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AITA for getting annoyed that my associate knows all my coffee orders and remembered my dry cleaning?
u/_DefinitelyNotHarvey
Okay. So, this is going to sound insane, but bear with me.
I’m (40M) a senior partner at a high-profile law firm in New York. (Not saying which one. Let’s just say if you’ve ever watched a smug multi-millionaire get even richer, we were probably involved.) I’ve got an associate. Let’s call him Mike. Because that’s his name. He’s good. Too good. Scarily good. He has a memory like a steel trap and the attention span of a squirrel on Adderall. Somehow both of those things coexist and it makes him dangerous in the best way.
I hired him a while ago, under... let's call them "nontraditional circumstances." (Don’t ask. Seriously. I will not be testifying in front of anyone.) Point is, he’s been working for me for a while now, and up until recently, everything was normal.
Normal for us, which is already teetering on the edge of morally ambiguous chaos, but still.
Then, about three weeks ago, I noticed he started showing up with my coffee. The right coffee. Perfect temperature. The good lid that doesn't leak. And not the basic corporate sludge my assistant-slash-secretary (let's call her D) picks up when she’s busy juggling seven crises and can’t be bothered with my caffeine needs. This was the real stuff. From that one bodega three blocks over with the hipster barista who wears suspenders unironically and judges your soul.
At first I thought, okay. Cool. He’s trying to impress me. I’m impressive. That tracks.
But then he kept doing it. Every day. Without fail.
He doesn’t ask. He doesn’t hover. He just drops it on my desk like it’s some kind of offering to the dark gods of litigation and then breezes out like he wasn’t just casually profiling me based on roast preferences. I never told him I take my coffee black unless I'm prepping for a deposition, in which case I need the triple shot. I never told him I hate hazelnut anything. I never told him that I like it in the red cup, because the blue cup feels like betrayal for reasons I will not unpack in this post.
But he knew. And okay, fine, I let that slide.
Then last week he hands me a garment bag. I didn’t ask for one. I didn’t send anything to the dry cleaners. I didn’t even remember owning whatever suit was in there until I opened it and realized, yes, that is the Canali I wore during that thing with the SEC last year.
"You left it in the back of your car after the fundraiser," Mike said, like I’m supposed to accept that explanation without following up.
My car. My car. Which he should not have access to.
"How do you even know where I get my dry cleaning done?" I asked, while checking my phone to make sure I hadn’t accidentally hired a stalker with a photographic memory.
"You mentioned it once. Back in December. You said they overstarched your shirts and that you hate when they do that thing with the hanger creases. So I figured I’d get it done right."
…That’s not normal, right?
Because now I’m starting to second-guess every interaction we’ve had for the past year. Like, has he always been this level of hyper-aware and I just didn’t notice? Or is this some weird attempt at... what? Impressing me? Is this the millennial version of peacocking? Memorize your boss’s caffeine levels and laundry settings so he doesn’t fire you during budget cuts?
I mean, I get it. The legal world is cutthroat. Maybe he thinks he’s just being efficient. Maybe this is how he shows loyalty—by becoming the terrifyingly competent office wife I never asked for.
And I know what you’re thinking. "Man, don’t look a gifted associate in the mouth. If he’s making your life easier, let him."
But it’s the way he does it. The way he just quietly rearranges my life like it’s no big deal. Like I’m a project he’s managing. He’s not smug about it. He’s not fishing for compliments. He just does it and moves on like he didn’t just cross seven boundaries and set up permanent residency in my personal habits.
Also—and I can’t believe I’m typing this—it’s starting to mess with me.
Because now I find myself wondering if I remembered to pick up my suits, only to realize, oh, Mike already did it. I get halfway to the coffee shop before remembering, oh, Mike already brought me my usual. I walked into a deposition the other day and I swear to God I reached for a pen and it was already on the table, aligned with the legal pad, my initials embossed in the corner.
That’s not associate behavior. That’s butler behavior. That’s Alfred-level, and I am not Batman (yet). I don’t even like bats.
And I know if I bring this up to him, he’ll give me that wounded golden retriever face, like I just kicked his rescue puppy named Ethics. "I was just trying to help, Harvey." Yeah, Mike, I know. That’s the problem.
So I snapped. A little. Not publicly. Not in front of the associates. But I told him he didn’t need to run my errands or stalk my beverage consumption habits or intercept my laundry like he’s auditioning for The Intern 2: Obsessive Boogaloo.
And you know what he said?
"Okay. Got it. I’ll back off."
Just like that. No snark. No sarcasm. No clever retort. He looked like I’d shoved a kitten off a fire escape.
Now he’s being weird. Not in the creepy hyper-competent way. In the not-him way. He’s not chirping at me in the morning. He’s not teasing me about my tie color choices. He didn’t even comment when I absolutely destroyed a Harvard alum in court last Thursday. That’s his thing. He lives for that.
And the worst part? I kind of miss it.
So… AITA for telling my associate to stop managing my life when I never asked him to, even though I kind of... maybe... liked it?
Be honest.
Top comments:
LegalEagle420: YTA. Bro. He was just trying to help. Maybe dial down the paranoia.
DonnaKnowsBest: OP, we all know who you are. You’ve got feelings. Just admit it before someone dies of secondhand embarrassment.
MikesFanClub94: Soft YTA. He cares. You’re just too emotionally constipated to process it.
TheWomanThatRulesAll: You are a grown man with the emotional range of a wet paper towel. Fix it.
not_a_lawyer_but: NAH. But you should buy him lunch. Or therapy. Or both.