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A Story For Your Disapproval...

It started just like any other day here at the law office, some bastard walks in with a neck brace on expecting me to pull a check out of my arse. Just once I’d like to be able to tell these gits where they can go to find their check! Unfortunately seeing as how I’ve got bills to pay and a secretary who’s expecting me to take her to Neimans over lunch for a "shopping spree" I tell this walking refugee from "life’s rich pageant" to have a seat and that one of the legal aids will have him fill out a questionnaire. Slowly I saunter over to the water cooler, checking out the new UC kid I felt obligated to give an internship to for the summer (God, they’ll let anybody into Boalt these days!), and I carefully eavesdrop over the conversation that develops between the imaginary invalid and Miss Tight Pants (maybe next time she’ll actually listen to me when I tell her that leather pants from the Gap aren’t considered suitable attire for a law office, god damn California girls!).

As I stand and ponder Miss Hot Pants with those ridiculous leathers down around here ankles, I’m startled out of my reverie by something she says... I practically spew a mouthful of water on the fax machine when I here Miss Hot Pants suggest to our latest "client" that he should have a seat in my office because I’m "an attorney who really believes in giving back to the community." Everybody in the office stops and stares at me like I’ve got a parrot on my shoulder, so I mumble some shit about swallowing down the wrong pipe and I head off into one of the conference rooms.

Damn, damn, damn! Now I’ll have to spend the rest of the morning trying to find a personal injury hack just to get this slob out of my office so I can make lunch with the current queen bee of my hive. Women!

Fast-forward two hours -

I finally got rid of the charity case (actually there may be something there, note to myself: look into the back cover of the next edition of the Real Yellow Pages), so I pick up the phone and dial the florist. Well wouldn’t you know I get some chick that cops a ‘tude about this not being the time of year for calla lilies (note to myself: never try to make it with a Wellesley chick), and I "really should have placed my order ahead of time." I don’t have the time to explain to this chick that her ass is bought and paid for by the time I pick up the morning paper, so I reel off the number to my AmEx platinum card and tell her to make it so. Women!

Lunch, shopping, sex, life is good (even if the seared scallops were a trifle greasy)!

So here I sit in front of my computer typing up this chronicle of the mendacity of life, serenaded in the background by the snores of a spoiled brat who just had two hours of my best (that’s $800 you owe me bitch!), and it occurs to me how much simpler my life could be.

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