Expensive Janitor - The True Stories Of A Trial Lawyer
Hi, my name is David and I am an expensive janitor. Why expensive janitor you ask? Because I am a lawyer, a litigator actually which according to that 90's cheesy movie, Clueless, is the 'Scariest kind of lawyer.' So you probably get the expensive bit as lawyers while not cheap can be had, but maybe you're confused by the janitor bit. Perfectly understandable, but by the end of this book, you should have a pretty good idea what I am talking about. Essentially, when you, being the potential client, make a complete mess of your life, and trust me you will; I will clean up your mess, but for a price.
I thought about calling the book, 'Expensive Prostitute,' but while this is also a correct description of me, I thought that it would confuse the reader who would be thinking they were about to get an expose on a Hollywood Madam instead of the life story of a middle aged fat white guy who cleans up other people's messes. Why Expensive Prostitute you ask? Because instead of selling my body, I whore out my mind, instead. Frankly most people would pay good money to see me keep my clothes on, rather than take them off in public, so my brain is my commodity.
Also, like most hookers, I am regularly compelled to work with or for people I would ordinarily not give the time of day. When I say people, I mean nearly everyone: other vultures (lawyers) who are circling over the same monetary carcass, extreme toxic narcissists (judges) who were too stupid to survive in private practice, and the worst of them all, the morons who pay my mortgage (clients).
Is this a cynical book written by a bitter burned out lawyer, well of course it is, but more than that this is a diatribe about my life, the really odd things that have happened to me and the reasons that I became and remain a member of the 2nd oldest profession. So, pour yourself a shot of good Tequila, an Anejo from Jalisco is a good place to start, and come along for the ride if you dare.
Forgive the forthcoming flashbacks as I narrate my current life in Albuquerque with interludes and vignettes from days gone by so that you the reader can really experience, the sights, the sounds, the uncomfortable boiling bile that fills each and every day.
Arriving at the parking lot near my office on a hot day at the beginning of June, I get into the graffiti covered elevator, reeking of urine to descend the 3 flights of stairs to the ground floor. Why not take the stairs instead of the elevator? Because yesterday, I had to step over two passed out Native American winos asleep in a pool of vomit. Whose vomit belonged to whom was a question that briefly popped into my head, but as I really did not want to know the answer, I did my best not to slip and fall. While you can make money off of slip and fall cases, the city of Albuquerque refuses to pay these cases without actually going to trial, but more on that later.
I double checked, and yep the same two winos were sitting there with a third person, laughing and shouting in a mix of English and Navajo, taking up the entire landing. Right so the stairs are out, so into the elevator I go. I have to be very careful in the elevator though, as the local Junkies are starting to put more and more of their dirty used syringes inside the armrests, with the needles pointing upwards. Presumably they want us to get AIDS, Hepatitis C, and every other disease they have. And people wonder why my sympathy to the plight of the less fortunate is somewhat reduced these days?
So, striding into the summer heat, it's about noon and I am preparing to start my day. Start at noon you ask? Yep, I hate early mornings, always have since I was 4 and still do. My biological clock or circadian rhythm for those who enjoy more precise terminology is skewed about 4-5 hours forward. This means that I naturally don't get sleepy until 3-4 am, and don't want to wake up until noon. As this is completely impractical, even for a solo practitioner, I take half a pharmacy to go to sleep every night along with alcohol, and better living through chemistry is proven yet again.
So, here I am walking the short block and a half to my office when I am accosted by one of Albuquerque's finest. Not a cop, no they are rarely seen unless they are shaking down dealers for bribes or getting a freebie from a sidewalk stewardess. No I am talking about the hordes of the homeless that fill many American cities, Albuquerque in particular. Why Albuquerque? Because, the weather is not so lethal that they risk freezing to death when they pass out and because other cities give them a bus ticket to Albuquerque. That's right you read it correctly. It's much easier to get rid of the homeless by literally putting them on the bus with a one way ticket than it is to pay for the mental health care that most of them need. You can thank Reagan for destroying the mental health budget in the US back in the mid 80's by the way.
Back to the homeless guy. So here he is skinny from the meth, twitching like he stepped onto a live power line and about to ask me for money.
'Hey man, can you spare some change for the bus?'
The bus, of course…they are never honest and say that they need money for their next high; they always try to couch their addiction in respectable terms, as if they have a job interview somewhere. Frankly, I am tired of this crap so instead of saying 'no, I do not have any change.' I decide to lawyer him for a bit.
'Where do you need to go?' I ask.
'What?' he sputters.
'Where do you need to go?' I repeat patiently, silently sweating under the blazing sun.
'I got to get on the bus.'
'Right, but where do you need to go, hospital, welfare office, back to jail, where?
'Why you asking me that man? I just need money for the bus!'
'Because I have a car, and I can give you a ride, just tell me where you need to go.'
'Fuck your car, just give me some fucking money!!' he screams at me.
'Now that's not polite. I am willing to give you a ride, but not any money, so for the last time where do you need to go?'
'Fuck you man, if you not giving me any money quit wastin' my time!!'
'Time is all you have left my friend; that is until your liver fails.'