This is a combination of random crap I have posted before at various times. I thought I would see if it worked together. I’m not sure I succeeded, but I also don’t much care.
I don’t like to advertise that I’m an attorney. Can you guess why?
1. No one believes it’s possible because
(a) I’m a “blonde”
(b) I’m never serious enough
(c) I have only a superficial understanding of world history and current events
(d) Any combination of the above
(e) (b) and (d)
2. When they find out and see that I don’t make any money at it, they must think
(a) I’m a sucky lawyer
(b) I’m a lame businessperson
(c) I have no drive or ambition and “why did she bother going to law school?”
(d) I’m so honorable to have given up a lucrative salary and high-powered career for the sake of my family
(e) All of the above except (d)
3. I think I’m scamming people because
(a) It sounds ridiculous to me, too
(b) I feel like a girl in a costume who says she’s a princess
(c) I feel like a stripper who tells everyone she’s a ballerina
(d) I feel like a ballerina who is really a stripper
(e) (d)
4. I may miss out on some lawyer jokes I haven’t already heard
(a) Like that’ll ever happen,
(b) Then I have to chuckle politely at a light-hearted attempt to offend members of my profession when the only thing that really offends me is the jokester’s negligent use of a trite and insipid riddle,
(c) At which point I will be forced to reach into my handy freight car full of witty and sarcastic comebacks that all-too-often will hurt some unsuspecting jokester’s fragile feelings,
(d) And then my audience will mutter to each other things like, “See what a bitch she is? I told you she was a lawyer.”
(e) This one is not multiple choice.
When people ask me if I work, where I work, what I do, or why did you write me that nasty letter, I hesitantly say that I’m a lawyer. I have been an attorney for over 25 years and that word still sounds strange coming out of my mouth. It’s a big part of my life and it takes up a lot of otherwise barren real estate in my mind, but it’s not who I am. My heart is in it, but only to the extent that it satisfies my desire to analyze and to write and to make my enemies suffer in abject shame as I expose their unscrupulous and heinous acts with my superior intellect, my unparalleled legal research skills, and my sly ability to threaten blackmail by distributing non-existent hidden-camera video, and (oh yeah) to help people.
*****
I used to do a fair amount of seminar presentations in my line of work. The conference organizers always wanted to add a little bio/resumé on the presenters. (This is where I was referred to as “Esquire,” which made me sound medieval, which was cool. It also reminds me of “Bill S. Preston, Esquire” from Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure. Clearly more of a dumbass than any sort of real lawyer.) The bios are always eye-glazingly boring and full of “look-how-smart-and-successful-I-am” crap. Here’s a little taste of mine:
Jill Mitchell earned a B.A. in English from the University of Texas at Arlington in 1988 . . . She then spent a year at the University of Paris (La Sorbonne) where she earned a polite notice that she had failed miserably. (At least she thinks that’s what it said.) . . . In 1991, she passed the Texas bar exam on her first try, by one point. True story.
She is a member of the Court of Appeals for Veterans Claims Bar Association, the National Organization of Veterans Advocates, the Texas Bar Association . . . and a variety of loosely-organized literary and social groups. She is the longsuffering wife of an active duty combat veteran, and through her children, she maintains minimal involvement with the Girl Scouts and Boy Scouts of America. . . She was also a member of the Texas Young Lawyers Association until she got too old.
Since 2000, aside from occasional wills for friends, her own traffic tickets, and nasty letters to insurance companies, she has limited her practice to veterans’ law, and works all alone in a posh, luxurious home office. In her free time, she enjoys reading one novel per year, shopping at flea markets, and practicing yoga — but not simultaneously.
A handful of otherwise bored seminar attendees thanked me for this refreshing pile of bullshit. If this lawyer gig doesn’t work out, I may start a resumé service.
*****
Actual notes from clients’ medical records:
“Patient sports a narcissistic mustache.”
“Patient cheerfully admitted to excessive smoking.”
“Q: What do you do to relieve stress? A: Try like hell to have sex.”
“Refer to Dr. Weiner for urological exam.”
“Q: What were you doing immediately prior to the accident? A: Drinking beer.”
Actual voicemail I received from a veteran: “Miss Jill, I really need your help with my VA claim. Long story short, ma’am, they just kinda shitted on me real good. Now you have a blessed day.”
*****
Because I am a moron and a masochist, and because no good deed goes unpunished, I took on some pro bono cases a few years ago. Just out of the kindness of my heart, to put some good karma back out there in the world, and in hopes, of course, of signing up the good cases later for a fee. Since I lost my conscience in law school, you can bet that any philanthropic act on my part will someday benefit me one way or another. And I mean financially. One of my new pro bono clients had the nerve, the absolute gall (after I had put in a good four or five hours reviewing his file and writing an important letter for him for free) to ask me for an advance on his potential award. As if: (1) I would ever do that, (2) I have the spare money to do that, (3) I am a sucker to give him free legal advice, so I must just be a sucker in general. Needless to say, that file went straight to my back burner. My assistant reminded me, “Don’t give away what you can sell.” (That’s great sex advice as well.)
*****
Speaking of giving away what I could sell, several years ago, I spent three days in a dank American Legion meeting hall dispensing free legal advice. The place was inundated with almost 300 disgruntled veterans. I heard one horrific and heartbreaking story after another in this fluorescent-lighted, linoleum-floored, smoke-smelling dungeon. After years of this practice, nothing shocked me anymore, but the listening drained and exhausted me every time. Normally, my consultations took place over the phone so I never saw the faces behind the stories. But for those three days, virtually nonstop, I sat across a table face-to-face and looked into tearful eyes of grown men and women broken physically and/or mentally by combat or by the mere preparation for it. None of them felt sorry for themselves. Many had earned Purple Hearts or various medals for valor or gallantry. Most of them had spent far more years fighting the VA than they spent fighting for our country. By day three of this event, the attorneys and other volunteers were appropriately shell-shocked. A media photographer (a middle-aged woman I had met only two days before and with whom I had until then only exchanged pleasantries) approached me as I sat alone during a rare quiet moment. In a serious voice, she whispered, “What kind of anti-depressant are you on?” Taken aback, I probably gasped before letting out a laugh not unlike those I offer in response to my own jokes. I replied, “Does it show? Can you really tell?” She said she was only half joking. She said, “Honey, anyone who does this kind of work has got to be on something.” Then I told her what I take, and as I am wont to do, proceeded –in my “TMI” way — to share the litany of chemical crutches and (dare I say, maybe even life-saving at times) “happy pills” I have tried with varying success over the years. She said, “Forgive me, but I knew you had to be on drugs.” As I turned to go, I told her, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go shoot up now.”
Maybe if I found another line of work I wouldn’t need medication to keep the depression and anxiety away. Maybe if I found another line of work I would be more efficient and more organized and a better housekeeper. And maybe if I found another line of work my life would be full of butterflies and rainbows. Maybe so, but I wouldn’t be able to impress and befuddle people with the fact that I’m a lawyer.
