Non-Clients From Hell

CONTENT WARNING: Gross
 

It was a hot and humid day in Mississippi. We had a client, an older gentleman, who was (honestly) just wasting time.

He had a lot of questions about the legal status of churches but no relevant reason to want to know. He mostly wanted to be angry whenever he felt that the answer we gave him was “unjust” or “discriminatory against Christians”.

The paralegal on duty at the front desk was relatively new and didn’t yet have the presence of personality to tell the older man to f*** off. This wasn’t the first time they had a hard time telling a non-client off, and we all wanted them to resolve it themself.

Thus, we were making bets in the back if the old man would leave first, the kid would get upset and ask him to leave first, or if one of the senior partners would come in, notice what was happening, and make the old man leave first.

Suddenly, we became aware of an awful smell, as though someone had the most rancid fart. We looked through the door to the front office and saw the paralegal’s eyes watering. I was selected as the sacrifice to find out what was going on.

What was going on was that the man had soiled himself. He had continued talking to our paralegal, even as it dribbled down the back of his legs, into his shoes, and onto the floor.

I murmured quietly to our paralegal while the man blathered on in the background.

Me: “Tell him to f*** off.”

Paralegal: “He’s a client.”

Me: “He hasn’t paid us anything except s*** yet. Tell him to f*** off.”

Paralegal: “You’re a full associate; I’ve not passed the bar yet.”

Me: “I’ve told people to f*** off for you three times already this week. You’ve got to get the confidence to do it yourself.”

Our paralegal returned their attention to the older guy.

Paralegal: “Sir! Perhaps you’d like to go home and wash up?”

Old Guy: “No. I’m fine.” *Slips back into his complaint*

The paralegal looked to me for help. I rolled my eyes at them.

Me: “Please, sir, leave to wash up. The smell is bothering other clients.”

Old Guy: “Are you saying I stink? I’ve never been so offended!”

Something broke in my paralegal’s heart. They hardened their face. I could almost see them putting together parts of my prior speeches to unproductive not-clients.

Paralegal: “Sir. Kindly f*** off. F*** right the h*** off. F*** right the h*** off and go right the h*** away. We neither need nor want your custom. I understand that you’re very lonely, but unless you’re willing to pay us a retainer and an hourly, f*** off.”

The man started to argue back, but I raised myself to my full height.

Me: “It’s time for you to leave.”

Old Guy: “Okay, okay. You didn’t have to be rude!”

Me: “Yes. We did.”

I locked the door as he left, and then I looked at the muddy trail of s*** across the floor.

Me: “Right. Anyone here got biohazard training?”

A chorus of nos came from the back. I turned to our paralegal.

Me: “First off, great job. In the future, please do that sooner to unproductive clients. Second off, we’re closing the front office until it’s clean. Let’s start rescheduling appointments.”

It took almost four hours for the emergency cleaning crew we called to arrive and start cleaning, during which time we had to endure the rancid human s*** smell hanging in the hot, humid air. But they surprised me by cleaning it up quickly and efficiently and removing all trace of the smell!