Bottom Feeding

Question:  What do you call 10,000 lawyers on the bottom of the sea?

Answer:  A good start.

We’re finally off to the aforementioned good start.  I just mailed a big ‘ol mamajamma of a check to retain my new lawyer, Bob.  So far, I’m pretty sure he’s nifty.  He was recommended by my original lawyer and I’d hire Spencer Pratt if she told me to.

Once I had him on the phone, it took me three attempts at recounting the saga before he understood the circumstances.  When I asked if such a case fell under his umbrella of expertise, he responded by describing our situation as “rather unusual.”  Har dee frickin har har – at least he has a sense of humor.

He wanted to wait and speak with our previous lawyer before fully answering my question, though.  In the end he’s agreed to represent us.  I still have no idea what we’re in for exactly.  It could be as simple as notifying the mortgage companies and letting them hash it all out.  It could involve a whole mess of lawsuits and something called slander of title.  It all sounds about as pleasant as a bikini wax and a few laps in a pool of salty lemon juice to me.  Of course we’ve got no idea how much time or money we’re talking here.  On the plus side, I think we can now officially say that unpacking was the right call.

Speaking of salty citrus, I was pleased to learn Bob likes margaritas.  (What, don’t you ask your potential solicitors what kind of cocktail they prefer?  I think it’s a perfectly valid interview question.)  He likes them “salty and straight”.  Let’s analyze that a moment.

The salt dispute makes total sense to me.  I go through phases, myself.  I think a really tasty margarita can stand on its own without the salt.  On the other hand, a bad margarita’s only hope of salvation is salt.  Salt is like your own personal flotation device out on the margarita sea…better safe than sorry.  Clearly Bob is a pragmatic man that hedges his bets and leaves nothing to chance.

But then there’s the ice factor.  I’ve never met anyone who drinks their margarita without ice.  I can understand both sides of the frozen vs rock debate, but no ice at all?  I guess if you’re billing by the hour, you’re downing those things too fast for them to get warm.  So I would deduce that Bob is efficient and sensitive to deadlines.  Then again, maybe Bob just likes to party.

Further analysis will have to wait until I witness actual margarita consumption.  I’m hoping he prefers his ‘ritas of the good old fashioned lime persuasion.  If he takes it salty, I suppose it’s safe to say he doesn’t use a straw.  I’m pro that as I’m trying to quit the habit for the habitat.  I’d also like to think Bob requests his beverage be served  in a high-ball rather than one of those loopy, leggy margarita glasses.  There’s just something undignified about propping elbows on the bar and leaning over to sip out enough of the magical elixir to avoid a massive spill.  I can’t think of a single person cool enough to pull it off – not even my boyfriend, Rob Patts.  I suspect those glasses are a joke bartenders play on their douchey patrons when they can’t spit in their drinks.  Speaking of douchey, I wonder if I can work some sort of clause into our agreement that returns my retainer in full if I catch him with an umbrella in his drink.

Shit.  Now I really want a margarita.  Let’s see if I can talk Rocco into hitting a mexican joint for lunch.


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