10 posts tagged “lawyers”

FINALLY, YESTERDAY, had the big hearing I have been working so hard on the last three weeks.  The hearing was on the Wizard's motion.  Tens of thousands of documents were involved because grumpy old lawyer wanted to be an unreasonable dick.   He thought he could drown me in work and then make me look like an idiot.  Well suffice it to say, things did not go exactly as he planned.

I entered the courtroom about 30 minutes before my designated hearing time.  I watched in silent horror as the judge peppered a presenting lawyer (representing an insurance company) with astute but pointed and unforgiving questions.  I was more horrified when one of the major bones at which the judge was picking was the amount of paper these lawyers were working with.  Each had given him a notebook about seven inches thick to review.  The judge ridiculed both sides and directed the lawyers to reduce the materials they were giving him to a collective pile one inch thick.  As I was viewing this scene of judicial butchery, I realized that all of my arguments about jumping through hoops and producing almost 30,000 pieces of paper in response to my opponents requests, was not going to save me.  I also realized that the hand truck stacked with boxes containing reams of additional paper might be quite a liability.

Grumpy old lawyer (the Wizard) entered about this time and sat in front of the judge chuckling quietly.  After the presenting lawyers left the room, the Judge and the Wizard began discussing their collective amazement at the idiocy of the four lawyers in handing him so many documents to review.  The Judge and the Wizard then engaged in a ten minute discussion of "the good old days" and past lawyers they had known.  I sat silently, dying all the while.

After their joint trip down memory lane, the Judge called our case.  The Wizard, capitalizing on the prior discussion about the paper chase, went on at length about how many documents I had unloaded on him.  The Judge agreed and said, "Yes, all you need is X, Y, and Z.  Very simple."  The Wizard then lied and said, "Yes your honor, that is all I have asked for..."  Blah blah blah.  The Judge then proceeded to begin to issue his ruling.  He didn't even give me a chance to speak!  Un-characteristically, I interrupted the Judge and advised him that I had a couple of things I needed to say.  He told me there was nothing for me to say.  I quickly grabbed some of the Wizard's own letters and documents and rushed them up to the Judge, not asking for permission to approach.  I told his honor that I only wanted him to look at The Wizard's requests.  I pointed out that the Wizard had not asked for X,Y, and Z, but rather had asked for everything but X,Y, and Z.  I then asked the judge to look at other Wizard requests, that were clearly ridiculous.  I had quickly highlighted key words and repeated them in rapid succession, making them seem duplicative and unintelligent.   It took me about 60 seconds to get all of that out.

The Judge stopped me and reversed his ruling.  He slashed the Wizard's requests to the bone and gave me a month to put together and present what will only take me an hour or two to do.  The Wizard tried to recover, interrupting the Judge and complaining that he had not received copies of my client's 2006 tax returns.  I was able to get out, "Its only February, they're not done yet."  Then the Wizard began asking me pointed questions directly (a no-no) about a company I don't represent.  I told the Judge, I didn't know the answers to the Wizard's questions, I didn't have that information, I didn't represent that company.  The Judge then turned to the Wizard and advised him that those questions are appropriate for a deposition and ordered him to take the deposition of the appropriate party within three weeks or find himself in contempt.

The Wizard turned crimson and whimpered a "Yes, your honor."  I thanked the Judge.  The Wizard then quickly gathered his things and began to rush out.  The Judge called him back and made him return.  The Judge then apologized to the Wizard telling him, "I'm sorry I had to do that, but it is the best for all parties.  It is."  The Wizard muttered a "Yes, your honor," turned on his heel and stormed out.

The thing that is so embarrassing for the Wizard is that the hearing was about a Motion he had filed looking for sanctions against my client.  Instead, he wound up not only losing his motion, but also being ordered to do things himself or face contempt of court.  This is highly unusual and akin to a football team running up the score with a series of Safeties. 

...And the score was 40-zip.  Let's just say, I left feeling pretty gooooooooood.

Well, peeps, I have been working like a slave so that I may take my first vacation in four (4!!!!) years.  I am scheduled to leave Thursday morning.  Unfortunately, it now appears that I may not get to go.  I require the wizard's consent to a continuance of a court hearing (his motion) in order to be able to leave.  Because he has not returned my phone calls over the last few days, I will not know if I have his consent until tomorrow.    He may just choose not to respond, again, thereby forcing me to cancel on my own.*

Meanwhile, I am sick to my stomach and my brain feels as if it is about to crack. 

*Yes, I could have put a Motion for Continuance before the judge, but, in this jurisdiction, without the Wizard's consent, it would not have been granted.

God damned Wizard is kicking my ass! 

So, I took a road trip this weekend.  Had to fill the tank with gas twice.  As I inhaled the fumes from the gas, I marveled at how quickly the numbers ticked by on the pump's digital readout.  And of course there is that ca-ching-ca-ching-ca-ching noise that fuses with the smell of the fumes and the flying price read-out to present a noxious assault on the brain.  I am always shocked at how much it costs to fill-up.  As I took my receipt and climbed back into the car, I was reminded of a time when gas was much much cheaper. 

It was the turn of the decade.  The area in which I lived was undergoing a serious economic depression that the government refused to recognize.  It was over a year after the oil market crashed – really crashed – and all but a few lucky people were unemployed.  The rest of the populous just sat, and waited.  Waited for the market to bounce back, waited to qualify for government assistance, waited to die.  They sat around on porches, on benches, on dusty stoops and quite literally stared like zombies into the mesquite covered desert.  They were overcome by a debilitating shock. 

These poor people had reason to be in shock.  Houses that had once been purchased for $400,000.00 were selling for $50,000.00.  Limousines and Rolls Royces that had once been piloted by chauffeurs were driven by their owners and eventually disappeared.  Banks were closing, retailers were shutting their doors.  Alcohol sales were up.

I was in college and 19.  I should have been unemployable.  But, because I was a good student, a professor found me a job working 15 hours a week at minimum wage for an attorney who had just opened a private practice after being the county district attorney for eons. 

The job with the attorney was terrible.  He had a bulbous nose that spread across his pock marked face and fuzzy light blonde hair sprouted from his balding head.  His eyes bugged and his lips pursed into a beak.  His arms hung to his sides never fully  straightening, but crooked like broken wings.  To me, he looked like a cross between a no-necked owl and a warty toad. Maybe it was no wonder that he had a snarly demeanor.   

He was snarly and he was abusive.  He would routinely discuss my body with male clients.  They would stare at me lasciviously and chuckle between themselves.  I hated him and he knew it.  He didn’t seem to care.  He was sure I wouldn’t quit.  The odds of me getting another job, even at minimum wage were slim.  Soon, he began to make advances.  Why, I don’t know.  He had a wife and a mistress.  One would think he had his hands full.  But he was a man who clearly enjoyed power over others.

He would stand behind me while I was seated at my mammoth IBM desktop computer and “massage” my shoulders while proposing ways that I could make more money.  I would sit rigid and straight in my chair all my muscles flexed and hardened, my face stone cold.  I couldn’t respond kindly to this man-toad, so I decided to be quiet.

As long as I didn’t respond, he held out hope that I would soften up.  I didn’t.  When he at last began forcing embraces on me and started moving his hands over my behind or the side of my breast, I spoke up.  I told him bluntly and without emotion, “I am NOT going to sleep with you.  Not now, not ever.”  I thought the problem was solved.  I thought he would let me do my job or he would fire me.  He did neither.  Instead he started physically abusing me.

The physical abuse started slowly.  Quick pinches and occasional slaps.  I didn’t stand up for myself again.  I suffered the abuse to keep my meager paycheck and hoped it wouldn’t escalate if I held my tongue.  Understanding my need for those few dollars, and angered by the rejection of a little girl - a literal nobody - he began emboldening his abuse.  Finally one day, he approached my desk and asked for some letters I had been working on.  I stood up, picking up the files to present to him.  He didn’t take them from me.  He didn’t respond further.  Instead, he placed his hand on my shoulder and squeezed.  He squeezed harder and harder as I stood there.  He wouldn’t let go.  I was bruising badly under his grip, my face contorting and eyes stinging with pain and anger.  Finally, the vice on my shoulder forced my fingers to release the files and they fell to the floor.  I reached for his arm trying to free myself.  My girl punches and slaps didn’t phase him.  He crunched me tighter and began applying downward pressure with his levered arm.  He pushed me to my knees and held me there.  I was eye-level with his pelvis.  He was visibly excited by my pain and humiliation.  Knowing I understood the threat, he released me.

Silently, he turned and walked back to his office.  I quickly stood on my shaking legs, grabbed my keys and dashed for the door.  On my way out, I heard him suggest I call a temp service to order my replacement.  Clinging desperately to my last shred of dignity, I ran.

It was over a year before I saw him again.  We were driving opposite directions on a downtown street.  As we passed he raised his middle finger and shook it out the window at me.  Strangely, that grotesque act made my day. 

Will somebody please tell me what is going on out there in the big bad world that people have stopped expecting to pay for services?

Seriously, I am becoming bitter.

At the commencement of my employ by a client, I am careful to review my rates, walk them through an outline of what I will do for them, and give rough estimates of the total costs involved barring anything outside the normal parameters.  I then put all of that into a contract and both the client and I sign it.  The contract provides that either of us may terminate the contract at any time.  (i.e. You can fire me and I can fire you.)

Well, the client doesn't usually terminate the contract and neither do I.  I usually work on a legal project from start to finish because that is the only way I can really help the client.  Unfortunately for me, I actually care about helping the client.  But somewhere in the late-middle or near the end of the project, after I have done my best tap dance, the client decides paying me for my time and expertise is no longer a priority or necessity.

Why, oh why, is it okay in the minds of some clients to steal my time?  I have heard some really great excuses for not paying me.  Among the greatest hits are:

*I can't pay you right now because I have to take the kids to Disneyworld.

*I just recieved a large inheritance from my grandmother, but I don't think I should have to touch that to pay you.

*Lawyers make so much money, you don't really need it right now anyway.

*It is not fair that I should have to pay lawyers' fees; the other party is just persecuting me.

Knock Knock!  Anybody home?  For fucks sake people! 

Do they truly not realize that for every hour I work for them unpaid, I have to work another hour for someone else?  Do they truly not realize that they are stealing segments of my life two hours at a time? 

God damnit!  Why do people not understand that using a service is the same as using a product?  You HAVE to pay for it!?!

I had to call 911 today.  Nothing too serious, just to report a broken down vehicle in the left southbound traveling lane of a very heavily traveled road at a very busy intersection.  Prime multiple car accident causing material.  So I, being a conscientous citizen, called 911 so a policeman could mark the area and prevent potential injury and property damage.  The phone at the 911 center rang - and I kid you not - over 20 times before someone answered.  When the operator did answer, I gave her the detailed information.  Ten minutes later, 911 called me back.  It seems they were unable to locate the information I gave them and asked me to repeat it.  I feel very safe.

The 911 incident occurred as I was returning from the Courthouse where I had waded through a sea of humanity.  I had an apparently homeless lady stroll straight into me in the lobby where I was waiting for an elevator.  She was looking directly at me.  I had nowhere to go to get out of her way.  She smashed her massive unrestrained breasts into me and pressed her face into my hair.  I think she was trying to sniff me. 

I got in the elevator and used my sleeve to press the floor button.  When I reached my floor, a man followed by his two pals walked straight into me as I was attempting to exit the elevator.  Now people, I am taller than average for a woman, was wearing stilletto heels, a blue suit, carrying files and had my shoulder-length blonde hair poufed out curly today.  I AM PRETTY HARD TO MISS.  He had his head turned as he was walking onto the elevator talking smack to his two clueless bros.  I wanted to tap him on the head and ask if anybody was home.

I finally made it to the courtroom which I entered from the public side rather than walking the maze of backroom hallways to enter from the bar side.  After walking down the center isle of the massive 1920's courtroom I was immediately approached by a friend of mine.  "You look frazzled," he whispered.  In response, I shot him a dirty look and a rasberry. 

Court was in session and the judge was talking to a pro se defendant (i.e. no lawyer), so I had to wait a bit before I could cross over to the jury box where the arresting officers usually sit.  I had plenty of time to look at the sea of defendants.  The one standing before the judge was wearing baggy black trousers that were falling off his hips.  He had on a wife beater T-shirt, a black bandana tied around his head as a do-rag, and a black "baseball" cap in his hands.  And he had the bling, complete with a low-hanging chain.  His clothes were obviously new and not inexpensive.  He certainly could have afforded a collared shirt and some well-fitting trousers at the least.  It amazes me that he would look in the mirror and say "yeah, a judge is going to go easy on me if I wear this to court."  Maybe he thought he could pick up a date for December 2010 when he gets out of the pokey.

I scanned the gallery.  There was a woman in short shorts, flip-flops, and her still wet hair pulled into a tight pony-tail.  At least she showered.  There were young men in purposely torn jeans and surf or skate themed t-shirts.  There were older men who clearly hadn't cared enough to shave since maybe Monday.  My favorite though are the young women.  The early 20 somethings who dress like they were going out on a Saturday night.  Satin halter tops and super short skirts will not get you invited into the Judges chambers to resolve the matter privately.  Seriously, don't dress this way.

There were all socio-economic groups and ethnicities represented today.  Maybe 120 or so of them were still there when I arrived, about an hour after proceedings started.  Not one in a suit.  Not one suit in the entire gallery.  Not one suit in the entire courtroom except for the lawyers. 

What does this mean?  I don't know.  I think it means that having to appear in court to face a criminal charge has become so routine that the public doesn't feel the need to dress any more carefully than if they were running to the 7-11 for a Sunday afternoon slurpee. Or maybe, we arrest, prosecute and incarcerate such a huge percentage of our population that one feels hopeless once charged and it becomes pointless to worry about things like personal appearance in front of a judge whose discretion has been stripped by politicians clammoring for reelection.

Or maybe it just means that people are stupid sheep.   People aren't generally stupid, are they?

Well, at any rate here's a tip:  Dress for court.  Dress like you were going to a catholic church for Easter Mass.  Dress like you were going to your grandfather's funeral.  For heaven's sake, it does make a difference when you appear to have respect for the judge and his courtroom.  And get a lawyer!  Don't represent yourself!  I know it isn't rocket science, but we do know how the system works and we do know ins and outs that the average defendant, no matter how many times he has been charged, won't know.  Really we do!  In fact, I scored a dismissal for a client today.  Yeah, it was just a tiny little traffic ticket, but Hoooray Anyway!

I know that much of the non-lawyer public may not believe we actually know anything anymore.  Some clients seem to think that a little Law and Order and Boston Legal teaches you everything you need to know to represent yourself.  I cannot tell you how many times I have had clients say things like, "If I had enough time to read that 45 page Commercial Lease I signed, I could find a loophole that will make this lawsuit for 8 months unpaid rent go away."  My response is, "Have at it, by all means. How much time do you need? And, remind me please, why didn't you read it before you signed it?"  Or a client who insists he doesn't need to negotiate for a settlement because, "a judge is going to see that I am a better person than he is."  Yeah, that sounds like a real winning defense, "Your honor, my client clearly violated the contract, but he is a good person - so, can't we just forget this whole thing and go home?"  Yeah - you have $40,000.00 to gamble on that strategy, Mr. middle-class genius? 

PLEA BARGAIN:   I have many many really wonderful and exceptionally smart clients who appreciate my time and effort.  I am very grateful to have the opportunity to serve them.  I am just a bit harried after my morning "crush" at the Courthouse.  Please excuse the rant...

I have only one overwhelming accomplishment (that I want to discuss now) I want to achieve in the next five years. I want to wrap up the case of the Insurance Company Coverup.  It is a juicy little tale of intrigue, ineptitude, inequity, deceiption, corporate callousness, naked greed, lies, missing documents, and smoking guns.  A real David and Goliath story with a cast of characters straight out of a ganster movie/Enron documentary.  I can't wait to see the screenplay.  I've been working this bitch of a case for over five years already and there is no end in sight.  I have two rooms full of related documents.  There are soooooo many witnesses and it will take at least a month or more to try (poor jurors).  If we ever get to trial, that is.  

We are currently waiting on an opinion regarding the appeal of a minute (albeit potentially important) issue to the State Supreme Court and discovery has halted pending a final decision.  Ugh.......I wish I could tell you the story, but I can't.  Not yet.  Maybe not ever.

At any rate, when this case is over, I am taking my paycheck and hanging up my barrister's wig.  C'est tout!  Finito! 

Oh - and for all of you aspiring legal eagles out there, here's a useful equation:  big firm lawyers ≠ good lawyers

Hooooray!  Grumpy Old Lawyer 's bluff was called and he folded.  Just wait until he gets a load of my snow machine!

First up today:  beating old grumpy lawyer at his own game...

There is a well-practiced old lawyer trying to school me in the art of civil procedure.  Thus far all he has demonstrated is the dangers of underestimating his opposing counsel and a willingness to spend his client's money by unleashing a torrent of motions and premature notices of deposition.  I am marching into Civ Pro hell and going to give him exactly what he has asked for.  This week the momentum is going to change....muwahahahahaha!