By Lisa Henderson-Newlin
I rarely tell people I’m a lawyer. It’s not because I’m ashamed of my profession. On the contrary, I’m proud of it, as my law degree proves I’m capable of a three-year commitment, despite what past boyfriends say.
I just don’t like talking about my job. Depending on the situation, there are times I will admit my career choice, but it’s mostly when I want to point out the absurdity of court proceedings in television programs and movies. (Newsflash: The cross examining lawyer actually has to ask questions and not just hurl accusations.)
One thing is for certain, I never reveal my profession to anyone coming to my house for service calls or repairs. It’s unnecessary and I can’t imagine anything good coming from such disclosure. I refuse to do so because I’m afraid people will think I have more money than I do.
Why? Didn’t you know? Attorneys make millions of dollars and are literally rolling in the dough. I know I wash my dishes with $100 bills, which is probably what clogs my pipes.
Yes, everyone knows attorneys make obscene amounts of money; everyone except my boss and my bank. I guess they didn’t get that memo.
So recently when I had a worker out to the house, I didn’t mention my chosen career. I was afraid he would increase the price if he knew I was part of one of the most joked about professions.
He certainly wouldn’t have guessed what I do based upon my living quarters. I live in a two bedroom, one bathroom home with my husband and three dogs, which means there’s random socks strewn about and a light coating of hair on everything. No matter what he thought I did, cleaning houses wouldn’t be one of them.
The gentleman arrived and I greeted him nicely. His name was Rafael. Actually, I don’t remember his name but Rafael is sassy and has a nice ring to it, so let’s go with that.
Before we go any further, I want to assure you that this tale I’m about to tell actually happened. I didn’t make this up, mostly because I’m just not that clever.
Rafael came over to cut the tree roots away from my sewer lines. I live in an old house with big trees so this has to be done every few years. I feel like there’s a joke here about lawyers being “full of it,” but I’m not going to make it because I’m classy (and because it just isn’t coming to me).
Rafael arrived and immediately went to work cutting the roots. It was a warm day so after a while I took him a bottle of water and asked if he needed anything. I’m not sure what I would have offered other than the water, so I was grateful when he declined anything further.
We began to chat as he drank his water. I pointed out he probably gets to see a lot of houses in his line of work and how that must be an enjoyable part of the job, not that cleaning sewers wouldn’t be fulfilling in itself. He agreed it can be fun to see different houses and interact with different people.
“Do you know what people are the worst to work for?” he asked as he took a swig of fresh spring water?
“No. Who?” I asked, wondering how many bottles of water he was going to down before he finished the project.
“Lawyers. They’re the worst people to work for.”
“Really?” I asked. “Why is that?”
“They’re rude and they always want to negotiate everything. Nothing is ever good enough and they are never happy with the service or the charges. I hate working for lawyers.”
I tried my best to hide a smile, knowing I wasn’t going to volunteer my career choice.
“So,” he said as he finished the bottle of water, “what do you do?”
I debated for a moment as to what to tell him. The options were endless. Sales? Secretary? Store manager? But then I decided to tell him the truth. Why be ashamed of who I was and what I did? I wasn’t ashamed and certainly shouldn’t hide it from Rafael. We had bonded over bottled water and I felt I owed it to him.
“I’m a lawyer,” I replied with a sheepish grin.
The look of horror that came over his face was priceless. Actually, it wasn’t priceless. It was $159 plus tax.
“You are?” He asked in a panicked voice. “I had no idea.”
I assured him it was fine and I wasn’t offended. I also brought him another bottle of water to ensure he knew everything was alright.
However, I suspect Rafael learned a lesson that day. He learned never to complain about a profession until he knows the profession of the person to whom he is complaining. I learned a lesson too. I learned
that if you make someone working on your house feel guilty about mocking you, you can get a discount on sewer work.
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Under Analysis is a nationally syndicated column of The Levison Group. Lisa Henderson-Newlin is a shareholder of the law firm McAnany, Van Cleave, and Phillips. She’s a contributing writer at NickMom.com and writes a humor website, LisaNewlin.com. Contact Lisa at lhenderson@mvplaw.com or contact Under Analysis by email at comments@levisongroup.com.
© 2014 Under Analysis L.L.C.
