It took three minutes today for me to want to throw something.
That is about the average for when a client decides to pick up their phone and rain on my parade but today was different. It was three minutes into my morning commute to work when I got one of those ‘brain-eats-itself-to-prevent-aneurism-or- homicidal-mania’ emails from a client. The rank stupidity that emanated from those few keystrokes nearly caused me to throw my phone.
I didn’t.
I may have reacted with multiple variables of a certain four letter word that my mom really hates me saying (sorry, Mom). In other words, I was just a typical CTA passenger on his way to work expressing his frustration in a healthy manner. Unfortunately, when stupid begins your workday, it typically follows you around until you confront it head on with the pleasantest of phone calls:
Me: What seems to be the problem?
Client: I don’t like the wording of the contract.
Me: [Silence]
Client: Hello?
Me: [Pounds fist into forehead] What is the problem with the wording?
Client: I need another lawyer to tell me what it means. And the tone is wrong.
Me: [Silence]
Client: Hello???
Me: You and I spent three days going over every single sentence in this document umpteen billion times before we finalized it. This is over. Sign it.
Client: [Silence]
Me: [Silence]
Client: F*ck it.
Me: That’s the spirit.
I firmly believe that any lawyer that opposes waterboarding has never actually dealt with a client. It’s not torture. It can’t be. Because I would rather be waterboarded than have to deal with this asshole again.
Question: What year did you start working for Acme Incorporated?
The I Shit You Not Actual Answer:
Let’s see, I was there for six years and I left two years ago. I think…it’s 2012 right? Okay, let me think. Do you have a piece of paper that I could do this on? [Takes paper and pen] Let me see, 2012, so that makes it 2010 when I left and I had been there six years… [Does the math on the paper, reaches the answer and you can tell the witness is extremely proud] I started there in 1996.
I thought lawyers were bad at math…
Depositions are a necessary part of my job. Whether I am presenting a client for a deposition, questioning the hell out of a defendant or refraining from mocking the so-called expert as they torpedo my case, these proceedings are all about moving the case forward.
At least that’s the hope.
The most recent of these monumentally boring affairs did nothing to help my case. The fact that the train went off the tracks (and I went into damage control) three questions into a two hour deposition was a new personal record for me:
Opposing Counsel: Please state your name for the record.
Witness: John Smith.
Opposing Counsel: Mr. Smith, do you have the occasion to remember the Plaintiff?
Witness: Oh yes…
Opposing Counsel: And what is your recollection?
Witness: He’s very…trying…
It’s at this point in the deposition, not yet thirty seconds into the questioning, that I’ve begun to fight the flop sweat as the realization that this is going to be an unmitigated disaster quickly settles over me. As you can likely guess, the fourth question was:
Opposing Counsel: What do you mean by trying?
Witness: The Plaintiff was manipulative, deceitful and attempted to make us do exactly what he wanted…no matter what the right way to do things was.
And this testimony was from a non-biased and totally independent witness. Basically, my client was just outed as Rod Blagojevich by the male equivalent of Mother Theresa in a case where credibility is the only issue. Other than that, this deposition went just fine.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: the practice of law would be a great gig if it weren’t for those pesky clients.
Claims Handler: I want to assure you that whatever medical procedure your client needs he will get.
Me: Anything? Really?
Claims Handler: Absolutely. I’ll authorize any medical procedure immediately.
Me: My client has told me that he wants a breast enlargement and a tummy tuck.
Claims Handler: …maybe I overstated my abilities a bit.
There are cases where everyone has decided to slack off and just ignore its very existence.
For months at a time.
When these things happen, it is the lawyers responsibility to cover their corresponding asses and make sure that they can look the client in the eye when they say “it’s moving slower than anticipated but progress is being made!” Yet, every once in a while, there is a case that is suffering from extreme neglect. It is at this point when you have no choice but to put lipstick on a pig and pray that the Judge is a little hungover when she decides to read your brief.
If only I could write what is actually going on in this case…and not be sanctioned for divulging the truth:
NOW COMES the Plaintiffs, by and through their attorney, Namby Pamby, with their Motion for an Extension of time and in support states as follows:
1. On January 5, 2011, the Court entered an order directing the parties to have completed all discovery and to be certified for trial starting May 1, 2012.
2. Since that order was entered, all attorneys involved in this case have done jack and shit to advance this case. Specifically:
a. The clients are nowhere to be found;
b. All written discovery remains unanswered and collecting dust in the bowels of a rusty file cabinet;
c. No depositions have been taken;
d. No experts have been named; and
e. Plaintiff’s counsel has been praying on a daily basis for the last six months for a sudden, tragic disaster that claims the lives (or at least the memory) of the Plaintiffs.
3. As both sets of counsel are due to receive a massive tongue lashing from both the Court and their clients, we respectfully beg the court to strike the trial date, reset it for a date in beginning of 2013 and award any further relief that this Court deem proper and just.
4. In the alternative, if this Court deems it appropriate to punish counsel for their errant treatment of judicially imposed deadlines, this humbled officer of the court respectfully request the death penalty for my opponent. As he failed to have the common decency to write this motion.
But we can’t write that as lawyers who wish to retain our clients, jobs and bar cards. No one would win, save the readers of Constitutional Daily and Above the Law, by filing a motion as outlandish as this. Thus, we have to tell the truth in a far more palatable manner that all can stomach:
NOW COMES the Plaintiffs, by and through their attorney, Namby Pamby, with their Motion for an Extension of time and in support states as follows:
1. On January 5, 2011, the Court entered an order directing the parties to have completed all discovery and to be certified for trial starting May 1, 2012.
2. Counsel have made diligent progress in preparing this matter for trial but due to unforeseen scheduling complications will be unable to stand ready for the Court mandated trial date.
3. It is in the best interest of all parties, and the Court, to continue the trial date for six to nine months.
I also suggest you say a little prayer upon entering the courtroom that, by the Grace of God, the judge actually didn’t read what you wrote.
It was supposed to be a day where I would spend a quick time in court and then return to the office to avoid all contact with opposing counsel and clients. But the first thing I was going to do after I returned from the halls of justice was get coffee.
Apparently, the powers that be decided because my plans are irrelevant to them they would dictate the day. Which is exactly what happened as I was sitting in the courtroom when the following text message from my partner arrived:
Stuck in a meeting and I need you to cover the Smith deposition that was supposed to start 10 minutes ago
This is fantastic news as I have neither prepared for a deposition nor done work on this case in five months. It’s the key deposition in a big case…what can go wrong?
Turns out, a lot.
Though, as the transcript will clearly show, the less than impressive deposition performance of our key witness had nothing to do with the fact that I knew nothing about the case and everything to do with the fact that I wasn’t sitting close enough to kick the client under the table when he gave an answer that was devastating to the case.
Live and learn.
Dear Client:
I have enclosed the latest Court order from the recent oral arguments that occurred.
As I have told you repeatedly, sometimes while screaming over your guttural machinations, our case was neither legally nor factually sound. You will also recall that I told you more than once (or at least seven separate times) that the only reason I was handling this matter was that you had somehow bamboozled my partner to take your festering turd of a case.
After nine months of dealing with you on a far too frequent basis, the Court has finally entered an order resolving all issues and dismissing your case.
It is over.
It is dead.
And it is not coming back.
If you wish to continue your Quixotic adventure in the land of justice, please be advised that you have thirty days from today’s date to file a Motion for Reconsideration. We believe that spending any more time and money on this case would be grounds for us, your lawyers, to be involuntarily committed in a facility with a surplus of padded walls. As we’ve no desire to interrupt our busy drinking schedule with a trip to the looney bin, we shall be performing no additional work on this file.
I award you no points and may God have mercy on your soul,
Very truly yours,
The Namby Pamby
Attorney at Law
thenambypamby@gmail.com
Enclosure
There are some groups of lawyers that are just prone to making really poor strategic decisions. For my money, I find that the ones the most egregious perpetrators are young associates at larger firms who have been given a simple motion to see through from start to finish. It is a young lawyer’s time to impress the partner and, as a result, those who are gathered will be given fodder to laugh at the freshly minted attorney.
The young whippersnapper will get off the courthouse elevator with an extra spring in her step and quickly get to the courtroom. As soon as the judge enters the courtroom it is as if the young attorney had large quantities of electrical current applied to very sensitive areas as they jump at the call of “All Rise!” When they are called to argue their motion, they sprint to the bench and immediately begin to spew argument before anyone else has gotten out of their seats.
Good morning Your Honor, Jane Smith on behalf of the Defendant, this is our motion to compel appearance at our office by the witnesses disclosed in this matter. According to the Supreme Court Rules and the Illinois Code of Civil Procedure as well as the Illinois Supreme Court decision in…
When I’ve had issues like these, I pull opposing counsel aside, agree to a deposition date and time, and move on to the next game of Words with Friends. These are meaningless pissing matches that waste court time and delay my morning trip to Starbucks. Thankfully, the judge finally entered the fray and kindly reminded the legal eagle that he is familiar with the most basic of rules governing discovery. Then he asked what the underlying problem was:
Young Lawyer: You see your Honor, the Supreme Court rules, specifically Rule 213.
Judge: Counsel, I know what the rule is, please tell me why you are here.
Young Lawyer: Um… uhh… Your Honor, our properly filed and served notice of deposition lists that the deposition is to occur at our firm office.
Judge: …Anddddd?
Young Lawyer: The witnesses have indicated that they will only appear at their office some 25 miles away from this Courthouse.
Judge: What sort of witnesses are these people?
Young Lawyer: Neurosurgeons.
Judge: And why is it essential that these learned professionals come to downtown Chicago?
Young Lawyer: We want to videotape these depositions. And we don’t know if their offices can accommodate the videotaping.
It is at this point that the lawyer sitting next to me and I share a look, shake our heads and laugh as quietly as possible.
Judge: Counsel…have you asked?
Young Lawyer: Uh…
I really hope that whatever client paid for this travesty gets the money back.
I was being the quintessential lawyer having a massive meeting with a very important client. It wasn’t only yours truly meeting with said client, it was my boss and I meeting with this very important client. There was something unique about this meeting as it was far, far away from the comfort of the Chicago Loop and in the client’s home. But the meeting isn’t the story, the drive to the meeting is the story.
I’ve never made it a secret that I have issues with coordination.
These issues seem to make their way to the surface more frequently when I decide to drink coffee and attempt to be a regular human being (read: multitask). This incident was no different. I had a travel coffee mug in the car with me and I was doing my best not to spill on myself in any manner when taking a drink. This typically resulted in me leaning over the passenger seat, craning my neck as far as I could away from my body and sipping as quickly as possible before closing the lid. I repeated this process through half of the cup of coffee and I only had a small drip on my pants.
Big. Success.
I then picked up my boss and we headed off to the meeting. We spend the first ten minutes talking strategy on this matter and several other cases that are pressing, we talk about the weather and then, as lawyers are wont to do, he checks his email. Because I am driving, I decided to put my phone in the center console away from the prying eyes of my boss. This was because I didn’t want him to see the twitter notifications that come in or a scandalous text message from the receptionist making fun of one of my partners.
Or, for that matter, a scandalous twitter notification from said receptionist making fun of said partner.
While the bossman checks his email, I used the conversational lull to take a sip of coffee. Which I successfully did. Unfortunately, as I finished this delicious sip my phone decided to ring. And wouldn’t you know it, the hand holding the coffee cup Pavlovianly twitched in the direction of the phone’s resting place. It just so happened that the twitch caused two fingers to slide in such a manner that it detached the lid of the coffee mug. As gravity was still in effect while driving in excess of 75 miles per hour, the coffee mug descended from my hand at a high rate of speed, impacting on my thigh, tipping over and spilling all over the place. The mug hit the outside of my right thigh, bounced off the center console and back into my lap.
Somehow, My boss and I both managed to be looking directly at the mug as is spewed it’s contents all over the grey fabric of my Hugo Boss suit.
Coffee was all over me. My right pant leg was soaked, the right side of my white dress shirt was now brown, and my brand new red tie was now darker in 75% of the visible cloth. All I could do was grab a golf towel that was sitting in my back seat and attempt not to let the senior partner see me fondle myself while drying off. I dabbed at this disaster area and attempted to act like nothing was wrong while speeding towards our destination. My boxers were now thoroughly caffeinated, my tie looked like it had been dragged through the mud and my shirt looked like it had been used by someone who had the runs.
By the time we arrived at our destination, I’d been attempting to dry myself for thirty minutes to no avail. I got out of the car and looked at my reflection…needless to say it wasn’t a pretty sight. I put my suit jacket on and prayed that we were about sit in a dark room where one couldn’t see the hot mess that I had become. It was the first time in my life that I wondered if I was going to get fired because I left a stain on a client’s piece of furniture.
The moral of the story here is that when I am about to do something that is really important I should just leave the coffee at home.
After I had knee surgery in late 2009 I had made a goal to get back into shape. Starting the end of January 2010, I was medically cleared to resume running and I went about doing exactly that. All the while trying to re-injure myself playing for two different soccer teams.
The quest for fitness started with timed intervals, moved on to a running a mile. Then two. Then five. And I was making good on my promise to get myself back in shape. Unfortunately, I then signed a contract to buy a house. And the running stopped. In a blink of an eye, it had been four months without a regular workout routine.
The inner fat kid was calling the shots. Crap.
But then the Fall arrived and the running restarted. I was finally back to consistently running, save for a few bouts with Lupus or hangovers. As one can imagine, the effects have been seen on both the scale and in the wardrobe.
Now, I told you all of that to set up today’s events.
What I should be doing is having my suit pants taken in, but since I am a cheap and stubborn bastard when it comes to some things, I haven’t. Instead, I just tighten up my belt. However, I’ve reached the point where it won’t go any tighter. Couple this issue with the fact that my suit pants do not have a button, just a simple metal clasp, as a closing mechanism and you’ve got a potential problem.
And that’s exactly what happened.
Returning from a faraway courthouse today, it was pointed out to me that my pants were falling off. They were entirely open as they had apparently sprung loose while I was sitting down at some point. Upon closer examination, my belt was still around my waist, but somehow, the front of the pants had escaped it’s grasp and opened to world view. At this second, I quickly re-dressed myself and vowed to pay closer attention.
I have no idea how long my pants were open and obvious. And I would be lying if I can’t stop wondering if I was flashing the courtroom this morning.
Yay, Monday.
It’s the first day back to work after Christmas and over half of the office is still gone. Whilst my colleagues are finishing up their exotic stays in places around the globe (read: the suburbs), I am neck deep in medical professional scribble. That’s the fancy way of saying that I am surrounded by medical records. They are everywhere. My entire desk and floor space is covered with them.
Everywhere I look, I see indecipherable documents detailing stays in hospitals, visits by doctors and, in one case, a trip to the morgue. I’ve purposely hidden a folder that I’ve got a number of surgical photos hidden in. Trust me when I say that no one looks good on the inside. Stacks of paper litter my desk detailing several people’s horrific pain, intractable suffering and gallons of accumulated puss.
I hate puss.
This is what happens when you stop chasing the ambulance and start chasing the doctor.
I joined my parents for lunch when I noticed one of the senior past expiration date attorneys from my office walk by the restaurant. As I keep my parents informed of the normal ins and outs of my firm life, I knew they would finally be able to put a face with a name if I pointed this learned counsel out to them.
Needless to say, the conversation shouldn’t have surprised me:
Me: That’s the crazy attorney I’ve told you about.
My Dad: That guy? You’re lying.
Me: Nope. That’s the crazy guy. I used to joke with my partner that his secretary would pray for death when he wasn’t in the office.
My Dad: He was having lunch right across from us before you got here.
Me: And?
My Dad: I told your mother I thought they’d let a homeless guy into the restaurant.
In case there was any question: I am my father’s child.
I’m returning from the Courthouse when I get in the elevator with a uniformed sheriff’s deputy. He’s clearly one of the few civil servants that waste time and money failing to serve process in the county.
As I like making conversation with complete strangers who are toting loaded firearms, we started talking. Which did not end well for me:
Me: Uh oh, looks like someone is about to get served.
Deputy: Oh yeah.
Me: Which floor you heading to?
Deputy: Same one as you.
Me: Oh… Okay… Hopefully you’re not here to serve me!??!???
Deputy: We’ll see…
Coy little bastard.
The elevator doors open at this point and we get out. And yes, my pulse is now racing. I haven’t done anything wrong, but seriously, you never know when a dumbass client may decide to get all litigationy on you. And sue you for malpractice.
Me: Seriously, who are you here to serve?
Deputy: Let me look…
No whammy no whammy no whammy no whammy no whammy no whammy…
Deputy: Namby….um… Namby…
FAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHCCCCC….
Deputy: Namby Smith.
Oh Thank God. Not me.
I seriously need to reconsider my policy of talking to strangers. But only after my heart rate has returned to normal.
Client: I want to talk to the judge to explain what I did. Can I do that?
Me: That’s a horrible idea.
Client: But can I do this?
Me: What don’t you understand about this being an awfully wretched idea?
Client: I hear what you’re saying… I do… but I want to talk to the judge. I want him to let him know why I did what I did.
Me: The judge won’t listen to you. The judge can only look at the law and render his opinion. Your sob story won’t matter one iota when it comes to this issue. Frankly, you’re just wasting my time and the Court’s time. A pissed off judge won’t help us in the long run here. So, please listen to me when I beg you not to do this.
Client: [Long pause] I hear what you’re saying but the judge is going to want to know my story.
Clients…can’t practice law without them, can’t duct tape their mouths shut.
I hate waiting. I am an impatient individual that wants everything to happen now. Or earlier than now.
Waiting on a short sale to buy a condo was my personal hell as something that I wanted so badly took forever (then didn’t happen as I found a different place…that I did buy). On Mondays, I wait for the weekend not only for the respite from the office life, but for my favorite sports teams to take the field (this is additionally hard when the Bears or Manchester United shit the bed leaving an awful memory). In case you couldn’t tell, I really, really, really hate waiting.
Right now, I am dealing with what must be the fourth worst wait in the history of man. [As an aside, the top three worst waits for my money are: (1) The period of time between asking someone to marry you and their response, (2) Bar exam results and (3) The pregnancy test. Feel free to suggest your own]. For the last nine months, I’ve been engaged in oral, written and (nearly) hand-to-hand combat with an opposing counsel. Let’s just say that the word hate doesn’t accurately describe my loathing for this individual. At issue between us is a Motion for Summary Judgment and, in my non-humble opinion, my learned friend (who is neither learned nor a friend) lacks the necessary intellectual heft to win this motion.
After a long wait and many hours of working, the actual day of hearing came. The learned opposing counsel presented an amazingly sparse argument akin to ‘Nuh-uhhhhhhhh!’ I thoroughly refuted all points that had been raised while advancing multiple legal theories that vanquished my opponent’s attempt to win the day.
And damnit, I was dressed a hell of a lot better than my opposition.
The hearing drew to a close and I began to prepare myself for what I thought was a victory. The Judge began thanking us both for compelling briefs, well-thought out arguments and the typical bullshit that Judges tell to warring attorneys before crushing one of them. It’s at this time that the fourth worst wait begins: the time spent waiting for a judge to say who wins and who loses.
It’s a wait that can only be made worse by hearing exactly what this judge told us that day:
“I’ll take this matter under advisement and shall issue a written opinion in the next six weeks.”
I’m not sure what I hate more: waiting or losing. Making matters worse is that this judge may combine my two least favorite things into a single judicially administered benchslap. Right in time for Christmas.
I’ve got a brief that is due very soon. Like last week. It’s presently looking like this:
Words Words Words Words DEFENDANT’S COUNSEL IS A LYING SACK OF SHIT Words Words Words Words Words Words Words Words Words Words Words Words Words Words Words DEFENDANT’S ARGUMENTS SMELL LIKE POO Words Words Words Words Words Words Words Words Words Words I AM THE GREATEST ARGUER EVER Words Words Words DOOTY Words Words Words
If my mental dialogue was what I was putting on paper:
Words Words Words Words GOING TO LOSE FOR SURE WHY WASTE MY TIME Words Words Words Words Words Words Words Words Words Words Words Words Words Words Words Words Words Words I CANNOT MAKE A WINNING ARGUMENT BASED ON THE LAW OR FACTS Words Words Words Words Words Words Words Words Words Words Words I HATE THIS CLIENT Words Words Words Words Words WHY DID I GET STUCK WITH THIS PILE OF SHIT CASE Words Words Words Words DOOTY Words Words Words
They say legal writing is an art, I say it’s more like torture.
I fully believe that weird things happen the day before a holiday. Yeah…
Him: You going to be shopping on Friday?
Me: I’ll take a look at Amazon but that’s about it.
Him: Amazon dot com?
Me: Yeah.
Him: I’ve always had trouble getting on to that site.
Me: Yeah? How?
Him: Well, it requires a password…
Me: Yeah???
Him: And a username…
Me: Well…yeah.
Him: I just can’t figure that out.
Me: Yeah…
Mind you, this gentleman is an attorney. If he can’t figure out how to create a user name and password, I worry he can’t figure out something more complex. Like Law.
Or the fax machine.
Caller: I twisted my ankle in a pothole this morning. Can you give me a little help on what I should be doing?
Me: Does your ankle hurt?
Caller: AWW HELL YA IT DOES!!!
Me: Have you gone to the doctor?
Caller: Naaah.
Me: I’d suggest going to a doctor.
Caller: Uh…
Me: That’s what you should be doing. Anything else?
Caller: What about…you know…
Me: What about it?
Caller: I can’t sue?
Me: For twisting your ankle in the middle of the street? No. There’s nothing I can do for you.
Caller: Man…I just want help. I don’t want no MUTHAF***ING MONEY!!!
Could have fooled me.
I’ve just completed a deposition outline for an upcoming deposition. It looks as if it will go something like this:
Please state your name for the record.
Simple first question. Not going to throw this witness to the wolves just yet. Obviously, I’ve got to go through my boilerplate deposition opening:
Let the record reflect that this is the discovery deposition of Jane A. Witness, taken pursuant to notice and in accordance with the rules of the Circuit Court of Cook County, the Illinois Supreme Court and the Illinois Code of Civil Procedure. Just a few ground rules, this nice person sitting to your right, my left is taking down everything that we say. That means when we start talking over each other, which is bound to happen, the court reporter will break out her taser. And trust me when I say that you don’t want to be tased by a court reporter…it hurts. Also, please wait until I finish asking the whole question, even if you know the answer, because frankly, I might try and cram three questions into one. To which your attorney will then rightfully object due to my incompetence. Headshakes, one finger salutes and grunting does not translate well on a written transcript thus please use full words to question my intelligence, parents marriage or my masculinity. Do these things sound doable?
Okay, we’ve made it through the preliminary material. Now, let the meat of this deposition begin:
Ms. Witness…um…can you tell me why the f*** I am deposing you?
It’s hard to prepare for a deposition that you aren’t sure why it is occurring in the first place.
Scheduling is always a fun issue when it comes to my professional responsibilities. Typically, I’ll ask opposing counsel for when she is available to present her client for deposition…and I’ll get no response. I’ll ask again and the same thing happens. Finally, after having enough of the silent treatment, I’ll just schedule the damned deposition and let the other attorney fall all over herself rescheduling the damn thing. After this song and dance goes on for weeks on end, the deposition approaches and nine times out of ten, it gets rescheduled.
Most clients understand that scheduling is a fickle beast. But not all clients are this enlightened, especially when it comes to the scheduling of their deposition.
To: Client, Jane
From: Pamby, Namby
Subject: Deposition SchedulingI hope that you are doing well. I just wanted to let you know that the other side has asked to reschedule your deposition due to a scheduling conflict that has recently occurred for their office. As your deposition was set for late next week, please let me know when you are available during the first two weeks of December. As always, I look forward to hearing from you and I want to apologize for this unplanned change.
Professional, apologetic and working towards a solution that makes life the least difficult for the client.
To: Pamby Lawyer, Esq.
From: Client, Jane
cc: Managing Partner, Other Partner, Named Partner
Subject: Re: Deposition SchedulingI do not understand how this could continue to happen. This has been going on for two months now and it is the second time that the deposition was scheduled to occur and it DIDN’T HAPPEN. I don’t understand what you are doing as my attorney or why I have retained your firm in the first place. This case is taking entirely too long to conclude and you are not doing enough to bring about a resolution of it. I have given you my availability and I expect you to honor my scheduling needs. If you are unable to comply with this simple request, I will have no choice but to ask that your partners reassign you from this file…
What makes dealing with clients as persnickety as this one is that emails like these come after I’ve left the office. The latest one, like the above, tend to show up in my email inbox after I have left the office. And have made my way to a bar.
The above referenced email showed up after several beers and I started my drafting my response in the presence of my friends who helped add creative invective. I got only as far as “Go F*** yourself you big fat f***” when I realized that (a) this could cost me my job and (b) I wasn’t really able to expand upon the opening line. It’s at that point I texted my partner and asked for a partner-level response to this special situation.
And went back to drinking.
