Summering with Namby IV: Bambi begins his trek back to the forest…

Bambi’s time here is waning. He has been a great clerk, faithful, loyal, hardworking and ready to take the bullet known as my crazy clients. I feel that since he has made it through the last two months, the least I can do is send him on the way with a letter of recommendation to give to his first potential employer.

I know, I’m a sentimental one.

To Whom It May Concern:

I want to commend you on agreeing to interview Bambi as his parole officer has been worried about the high recidivism rate in his family. Hopefully, your decision to interview him has nothing to do with the “Rooney Rule” as I believe that he would be a great addition to your firm.

Over the past two months I have done everything short of sticking bamboo shoots underneath his fingernails to discourage him from pursuing the practice of law:

• He takes my orders to alphabetize 5,000 page files by 18th letter with energy and gusto;
• I only had to ask him to work a weekend once…he volunteered for the rest of them (after I put an electronic shock collar on him); and
• He will excitedly and unquestioningly commit fraud, libel or an assortment of other questionable acts if you tell him it is “just part of being a lawyer”

If you are looking for a hard worker, indentured servant, pool boy or just the comfort of having plausible deniability, Bambi is your man (or woman, depending if you want him to show up in drag).

I highly recommend him.

Very truly yours,

The Namby Pamby
Attorney at Law

I’m sad. I have to find a new Bambi. Or a Bambette.

Please spay and neuter your potential clients

Caller: I got shot and I don't know what I can do.
Me: Ok. Who shot you?
Caller: I dunno.
Me: And what exactly do you think you can do about that?
Caller: My friends told me I could sue the city.
Me: Your friends are idiots.
Caller: What?
--

Caller: I had surgery and the doctor made a mistake.
Me: How so?
Caller: I can't...I can't...
Me: You can't what?
Caller: Ejaculate.
Me: Have you gone to a doctor about this?
Caller: No.
--

Caller: I slipped and I fell at a store as I walked in.
Me: Was it raining?
Caller: Yeah? What's that gotta do with it?
Me: It's the law in the State of Illinois [Insert legal dissertation on natural accumulation, ingress/egress, etc. here] meaning that the store isn't legally responsible.
Caller: What do you mean? I got rights! That store has to pay for my medical bills!
Me: No, they don't.
Caller: Then who is supposed to pay them? It's not my fault.
Me: Actually it kinda is.
Caller: That's some bullsh**

Ten Commandments of Civil Litigation

1. There are three certainties in life: death, taxes and lying clients.

2. It is not about what happened. It is about what you can prove happened and the rap sheets of your witnesses proving what happened.

3. Nothing can turn your case on its head like a judge informing counsel that their key piece of evidence doesn’t mean what counsel thinks it means.

4. If you didn’t eat before the mediation, it will run long. If you brought your umbrella, it will not rain. If you drank coffee before, you will have to pee as soon as it begins. If you are holding coffee, you will spill it on yourself.

5. If you are at the Courthouse and your client begins a sentence with “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this but…” you had best be walking out of the courthouse with a settlement check in your hand.

6. If there are debts associated with the case and it has been settled, the client will never want to pay them.

7. If opposing counsel begins any settlement conversation with “I’m not going to argue the facts” you are not going to have a productive settlement conversation.

8. You will hurry up to wait for the judge. And you will still stand when they enter the room.

9. You aren’t suborning perjury if your client is lying to you and paying the witnesses to do the same. (I hope)

10. No good case is worth taking to a jury. Unless you are billing by the hour.

I am not the droid he was looking for

Caller: I want to talk to the black attorney.
Me: Could you repeat that?
Caller: I WANT TO TALK TO THE BLACK ATTORNEY!
Me: I’m sorry…but…I’m not African-American.
Caller: Oh.
Me: Maybe I can help you?
Caller: Do you know the black attorney?

This sums up today.

My iPad almost got me arrested

I was sitting in the back of the courtroom waiting for the judge to get to my case. Just a normal morning, with a normal court call and my normal attempts to multitask while sitting around waiting.

It was at this time that I made my first mistake: I was reviewing a deposition transcript that I had stored on my iPad and not really paying attention to what was going on around me. That’s when I got roughly poked on the shoulder by a sheriff’s deputy who then hissed at me: “No computers in the courtroom!”

I complied.

But needless to say I was confused. Not a day goes by when I see scores of attorneys on their iPads, iPhones, Kindles, Blackberries, other smartphone or electronic device that meets the broad definition of the term “computer”. I sat there for a minute as I watched the attorney next to me send an e-mail on his blackberry and the one in front of me play a game on her iPhone.

Time to compound my first mistake: I wanted more information from this deputy about what I could or could not do in the courtroom. I followed the deputy out of the courtroom so I could ask for more information in a manner that was more than a whisper. This was a huge mistake because it was apparent that this deputy believed I was a terrorist and treated me as if I was hemorrhoid:

Me: Deputy, I’m sorry to bother but could you give me a little more information on the computer policy?
Deputy: I told you the policy, there’s no more information that you need.
Me: I just wanted you to clarify…
Deputy: I just clarified the policy!
Me: I’m sorry, I just wanted to get clarification on…
Deputy: There’s nothing to clarify, do you want to talk to my sergeant?
Me: I…”

Before I could finish this sentence a call went out on the radio in sheriffspeak and three other sheriff’s deputies appeared not five seconds after the first deputy made the call. One of the deputies, who I’ve interacted with on numerous other times and had a pleasant casual-smalltalk relationship with acted as the lead:

Smalltalk Deputy: What seems to be the problem?
Me: I was just attempting to find out from this deputy what the ‘no-computer’ policy entailed because I didn’t want to violate any other rule that I wasn’t aware of, that’s all I was trying to do.
Smalltalk Deputy: Gotcha. We’ve got orders from our sergeant that computers aren’t to be used in the courtrooms. Nothing big and if you could help us out, that’s all we are trying to do here.
Me: Absolutely. I just didn’t know about the policy and that’s the information I was wanting to know.
Smalltalk Deputy: No problem. Thanks for your help.

This deputy was easygoing and nice to deal with (unlike the first deputy) and I thought that this wrapped up this situation. I told the assembled group thank you and I walked back inside the courtroom to find that my case was being called. I finish the matter, get the order drafted and head up to the court clerk, who I have a decent working relationship with and I ask him for advice:

Clerk: What was going on with the deputies?
Me: I was trying to get more information from them but it didn’t go so well. Who would I talk in the sheriff’s office about courtroom policies?
Clerk: You’d want to head downstairs and go to their office. Just ask for the captain and he’ll be able to help you out.
Me: Thanks so much.
Clerk: (He looks up from our conversation) But I think they are already here for you.

I turn around and find one of the deputies from earlier as well as a sergeant intently staring at me with looks that best reserved for child molesters. I head back to them (not that I had a choice since they were blocking the courtroom door) and brace for impact.

Me: Hi there.
Sergeant: Please step in here. [We go in the court conference room] I’ve asked my deputy to join us so that you won’t get confused about what we are going to discuss.
Me: I’m sorry, did you say confused?
Sergeant: Yes I did. I know that you will likely try and twist my words and I don’t want there to be any doubt as to what I am going to tell you.
Me: Sir, I’m not sure what you’ve been told, but all I was looking for was more information. My name is Namby. [I stick out my hand to shake] What’s yours?
Sergeant: Sergeant Jones.
Me: [To the deputy] And yours?
Deputy: Deputy Smith.
Me: Nice to meet you both. I think we got off to a bad start here. I was only trying to get more information from the deputy that saw me in the courtroom about a no computer policy…
Sergeant: What don’t you understand, counselor? THERE ARE NO COMPUTERS IN THE COURTROOM!!! You’ve been acting in an unprofessional manner this entire time and interfering with my personnel. You are a lawyer, you should known better than this.
Me: Again, I’m sorry. But this is an honest search for information. I don’t want to violate any rule that I don’t know about. I’m not trying to be a pain or unprofessional, just the opposite, I am searching for what I can or cannot do in the courtroom. This has escalated much too far when I just wanted basic information.
Sergeant: There are to be no computers in the courtroom.
Me: What about using my phone?
Sergeant: You are to never use your phone in the courtroom. Any other questions, SIR?
Me: That’s it. Thank you for the clarification.

And that was that.

What flummoxes me most about this incident is that I was (a) not being an asshole, (b) making sure that I showed great respect to these Sheriff’s deputies and (c) I was not being an asshole! From the moment I asked the first deputy for more information, things imploded. Maybe if I had been an asshole it would have ended differently (i.e. with me actually being handcuffed or accepting of their assholedom or both).

I walked out of this conference room and went back to my briefcase sitting in the courtroom. The deputies immediately exited the courtroom and went back to whatever they do when they aren’t dealing with yours truly. I grabbed my briefcase and looked up at those assembled:

Out of the 20-some attorneys present, more than half were playing with their iPhones and Blackberries.

The Golf Gods have decided to roll on the floor while laughing at me

I went golfing yesterday which is not news in and of itself. What was news was the fact that there was a really good golfer amongst our foursome.

He started the day making birdie on the first hole. Then the third. Then the sixth. He made it to the eighth having given back a few strokes so he made an eagle. By the time his eagle putt dropped, I was in the vicinity of walking off the course due to quintuple bogey and a pulled ass muscle. Don't. Ask.

The round wore on and he began to tire like the rest of us. But that makes sense because it was 95 degrees, sunny and humid.

It also made sense because this golfer was 8 years old.

Passive Aggressive Settlement Disbursements

It’s a rare day when we settle a case and the client ends up happy. They never understand that they aren’t injured as bad as they claim or that there isn’t enough insurance coverage or that the facts of their case equals a defendant’s win. In other words, getting most clients to agree to take the money on the table is like herding cats while on LSD and chained to a fence.

After we accomplish what seems to be impossible, the settlement check never arrives fast enough for the client and as such, they scream at us even more.

Client: What do you mean you can’t give me my money until the settlement check clears?
Me: I’m sorry, that’s what we do.
Client: How about you just give me cash right now?

The check arrives, we cash it and quietly write the client a letter disbursing the money. When I send the letter is entirely up to the client.

If they are a great client, I’ll send the check through UPS Overnight Mail with 8:30a.m. guaranteed delivery.

If they are an asshole, the more likely I am going to sit on their money for a few days while ducking their phone calls.

If they’ve been really bad, I’ll make them come down to my office building to pick it up from the receptionist at a date to be determined next month.

This is the “screaming douche” tax.

Summering with Namby Part III: Sacrificial Clerk

The summer is halfway over for Bambi. I’ve taken him to court, dragged him into depositions, forced him to write complaints, motions, f*** letters, had him sign up new clients and many other experiences designed to scare him away from the practice of law.

He’ll be heading back to the land of “Duty” and “Finals” and “Loads of student debt without the hope of finding a job that will allow him to pay it off…ever” shortly so I’ve got to make the remainder of the time I’ve got with him count.

So I fired him.

Which is something that I don’t have the authority to do. But it makes me laugh. And he laughs with me (or at me), so it’s a win-win for all involved.

--
Update: Bambi just emailed me and fired me.

I love this kid.

I’m back after a week that needed to end before it began.

At my firm, I get the honor(?) of drafting most of the documents (pleadings, motions, briefs, go-f***-yourself letters, etc.) for the cases that my partners and I handle. Usually what happens is that I will show up to the office returning from the courthouse, find a stickie-note attached to my computer monitor saying ‘see me’ and then my day implodes.

This past Tuesday, a client walked in the door three days before the expiration of the statute of limitations for his case. With a compelling story, a fantastic set of injuries and time running out, my partners gave me the file and said get cracking. Combine this into a week that is already overscheduled with court appearances, depositions and other related nonsense; this ninety-six hour work-week started to look like it needed an additional 200 hours.

Without revealing too much detail, this was not your run of the mill case. Meaning, I couldn’t just plug names, dates and places into a form and click print. When this happens, because of how my brain works, I have to research the facts and then the law and then go over the facts again so I can begin to draft the complaint for my partner to review.

With about 36 hours to go, the initial facts were given to me and I started to digest the law. After that lengthy 13 seconds, I began the actual factual research (or, as some stodgy accountant may put it, my due diligence): the 1,200 pages of documents the client brought with him to back up his claims.

That’s when the client-bullshit-o-meter began to sound like a tornado siren.

Page after page and no corroboration to the assumed reality that we were operating under. Twelve hundred pages and nothing that I can see gives us a case. I must have missed something, so I go through them again. And then one more time.

At this point in the workweek, everything else had been put aside to focus on this project. But now, there's nothing and I get to have that uncomfortable meeting with the partners letting them know that I've found nothing but an ethical duty to tell the client to engage in sexual congress with himself.

It then became time to cram the original five days worth of work into two. It all got done. And I went to bed before 9pm on Friday night. And then 7pm last night.

I am a party animal.

A service interruption

I apologize for the lack of witty repartee that sometimes occurs on this corner of the Internet. Unfortunately, I've been subjected to extraordinary rendition and taken to Gitmo.

Or things are just nuts at the office right now.

Regardless of where I may or may not be, I hope to resume regularly posting in the very near future. In the meantime, I'll have the occasional tweet of life. So go follow me there. And pray that my stress level will get back to the normal panicked levels in short order.

Talk to y'all soon. I hope.

The Art of Malpracticrastination

A month ago, when opposing counsel’s briefs arrive at my office: I’m not going to read this until closer to the oral argument.

A week ago: I’ll prepare for that motion argument next week.

Monday: I’ll prepare for that motion argument Wednesday.

Wednesday: I’ll prepare for the motion argument Friday morning.

En route to the far away suburban court to argue that motion, Friday morning, in the car, to myself, having not prepped yet:

“Shit, I left the briefs at the office yesterday...Shit. Shit. Shit.”

I’m going to put my Second City training to good use: it’s called impromptu oral argument.

Heaven

6pm. Empty Golfcourse. No legalese to be seen anywhere.

Priceless