Not that kind of lawyer

My day job is providing legal advice to the federal government. Well, to a few of its bureaus and offices anyway. If I do my job correctly, my clients’ chances of getting sued are reduced or at least they are in position to successfully defend their actions if and when they are sued. And I pass the savings on to you, the taxpayers!

I enjoy my job. Sometimes, though, everybody needs everything done right damn now and I fantasize that I develop a mystery illness where I collapse into a catatonic trance and remain immobilized until deadlines pass and tasks have been resolved by others and order has been restored to the universe. Then I wake from my coma suffering no lasting adverse effects and return to my desk fresh and eager to be at work.

Maybe it’s not glamorous or edgy or sexy like the life of a rock star or the rock star’s coke dealer or a blogger drinking coffee all day in his flannel pajamas. But life as a lawyer pays the bills and the work is intellectually challenging. I work in a clean, safe, climate-controlled environment with a comfortable Herman Miller Aeron chair, and with clients and colleagues I mostly enjoy. A few years ago, I even wrote a song that celebrates life as a middle-aged, middle-class government attorney (here).

If there’s a downside to practicing law, though, it’s that non-lawyers assume that you know something about the law. Not a crazy assumption, perhaps, but “the law” tends to be a rather broad field, not unlike many other professions. You wouldn’t ask your neighbor the proctologist to take a look at your tonsils, for instance. At least not before he washes up.

But from time to time people who know my profession ask me questions about the law. I’ve crafted a standard reply to these folks to protect myself from providing wrong answers or (more concerning) from them bombarding me with more questions. That reply is this: Sorry, I’m really not that kind of lawyer. I also am careful never to tell people what kind of lawyer I actually am so as to maintain plausible deniability about my ability to answer whatever question I might be asked.

So if one of my cousins calls to tell me he was arrested for assaulting a cop but the charges were bullshit because he was drunk, I sympathetically explain that I’m really not that kind of lawyer. When a different cousin complains that the cops are hassling him just because once or twice he sat all night in his car while parked in front of his ex-girlfriend’s house and maybe followed her to her work a time or two, I tell him that I’d like to help, but I’m not that kind of lawyer. When, after small talk, the woman sitting next to me on a flight to Portland asks if her new hot tub can be deducted as a business expense, I tell her that I’m not that kind of lawyer (I am too polite to ask how she planned to use the hot tub. This is also why I don’t like small talk).

Here’s a few more examples: If you need to know whether you should file for divorce first or wait for your spouse to file; whether you can keep goats inside the city limits and if so, how many; whether it’s against the law to operate a distillery in your shed; or whether it is appropriate for a school to confiscate your kid’s hunting rifle from the gun rack in the back window of his pickup in the school parking lot – sorry, I’m not that kind of lawyer. (By the way, hit me back if you know the answer to the distillery question. Asking for a friend).

To be honest, I make exceptions to my rule. Mostly this involves criminal procedural television shows. Although I really do not practice any form of criminal law, I frequently offer advice to suspects on Law & Order: STOP TALKING TO THE COPS YOU IDIOTS! DEMAND TO BE RELEASED OR DEMAND AN ATTORNEY! Come on, criminals, if you’re in that line of work you should know your Fifth and Sixth Amendment rights. I also attempt to assist the criminal defense attorneys on that program who apparently don’t realize that every question DA Jack McCoy has ever asked violates a rule of evidence. So I do their job for them: OBJECTION – LEADING QUESTION! . . . OBJECTION – ASKED AND ANSWERED! . . . OBJECTION – COUNSEL IS TESTIFYING!! . . . OBJECTION – COUNSEL IS BADGERING THE WITNESS! Rather than thanking me for bringing some procedural order to her show, I usually receive a sharp look from my wife, Carissa, and an objection of her own: “SHUT UP – YOU’RE RUINING THE SHOW.” This is not the first time she has failed to appreciate my gift for elevating the enjoyment of her television watching experience (see here).

Then when Law & Order wraps up, Carissa will let me back in the room and tell me that it’s time we get serious about taking care of some loose ends in our personal lives. We have kids. A house. Things. Stuff. We’ve talked about this a hundred times, she says. We need a will. She looks at me expectantly. I’d like to help, I answer. But I’m really not that kind a lawyer.