomfort she was able to walk to it OK. One thing I noticed on the walk were engagement and wedding rings on the fourth finger of her left hand. Since I have an iron clad rule about not hitting on married women despite how hot she was no romantic relationship was going to ensue.
We just chatted about exercise regimes and the weather on the way to my vehicle. When we got to my car I had her sit on the hood while I cleaned up her knees, put ointment on them, and even a small bandage on one cut. I tried to concentrate on the job at hand and not on what sexy legs that she had. When done I asked her "Do you need a ride home?"
"I don't want to interfere with your workout," she responded.
"You won't; I'm returning here to finish whether or not I give you a ride home. I'm not in a hurry."
"Thanks; the pain is a little more than I like; can you give me a ride? It's about three quarters of a mile."
We just chatted about the area as we drove, I dropped her off at a townhouse development and she thanked me. I did a U-turn to drive back to the park, but couldn't help but notice her backside as she walked away. "Nice ass, too bad she's married" I said to myself, and then just drove back to the park, finished my workout and didn't think much more about it.
***********
I was doing surprisingly well at my job despite the fact that I wasn't working hours as long as the rest of the junior associates and had a less impressive law school resume. One reason was because the specific work that I was doing; I seemed to have a knack for preparing SBA license applications, and applications for other Federal Government divisions, and unlike some other attorneys found it interesting rather than boring. Another reason was because I hadn't found any suitable female companionship despite looking. Most of my interactions with women were at the health club I joined and unfortunately all of the women there that I was attracted to were married. I made friends, but no romance was in the cards.
There was one fly in the ointment at work; one of the senior associates by the name of Jeremiah Johnson (who actually was proud that he was named after the main character in the 1972 film by that name, the first Western ever to be accepted at the Cannes Film Festival) was an unmitigated asshole. He tried to interrupt my work for several partners on the license applications by "assigning" me menial tasks to help him and that I never got any credit for. After about two weeks of that shit I confronted him.
I should tell you that I am not confrontation-adverse; actually the opposite is sometimes and one of my failings.
"Sorry, JJ," I said when he tried to give me another menial assignment -- I found that he hated to be called "JJ;" "I've got enough on my plate for several licenses for partners and I don't have time for your tedious tasks."
"You should be working harder, Shacklee; your billable hours aren't up to snuff with your associate class," he snickered.
"That's not for you to say. The partners I work with are happy with my work and it is only because I have a lighter schedule that I can respond quickly to what they want done," I calmly replied.
JJ went on a tirade for another few minutes before I had enough. I stood up, got right in his face and snarled "I don't take orders from you dipshit; beat it. Go complain to management like the pussy that you are if you want but I'm not your fucking errand boy!"
He turned completely red and stormed out as he delivered a few F-bombs. Knowing that the pussy would go to management I pre-empted his strike by going to the three partners that I was preparing the license applications for, lied a little about how I was only able to do them on a timely basis because I wasn't swamped with the shit that JJ wanted me to do, and got their support. One of the partners, John McKenzie, is the son of one of the two founders of Austin McKenzie and a real stand-up guy. He went to management and demanded that JJ stop trying to assign me shit work.
I suffered no adverse consequences for my little dust-up with JJ except that he and some of his senior associate buddies didn't like me. I could give a shit; if people like JJ ever became management I would be long gone from the firm anyhow.
***********
The firm's first firm-wide event since I had started was a Saturday barbeque. While it was likely a command performance even if it hadn't been I would have wanted to go since there were a number of people at the firm that I knew only tangentially but wanted to get to know better.
Imagine my surprise when one of the first people I saw there was Brenda Johnson. She came up to me with a smile and said "I thought for sure that you were in the medical profession given the expert way that you treated my little boo-boos," she chuckled.
"Hi -- Brenda, isn't it?" I responded with my own smile. Even though I definitely remembered who she was I thought it best to pretend to be unsure. "Do you work for Austin McKenzie?"
"No, I sell real estate; my husband Jeremiah is an attorney here," she replied.
