By S. Sponte, Esq.
Of all my admirable qualities, I am perhaps proudest of humility. Accordingly, when I recently attended the annual Bosses Dinner sponsored by the local legal secretaries association, I had absolutely no notion that I would that very night be honored with the Boss of the Year Award. Some have since said that I was overconfident, that I expected to win, but it isn’t true. I just felt like wearing tails that night. If I had had any inkling, any inkling at all, I would have certainly put considerably more effort into the preparation of my spontaneous remarks.
“Those who have known me over the years,” I said in accepting, “also know how unaccustomed I am to winning anything at all, so this is really quite nice.” Humble, I was so humble, and I did it so well. I thanked the judges, I thanked the awards committee, I thanked my secretary, I smiled for the press photographers, and I graciously accepted the plaque, a little small I thought, along with a copy of the Rules and Regulations for the Boss of the Year. All in all, I had a wonderful time and it was really quite nice.
I hadn’t been in my office for five minutes the next morning when I received a telephone call from opposing counsel in a fairly important case that was scheduled to start in a few days. “Congratulations,” he said, “I just saw your picture in the morning paper. I had no idea you were such a hell of a nice guy.”
“Well, at least some secretaries think so,” I said, still brimful of modesty from the night before.
“In that case, you won’t object to a continuance in our little case?”
What? A continuance? He knew my attitude about continuances because he had requested one on this case the last time it had come up for trial, and on pretty flimsy grounds, I might add. I was loath to consent then, until, at my request, he produced a copy of his mother’s death certificate.
This time he explained that his client anticipated being ill the day of the trial, and he had already told his client what a terrific guy I was, Boss of the Year and all, and, really, what could I do? The Rules specifically stated that the Boss of the Year is considerate. I didn’t like it, but I agreed to the continuance. It just seemed like the Boss of the Year thing to do.
Shortly after that, I got another phone call, this time from a colleague who was managing the retention election for a local judge. “His Honor wants to extend to you his heartiest congratulations and best wishes on your award,” he said, “and he wants you to know that he thinks you’re one hell of a guy, and can we put you down for a few bills for the campaign?”
What? A contribution? Me? But the Rules specifically provided that a Boss of the Year is generous. I had no choice in the matter, now did I?
My checkbook was not yet cold before a law book salesman charged into my office waving the newspaper photo. “You old Boss of the Year, you,” he said, forcing a smile. “Have I got a set of books for you.” Before I could even say “Get the hell out,” he had placed on my desk the first volume of The Lawyer’s Guide to Winning by Intimidation, Cruelty and Bad Manners.
Something about my award must have impressed him because I had never seen him before with a clean shirt. But the Rules specifically provided that the Boss of the Year is respectful of others, and so I accepted his brochure to which he had affixed his signature by mark and I promised to place an order.
This Boss of the Year thing was getting out of hand. Considerate? Generous? Respectful? It sounds wonderful, yeah I know, but damn it all, I’m a lawyer.
The end came suddenly. My secretary came in to announce that there was a poor pathetic little orphan in my reception room. He had seen my picture in the paper and had come to my office in the hope that he could just kiss the hem of my coat. I went out to see him, and sure enough, his face was dirty, he was woefully thin, his clothes were shabby and he was very pale. “Oh, please sir, can I touch you, just for a second, sir?”
If in fact there is a God in heaven, he was certainly looking after me. Giving in to my professional instincts, I picked up this pathetic little waif, and with one joyous heave, I flung him out into the street. He hit a passing legal secretary who promptly convened an emergency meeting of the awards committee and I was stripped of my title. It had something to do with the Rule prohibiting the abuse of urchins.
Greatly relieved of my title, I cancelled the book order, I told the campaign manager I would be happy to make the contribution just as soon as the candidate passed the bar exam, and I told my adversary that I would agree to the continuance only if one of his children got crushed by a bulldozer. You know, being Boss of the Year was really very nice, but being a lawyer is a lot more fun.
Copyright 1984, S. Sponte, Esq.