My name is Dave, and I’m a lawyer.
It all started for me when I was watching TV in the 1980s.
The sexual tension of LA Law made me think that if I became a lawyer, I could get laid, like Arnie Becker. Or drive a Porsche. And trade in witty ripostes with former members of the Patridge Family about my penis size.
So I started dabbling in law school. It wasn’t like it was everyday, but it was enough to get my habit started. It was fine at first. I could handle the long terminology and the ethos of mystification. I learned to go to law school freshman orientation camps and vomit through my nose, wipe my face and kiss the girl sitting next to me. So, the lifestyle was cool, and besides, y’know all my friends were doing it and I thought I could quit whenever I wanted to.
Then I graduated. I started working in the law. It was a downer, all day. The symptoms got worse. It started affecting my normal life. I would start sprouting advocacy, closing arguments with Latin quotes, at dinner parties. I would read Civil Procedure texts books - on public transport. People saw me doing it - I didn’t care. I got caught up in the narcissism and supposed grandeur of the stuff.
It got worse. I started specialising. The amount of money I forked out for a post-graduate degree was staggering. The nights got later. I found I didn’t have a life outside of doing law. I was doing it day in, day out. And…oh my God, I started to enjoy wearing neckties.
One morning I found myself lying in bed, dribbling out of the corner of my mouth, dictaphone in my hand, and a copy of Black’s Law Dictionary resting on my chest. The dictaphone had recorded my snoring, muttering, “Res ipsa loquitur…res ipsa loquitur…” in my sleep.
I’m worried that one day I’m going to wake up, put on my wig, jabbar and gown and want to go shopping for a gavel.
sOmEboDy, pLeAsE, hElP mE…