Saturday, July 20, 2013

The View Through The Rear-View Mirror

As of approximately 2:30 PM yesterday the Missus and I no longer owned our little corner slice of paradise at 57 Delaware Avenue.  Papers were signed.  Checks were furnished.  Keys, garage door openers and Margaret's magic book of contractor names and the work performed on our watch were all transferred from us to her new owner.  We shook hands.  We wished him well. 
I cannot foresee the circumstances under which I shall ever be in the same place as he is again, which is fine.  Ours was a commercial, professional relationship.  It was not a personal one.  We were parties to a transaction.  We were not friends at a dinner party.  That being said, I told him that I hope he has as much happiness and luck on his watch there as we did on ours.  And to paraphrase my favorite elephant Horton (Who did you think - Babar?  What a poser with the crown and all that attendant bullshit), I meant what I said and I said what I meant.
The deal was closed in spite of the fact that the attorney who ended up handling the closing on the buyer's behalf was not the man with whom my partner Louis Karp had dealt for the past forty-five days but was instead one of his partners.  I suppose there was a time in his career when this asshole might have been then all that.  Then again, he might simply have always been a man impressed with not only the manner in which his mirror reflected his image, but how much larger it made him appear.  Either way, he has reached the point in his career where he is cruising in the far right lane with his hazard lights illuminated. 
His comportment is not simply unpleasant, it is unprofessional.  One might have thought that in the company of not one  - but two - fellow members of the Bar he might have displayed a modicum of professional courtesy.  Nope.  In the ten minutes or so that all parties to the transaction and our respective counsel spent in the same room he managed to say not one - but two - insulting things to my wife.  The response to both affronts  - including from his own client - was swift.  And appropriate.  The apology?  We left the closing without bothering to wait for its arrival.  We had on good authority that it never would have made an appearance.
Happiness is a completed transaction.  And given that my career extends far beyond the geographical boundaries of the little 'burg that I involuntarily call home, I will likely never have to spend a minute in the company of this old douchebag again.  I kind of, sort of hope that I do.  I have a list of ass wipes whose names appear on my list of "People Whose Larynxes I Would Like to Collapse" and this old jagoff has earned a spot on it. 
I am even thinking of going through the list in reverse alphabetical order simply so that I can be certain to reach him before he dies.  An arrogant, unprofessional fuck.  I almost wish that I had any reason - as a lawyer - to dip my toe into the kiddie pool where he is swimming out the end of his career.  It would be a great pleasure - lawyer to lawyer - to kick his balls directly up through the roof of his mouth. 
For now, I shall derive satisfaction from the fact that he alone failed to comprehend what everyone else in that closing knew - some of us before he opened his mouth AND all of us once he did:  He cannot in this lifetime or the next one hold a candle to my wife.  Not today.  Not ever. 

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