Thank you. Thank you very much. But how often do we experience gratitude from our clients? Actually sometimes they do make your day.
George owned a coffee and doughnut franchise. Whenever he came to my office, he would bring us a box of fresh doughnuts. Once I joked with him while munching on a scrumptious walnut cruller, telling him my meter was running. He returned the compliment by quickly closing the box with my hand still in it fishing for a second.
Once he actually arrived doughnut-free. I got alarmed, wondering what I did wrong. Did I not return his phone messages quickly enough? Or did I keep him waiting at reception too long? Or did he not like the psychiatrist I sent him to for an assessment? Who knows? Maybe the shrink gave him a good work-over, asking all those personal questions such as, “Did you have a good relationship with your mother?” George then said to himself, “Who is this guy? That’s it. No more doughnuts for Strigberger.”
Food was indeed a common show of gratitude. Some clients took me for lunch. One, Max, took me to two lunches, for the same lunch. After a successful morning motion argument, he asked me to join him for lunch at a nearby restaurant in Toronto’s Chinatown. When he asked, I told him the veggie tofu was excellent. He took that comment to heart.
After the lunch, when I returned from the washroom, he handed me a brown bag containing a large order of tofu. I pleaded with him that though delicious I had really had enough tofu for now—I was tofued out. He insisted that I take it home to my wife. My wife actually despises this whitish rubbery substance, claiming it is likely manufactured by Goodyear. For the next three suppers I found myself dining on tofu while visualizing the blimp. More validation that there is no such thing as a free lunch.
Some clients showed their gratitude by offering me unexpected money. I am talking about Dorianne, whom I represented in a farm fire claim when her insurance refused to pay her claim, alleging arson. Dorianne offered to pay me in addition to my fees a “tip” of five per cent on the total recovery. We eventually settled her claim after a few years of litigation for about $100,000. I billed her the regular fee and then naively expected her to say, “And here is your $5000 tip I promised you.” The tip was not forthcoming. I kicked myself, wondering whether I should have noted on the bill, “Tip-5%-8%-10%-Thank you, your server, Marcel.”
I did actually once get a real tip, likely an illegal one at that. While acting as duty counsel I provided legal advice to a gentleman, getting him to reverse his intended guilty plea to an impaired driving charge as he had a strong technical defense. He was so pleased with my advice that he offered me a $50 bill. I told him I could not accept it and fought him off tenaciously as he eventually slipped the banknote into my jacket pocket. My unlawful act has been a complete secret for over 50 years now. And it has bothered me constantly, like that character Rodion Raskolnikov, in Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment, I have chosen now to come clean. Feels good. Phew!
Some clients have expressed their gratitude by offering to provide me their services pro bono. A gentleman in my neighborhood, Angelo, is a handyman superior. He can build or fix virtually anything — the neighborhood Tim Allen. He’s the other end of the spectrum of guys like me who likely sparked that joke, “How many lawyers does it take to change a lightbulb?”
I once resolved an issue with City Hall for him, following which he called me a genius. I did not totally share his assessment, but I did not wish to tell him that and offend his astute judgment. He said to call him anytime if something in my house needs fixing.
He once came to our house to repair a sink and, when he was done, we noticed a parking control officer outside in the process of giving his van a ticket for “illegally parking on the boulevard,” I managed to talk the officer out of issuing the ticket. Though tempted, I refrained from telling the guy something like, “Hold off on that summons. This is Angelo’s van. Know who he is? Ever expect to have a broken sink?”
Some clients expressed their gratitude with words only. They were meaningful and sincere though at times strange. One guy, Nick, was charged with a cluster of offences arising out of him stealing a Corvette and triggering a police chase rivaling the scene in The French Connection. The prosecution was seeking a penitentiary term of two to four years. After complex maneuvering and negotiating, the judge gave him a lighter sentence, a.k.a., a kiss, of one-year incarceration. Nick was ecstatic and couldn’t thank me enough, bellowing in the prisoner’s dock, “One year. Great lawyer. Wow!” (Actually he did not use that three-letter exclamation).
Nick must have been an influencer, as consequently a string of criminal clients approached me, amazed that I was able to get Nick off with one year. Trying hard to maintain my expected humility I told them all anybody could have done it. (Likely even Angelo).
Some of my colleagues had clients whose gratitude was expressed more lavishly than what I experienced. These comrades were invited by their wealthy clients to spend time at luxurious country cottages, onboard fancy yachts or at extravagant country clubs or golf courses. All sounds good but it never happened with me. The only possible chance of my landing a weekend on a yacht would have been had Nick stolen one.
OK I did score a modest $50 tip, which to this day made me feel like Raskolnikov. Speaking of which I don’t even recall what I did with those 50 bucks. I doubt I bought myself a batch of tofu.
This story first appeared in Law 360 (LexisNexis Canada)