What is that smell in the elevator? Sniff. Ahh -- yup, that is what I thought: fresh meat. Young, ambitious, eager First-Year Cogs are piling into the mahogany and brass elevators of Big Firms across the country this time of year. The distinctive aroma of spanking-new, graduation-gift Coach leather briefcases mixed with the slight scent of cold, hard cash and anxiety gives them away.

Why am I speaking about them as if they are not here? So rude of me. Forgive me, Newbies. I mean, Baby Cogs. I mean, Cog Colleagues. Greetings! Welcome to the Jungle! I am here for you to provide some guidance for surviving in the wild -- A Guide to the First 100 Days.

I must confess, every time I see one of you roaming the halls all glass-eyed and/or bushy-tailed, Axl Rose's voice jumps into my head -- "Welcome to the jungle / Watch it bring you to your shu n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n knees, knees ..." I can see ol' Axl swaying side to side as I watch you react to the news that you must cancel that weekend trip to the coast in order to participate in a document review.

Of course, "Welcome to the Jungle" was popular when you were mere pups, and it isn't really completely on point -- I think that it is intended to be about drug addiction or something. But going from spoiled Summer Camper to a Newbie Cog is like if they took the cute little baby panda, Mei Lan, whose first experiences in life were filled with coddling hand feedings and celebrity status at the Zoo Atlanta and threw her out into the wild to try and escape a pack of hunters. Unfair. Cruel.

As Summer Campers, you too were minor celebrities living in a sheltered world. Coddled, wooed, wined and dined. But now you have been expelled from the womb and will soon experience that first slap on the rump. A rude awakening. For those of you in the First-Year Class of 2007, the shift from Summer Camper to Cog may be more painful than ever. By simply managing to breathe, and without billing a single minute, you have scored two "market raises" that resulted in your earning more than many of our clients' in-house counsel, not to mention more than many senior partners earned after becoming partner. I will try to help ease the pain.

THE FIRST 100 DAYS

Let's face it: Nothing has really prepared you for how to survive in this world. No one told you that two-hour lunches and daily happy hours were not the norm. And they certainly did not tell you that everyone from the parking garage attendant to your Aunt Linda would hate you for getting a paycheck that you cannot possibly know enough to earn.

It is simply impossible for me to help you survive without preparing you for the Raise Rage you will face. I am not sure if you are aware of all the hoopity-doop your salaries have caused. But I imagine you felt the first symptoms of the Raise Rage when your law school classmates who were going to work for the government started giving you the evil eye or stopped letting you sit with them at the lunch table. And I doubt you were able to escape your first day without at least one witty partner, computer trainer or plant lady throwing out one of the many hilarious and often repeated jokes about your salary:

"Welcome to computer training. I apologize that our operating system is outdated, but we had to save money to pay for your salaries! Hee hee!"

"This is how you should record your billable hours. Please be sure to make the work you do sound very important because half of our clients are refusing to pay for you! And we need to recoup those whopper salaries! Crazy kids!"

Survival guide rule No. 1: Only other people are allowed to make jokes about your obscene salary.

This is similar to the rule that only you can make fun of your mother. Just laugh at their little jibes and act appropriately humble. Don't get ticked off at these jokes and start getting all indignant. "Whatever. My three years at Duke Law plus my ground-breaking cite checking on the Law Review certainly justify my $145,000-a-year salary! And that is nothing compared with the big bucks I could be making in Dallas. Don't dare me. I can be a cowboy." Such behavior could make your first 100 days your last 100 days.

Survival guide rule No. 2: Cancel the trip.

If you were the guy that got plastered during the end of summer bash and backed your car into a column in the parking deck before electing to take a cab, you may already know that first impressions last quite a while. If you have managed to be generic so far, I recommend you do your best to earn the right label during the first 100 days.

For example, if the head of your practice group asks you to work through the weekend to help her prepare for a hearing, and you say, "Uhh, sorry, I have a wedding to attend in Maine," you will be labeled "uncommitted" or "spoiled." However, if you say, "Sure, I had a trip planned to Maine, but I can reschedule -- no problem," you are "dedicated" and a "team player." You must come out of the gate full steam ahead. Once you are considered reliable and dedicated, you can sneak in occasional weekend trips without getting a bad rap. But if you start out doing as you please and flaunting your weekend getaways, you will not ever be able to work enough hours to shake off the idea that you are lazy. Fair? Probably not. True? For sure.

Survival guide rule No. 3: Yes, there is such a thing as a stupid question.

There was a time when partners and senior associates forgave the ignorance of the First-Year Cogs and took the time to teach you what you needed to know. But these days, with everyone's paychecks getting larger and billable-hour pressures increasing, no one has time to explain how to set up an LLC in Georgia or where we keep the extra copier paper. You must seek out and find your designated "stupid questions person" so that you do not strike fear into the partners you work for when you ask, "What's a 'debenture?" Look it up or ask your stupid-questions person. Do anything but reveal that you are clueless. I am not saying you should have a clue -- just advising that you do your best to hide it for at least the first 100 days.

Survival guide No. 4: Hide your pen.

I know many of you kids received a fancy pen from Grandma as a graduation gift. You will not be signing much of anything for a while, and those of us who are bored with the standard-issue pens may come cruising by your office looking for a nice new Mont Blanc. Beware.

Sure, these are minor points, but they should help avoid disaster. Lie low. Take it all in, and you will soon see how it works. But for now, try to stay out of the range of the big guns and avoid the lions searching for fresh meat. "You're in the jungle, baby!"

Do you have dirt to dish? Do you have a column idea? Or do you just need to vent in six-minute increments? E-mail The Snark at snarkatlanta@yahoo.com.