TO-WIT: GLORY BE
Now I’ve never been what you might call a God-fearin’ man. Sure, there’s plenty of anecdotal evidence to support the belief in the existence of a Higher Being, but even if such a Deity is to blame for the creation of our species, I’ve never been fully convinced that at any time thereafter He or She maintained any significant interest in the project.
Because of recent events, however, I am no longer certain of my incertitude; and no, I am not referring to the just concluded Presidential election. Rather I’m referring to a phone call I received a couple of days ago from a client.“This just isn’t working out between us,” he had said. “I was very disturbed that you recommended yet another inadequate offer of settlement and I’m going to find a new lawyer to take my case in a different direction.”
N ow by “inadequate,” he was referring to the most recent settlement offer which encompassed all of his damages, all of his costs and all of his counsel fees. Nonetheless he had taken umbrage at my recommendation to accept it and he was not about to let his ire be overcome by rational thought. At the outset I had had high hopes for both this client and his cause. Both began to wane as he turned down one reasonable proposal after another.
“It’s a terrific offer,” I had advised him this last time.
“Me want more,” he had said.
“Why,” I queried.
“Because me do,” he replied.
Now when it comes to getting fired, I’m just like you; I don’t like it. Unlike you though, I’m not used to it.
So I sat there at my desk awhile, looking for my “woe is me,” but it was nowhere to be found. Instead, as if driven by some deeply imbedded psychological refrain, my toes began to tap, taking my knees with them; my upper body followed suit, and the next thing I knew I was jumping up and down, arms flailing about, hands pivoting back and forth, fully caught up in the self-same ecstasy of the healed invalid under a come-to-Jesus tent.
“Hallelujah, hallelujah,” I shouted, “glory be.” My secretary, drawing what was for her the only sensible conclusion possible from the ruckus, charged into my office with a fire extinguisher to put out the conflagration she always suspected I would someday start in my filing cabinet.
“I haven’t heard you whoop like that in ages,” she said, and yeah, she was right. I rarely whoop in the office anymore; then again I rarely have my prayers answered in the office anymore either. I know I should have fired this client as soon as I realized how irrational he was, but I just hate ruthlessly abandoning any client who pays the bill every month like clockwork; its a matter of principal. I also know that going to trial on a case that can be settled for a more than fair amount is one of the unholiest of all professional sins.
And it was there, piteously trapped between the rocks and hard places of my own devise, that I might have remained had it not been for the blessed intercession of a Deity who, mirabile dictu, smiled at me.
Why I was chosen to receive such divine beneficence while so many suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous clients alone I haven’t a clue, but God knows I deserve it and can I have an "Amen."
©2013, S. Sponte, Esq.