Saturday, January 23, 2010


(this one is a double-entry, double-header)

NYLJ 5/1/07


2. Security arrives as your escort--a pair of beeves in blue and the butthead in the polyester jacket--and if you think anyone is going to help you carry out your own banker's box of personal possessions, you'd best not wait for the offer. Good thing you left the luggage caddy behind the door; aren't bungee cords marvelous things? Then, it's time to take that final walk, don’t look left or right and forget about any bridges. Those not burned outright to charred planks and smoldering stanchion wouldn’t support much more than temping on the q.t., and under the table. If anyone does cross your path, don't single them out for goodbyes, unless you want to put them on the slow track, if not for a similar exit.

Later, they would paint this passage in a different light, as if you were looking for one more bit of evidence, blackmail, forgotten photocopy discarded in the recycling bin...leverage. Later, they would ask: did you take the memos and leak secrets or was it merely common knowledge, arranged in a provocative manner? And you could get the opportunity to ask for clarification: What do you mean by provocative, like a flash of lace at the edge of her skirt or that extra button undone on his shirt?

Funny, isn’t it, how the default reference is always best? Breeder flirting must always take precedence over queer. We always have to deal with innuendo over contact, and context, or the potential stare. That way, if it goes the wrong way, at least you have some maneuvering room—like Oh? Well! And other such CYA options. Why are women flattered when other women come onto them and men grow deadly? All it means is: I find you attractive. Not: Do you find me attractive?

Pass the partner’s office with a wide berth, as if to say: Don’t let me accidentally pick up a vibe! Please! As if that was a classified document purloined from the central vault. Like it wasn’t sitting in the copier trash bin when I came through? Perhaps the pro se was the wrong way to go; a fool for a client, right. Another eye would've told you the complaint overshot the mark. Alright, ok--and then you could've shot back--But no less than the Answer with counterclaim! And then you'd be here anyways...

Judge Schoenstein was right, however: neither one of us was acting from a contractural position as much as a matrimonial one—locked into our death struggle of hate, no consideration of the welfare of the children, community property or joint tax to speak. You should have seen that including contracts was out of line, just as they should have realized attorney/client privilege and confidentiality can’t be extended to the work place farther than harm to a client’s case or ongoing business interests. And fiduciary? Your duties end when they say your services are no longer required.

NYLJ 5/22/07


1. You appreciate a dismissal without prejudice like a gift of a second chance. Pro Se is the only way to go when you want a fool for a client. A second chance also means a second opinion, and even a third. Get the whole picture, even if you got to get someone who knows how to pry alimony out of a rancorous dispute.

"Just start with a settlement meeting", was the first piece of good advice from the divorce specialist in your barbershop trio, if you like: the amicable splitter, the acting coach, and the Torah thinker. "Right," #2 says, setting the stage for testimony. "It was the ugly results of that head-butting which forced you to destroy your hard-drive," neatly answering their new counterclaim, how sweet. "So then we can add in intimidation and a conspiracy to discredit you to make it all into one grand mishegoss," says your spiritual advisor.

Then you have the weight of the evidence and the lack of evidence to contend with. They can allege all they want you were having a inter-office affair with another associate. "And that only digs the hole deeper,” is the matrimonial perspective. "But without incriminating photos or phone taps, it ain’t even He Said He Said for the partners against the two fehgeleh boys," the rabbi's slight slight being no more than stating the obvious, you guess.

"It’s better than that. When one of the boys gets told he either cops a plea or gets deported back to Mexico, that’s coercion. And when he happens to have been responsible for firing the firm’s ex-attorney, who now has field an affidavit saying no such discussion ever took place and the meeting regarding that destroyed hard drive—" for Mr. Theater, the scene come together.

"Mare’s nest," pipes in the expert in entanglements.

“Meshuggah," affirms the Sage of West End Avenue. "And trafe too."

With a team like this, you could take the highway, Broadway, or the Temple Mount.

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