7:41 a.m. Back a few months ago I had to take a statement regarding a disability claim. My Subject was not only a lawyer, he was a medical malpractice lawyer. He was not only a medical malpractice lawyer, he was an angry medical malpractice lawyer. The first time I called him to set up an appointment, I barely said hello before he started complaining to me about how long it was taking for his claim to come through. I attempted to set up an appointment for a statement and he flat out refused... saying he was not obligated to provide a statement, just his medical bills and diagnoses. He was absolutely right. Tricky, clever lawyer. So, I tried to joke around with him a bit and his response was deadpan. "I don't appreciate you laughing at my pain and suffering." Oh, man. Time to get off the phone before I get my company and the insurance company sued.
I figure that I am done with that case and I send in an update advising to terminate the investigation on Lawyer Boy. A half hour later, Lawyer Boy calls me back and says that he changed his mind and would provide a statement. I set up an appointment with him for the following day.
I arrive at Lawyer Boy's house with my computer and printer. He answers the door. Is it my imagination or does he look like a rat? I am waiting for him to wrinkle his nose and twitch his whiskers... maybe grab a handful of sunflower seeds and look around nervously as he chews. His wife walks in and looks at him contemptuously. She smiles at me and offers a drink or some refreshments. A perfect hostess with thinly veiled hostility. I don't think it's directed at me, though. She seems to be angry with Lawyer Boy. She indicates that it has been difficult financially and otherwise because her husband isn't working as much. "Please, help him get back to work. He's driving me crazy." I think she is kidding at first, but she is not smiling. Wow.
Lawyer Boy tells me he has to use a cane, but not in the house. I look around and see physical therapy equipment lying out in plain sight...almost as if it was staged. He sits down at the table and we begin the interview. He talks a lot. Good thing I'm a fast typist. I try to keep him on track as he likes to go on indignant tangents about being treated like a criminal and he paid his premiums for years so he's entitled to this payout...blah blah blah. He tells me that he is in pain every day. "In fact, as we speak my left leg has shooting pains that are making it difficult for me to concentrate." He winces. So do I.
Two hours later, I am finished. I wipe my sweaty brow and hit the print button on my word processor. As it's printing, Lawyer Boy suddenly balks. "I am not signing that thing. I've been here for two hours and I'm too tired to read it over and make sure it's accurate. Besides, I'm on pain medication. See?" He drops his pants and shows me a narcotic patch on his left buttock. Huh. I didn't need to see that.
Tricky, crafty, clever lawyer. Even if he DID sign the statement at this point it would be moot. He is on drugs and so none of the horse pucky he's been spewing at me over the past two hours is worth diddly in a legal sense. I am not liking Lawyer Boy. But I have to say I have a newfound respect for his capacity for evil.
That is not the end of the story with Lawyer Boy. He comes back to haunt me a few months later, but I'll tell that story some other time.