There is one really great thing about being a lawyer.
Oh, amongst ourselves, we’ll yuk it up after we fleece someone out of their life savings. And there’s also those magical times when we fabricate a huge lie that circumvents the very essence of justice.
But those wonderful times pale in comparison to the truly fun thing we get to do.
We hear some really great jokes. You people are hilarious. I spend half my day bent over after one of you who has told me a side-splitting and knee-slapping tear-jerker that will keep me in stitches the rest of the day.
I don’t need Comedy Central on my television. I have it everywhere I go.
Like the other day. I spent more than an hour with a grieving woman whose marriage of more than thirty years had ended, all because her husband had hot pants for some other woman. Later, I would meet with a family who lost their son in a tragic accident.
Before the day was over, I would field a dozen or so other calls whose lives were in turmoil. I’m not the only lawyer who spends days like that.
At noon, I was in line at some restaurant, wondering what kind of legal threat I could make in order to get a free lunch, when I was approached by some big guy wearing a tank top, shorts, sandals and an earring the stuck out through his long brown hair. I didn’t ask, but I was pretty sure he wasn’t a bank president.
“Hey, Kirby,” he said. “It’s so warm I see you have your hands in your own pockets.” I tell you, I about collapsed I was laughing so hard. I wanted to say, “Hey man, you’re killing me here,” but I couldn’t get the words out.
“Must be nice to sit in a fancy office doing nothing all day,” he said. “Stick with me the rest of the day and I’ll show you what real work is.”
I’m sure he worked hard. From the smell he exuded, I’d say he worked real hard. We waited together as our food was prepared.
“Hey, I got another one for you,” he said. That’s when I closed my eyes and rubbed my forehead. I couldn’t handle any more.
See, here’s the thing about lawyer jokes. They were all written about a hundred years ago by a bunch of would-be lawyers who flunked out of law school.
Ever since then, every yahoo who thinks he’s the next Eddie Murphy has been trying to pass off those same jokes like they’ve never been told before.
So, on behalf of lawyers everywhere, we cry uncle. We give up.
We’ll just admit that God will never allow someone to get a divorce in heaven, because no one will be able to find a lawyer there. And should something ever happen that a lawyer does make it to heaven, everyone will think he’s a hundred and twelve because they’ve add up all his billable hours over the years.
A busload of lawyers in the bottom of the ocean is, in fact, a good start. And if you want to stop a lawyer from drowning, just lift your hand off his head.
The following story is no joke. I once had a guy come in wanting to assess his options about some car repairs he had paid for, but didn’t fix the problem. Though I don’t handle those kinds of cases, I agreed to talk to him anyway, with no intentions of charging him for my time.
But the appointment lasted far longer than I anticipated. And even after I summarized his options, the guy still wanted to talk. Pretty soon a half-hour had gone by. Then an hour.
Finally, he was ready to leave. He reached for my office door and offered to shake my hand. Then he said, “Hey, I got one for you. What’s the difference between a lawyer and a trampoline?”
“I don’t know.”
“You take off your shoes to jump on a trampoline.”
After this, of course, there was no way I could work the rest of the day. As I laughed hysterically, I had Lisa cancel my appointments.
“By the way, do I owe you anything?” the guy asked.
“Yeah, only fifty bucks,” I said. Guess who’s laughing now.
