Fuck My Lawyer

After the eight grand I gave him you think he would have gotten me a better deal. That doesn’t even include the tens of thousands my parents had given him over the years. I feel like Brandon and I would have been friends under normal circumstances. Most of my friends were attorneys – the difference was I didn’t need them to defend me in court. Brandon use to be a district attorney for XXXXREDACTEDXXXX , so he definitely use to be good at what he did. I still see him on TV, prompting me to scream “fuck you Brandon!” and change the channel while I adjust the electronic monitoring bracelet around my ankle. The problem was that he’d become an outspoken proponent of legalizing marijuana in the state. He had actually succeeded in the first step of legalising medicinal marijuana and had opened up a firm specializing in XXXXREDACTEDXXXX legalities.

     To be fair I was far from the perfect client. After meeting him to discuss overdosing at my corporate finance office downtown and being charged with possession, I promptly racked up a third DUI when the police smashed the window out of my Volkswagen for an alleged overdose. I mean I was a little blue, but I was still breathing. I wanted Brandon to somehow get the police to pay for my window. Couple this with my erratic late night voicemails after popping Ambien where I outlined possible defense strategies, and I am pretty sure he was convinced I was going to die before my court dates. For my part, I probably should have been worried when I met him in his new office downtown and there was a giant oil painting behind his desk of his new much younger wife. “I don’t know what she wants with me” he said when he caught me “admiring” the busty blonde. Yeah Brandon, who knows what she could possibly want with a wealthy attorney twice her age.
     By the time I was arraigned in March, I had a new lucrative career as an administrator for the largest suboxone practice in the state. I was even back at Pitt, working towards that ever elusive Bachelor’s degree. Now, I had overdosed a couple of more times on Xanax and Suboxone and ended up in the hospital, but at least it wasn’t heroin right?
     When Brandon walked in that morning to the courtroom he was wearing snow boots with his expensive tailored suit. He caught me staring and went into some disjointed explanation about how he’d been shoveling his walk before he came. I looked into his eyes and they were glassy and red. Great, my attorney is going to defend my chemical usage while high on pot, I’m fucked. Brandon starts telling me loudly how he hates this judge, while we sit in the first row of an almost empty courtroom. Apparently the judge always snubs him at the XXXXREDACTEDXXXX downtown. Again, under normal circumstances I may have laughed but we were 30 feet away from the man who had the power to send me to jail. Like any good upscale kid from the suburbs I had avoided incarceration when the charges occurred and simply had the court dates sent to my house in Hampton.
     We finally get in front of the judge and his demeanor changes when he hears that this is my third DUI. He asks me if I’ve been to treatment before and I mention a stint in Greenbriar years ago and decide to leave out the six I’ve been to between then and now. The judge tells me I am going to die. Brandon looks up from his notes and interjects that is actually how he met me years ago when I overdosed in a restaurant parking lot. Not only is this wrong (we met when I was 17 and charged with underage drinking) but it is so far from helpful that I want to wrap my hands around his neck. I’m handed a 25 page dossier in which I have to sign the next 3 years of my life away over to the court. While I am flipping and initialing the judge tells me that I will have to drop out of school and quit my new career. “Doesn’t that seem counter-productive to you?” I slur while still signing my name over and over again. He doesn’t respond so I look up and he’s glaring at me. “We are trying to help you!” he bellows. “Ok, yes I understand your Honor” I whisper. Probably best to keep my snarky comments to myself since my attorney seems to already be doing an outstanding job of making me look like a dick.
     I am convinced that XXXXREDACTEDXXXX Court is waiting for the day when I thank them for all of their unsolicited “help”. They are going to be waiting a long time.
     Fuck you Brandon!

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