Thou Shalt Not Swear
I guess I have been lucky.
In twenty-five years of practicing law, I have never — before this week — been cursed out by a client. Oh, I’ve had clients use swear words when talking with me; that’s to be expected in the practice of Love’s Aftermath Law. But actually calling me names — that’s never happened. Until now.
A client called post-trial but pre-judgment, asking me to work a miracle. Odds are, we’ll get an outcome not favorable to my client’s position. If that occurs, it will largely be because the facts of my client’s life can easily be interpreted by an objective observer in a negative way. I did my best. I found, and presented, as many positive witnesses as the court would tolerate hearing in the several-day trial. I argued and cross-examined; schemed and plotted. And I did so despite the fact that even now, after the 4-day trial, my client still owes me about 1/3 of the very reasonable flat-fee that I charged for two years of diligent service.
When the client called, what was being requested was that I file a motion to re-open evidence in the form of records that my client thought would be helpful. I had tried to get the records before the trial, but the entity from whom they were sought claimed none existed. My client had no money to pay for the records anyway, but there apparently were none to acquire.
This week, for the first time, my client said that the entity had advised my client — not me — that the records do exist, but that my client did not tell me, lacking funds with which to pay for the records. Now, mind: I don’t think these records would be as much help as my client does, but still — as far as I knew, they did not exist.
I told my client that the records might or might not be allowed into evidence on a motion to re-open, but I also said that I needed to be paid the rest of my fee before I would do more work. I could have withdrawn from representation. Most lawyers would have done so months ago. But I did not; I stayed in the case through trial.
My client began yelling at me, raising the voice so loud that I put the phone a foot or more away from my ear. The client said that payments would be made — $100/month on a balance due of $3,750. I tried to quietly advise that I could not any longer work without being paid. The client got louder and louder and finally proclaimed: “Why are you being such a bitch!!!”
And then hung up.
I was stunned. I guess I should have thicker skin. I guess I should know that stress makes people act oddly. I guess I should expect that people will dump venom on the heads of the closest victims when they feel that things have not gone their way. But I did not expect any of that. I expected, I think, gratitude.
Love’s Aftermath Law is a dicey area. We who practice it see people at their worst. We see them when the blissful “I Do’s” have become the baleful “I Don’t’s”. We see them when anger, shame, and disappointment hold them in a tight grip, squeezing with relentless strength. Many of them cry in our offices, pace our hallways, and, at times, berate our support staffs.
My fees are more than reasonable. I don’t make a luxurious living, as my family can attest. I represent real people, people who can’t write large checks for retainers. I am okay with that. But no amount of money is enough to induce me to allow a client to scream and swear at me.
When my mother was dying of cancer, she called me from her hospital bed in St. Louis to ask me to talk to the nursing staff about keeping her room clean. I drove five hours that day to visit her, and found dirty sheets, discarded Kleenexes on the floor, and my mother lying in her own sweat and excrement. After I pleaded, begged, cajoled and finally demanded, the room got cleaned.
My mother quietly urged me to be respectful in my entreaties. When I expressed dismay that she was so willing to let the nurses off the hook for their complete failure to provide essential care, my mother replied: “Even brain cancer is no excuse for rudeness.”
I remember that any time I myself am rude — and in her honor, I go back to the person whom I have wronged, if I can find them, and apologize. If they are faceless — on the phone, in a busy store — I internalize the event and “pay it forward” — being extra nice to the next person. I’m no saint — don’t misunderstand me — but I try to live up to my mother’s standards.
I did not raise my voice in response to my client. I did not call my client back and express outrage or disgust. But I know that my client’s behavior was over the top even for a Love’s Aftermath litigant, and I know that I did not deserve my client’s fury.
The lesson to be learned: Thou shalt not swear, even at your divorce lawyer.
Have a great weekend, everyone!
Corinne Corley