TV Attorneys

Fighters fighting fights for you.

Like most people, I have a morning routine. First I wake up, then I go to the bathroom. (Note to fellow seniors: Make sure you do these things in exactly that order.)

Then, after washing my hands thoroughly as far as this Substack essay is concerned, I go to the kitchen to make coffee, because without caffeine I would spend the rest of the day wandering around bumping into things like a human Roomba.

While I’m making coffee I watch the local news on a Miami TV station. I don't really need to do this, because, the local news is always the same:

— The top story is that some idiot shot some other idiot at a bar or nightclub or car wash or wedding or two-year-old's birthday party during some kind of idiot dispute that probably — call me a crazy person — could have been resolved without the use of firearms. Police would like us to give them a call if we know the whereabouts of the shooter idiot. So far, knock on wood, I have never seen him in my kitchen.

— Traffic is backed up from downtown Miami to the Canadian border because some idiot in a car attempted to violate one or more of the established laws of physics. Traffic is also backed up in the other direction because of idiots slowing down to view the accident, which actually was cleared away hours ago and is now just a single traffic cone and some skid marks, but which, to the motorists of Miami, is every bit as fascinating as the Grand Canyon.

-- The weather is warm, as it has been every day down here for the past 15 million consecutive years. All the weather person really has to say is "it's going to be warm again" or "as of 7 a.m., this is still South Florida." But she will take at least ten minutes to get all the way through her forecast because, under the TV Meteorologist Code of Conduct, she must inform the viewers of the exact current temperature in each individual sector of the viewing area, despite the fact that these sectors are all in basically the same place and thus have very similar climates. ("Right now in Hialeah it's a balmy 83 degrees. In East Hialeah you are also enjoying a pleasant 83 degrees, while over in West Hialeah it's already up to 84 degrees. You folks in Hialeah Gardens are enjoying a moderate 83 degrees, and in North Hialeah....")

So the local TV news isn't really news, but I find it reassuring to be reminded each morning that nothing major has changed overnight — that Miami remains the quirky, sun-drenched cavalcade of stupid that over the years has given so much to me as a humor professional.

But here's the thing. More and more lately, after watching the news, I find myself feeling dissatisfied, even angry. Something has been gnawing at my guts like a hungry intestinal beaver, and I have finally realized what it is: I have never received a large cash settlement from an insurance company.

And that just seems wrong.

I say this because of the commercials they show between the news segments. At one time, at least some of these commercials advertised the kinds of products and services South Floridians need, such as cars, boats, roofing, strip clubs, guns, funeral arrangements, buttocks augmentation and iguana removal.

But now virtually all the commercials are the same. They feature a testimonial from a regular person, a person who is just like me, except that, in every single case, he or she has received a large cash settlement from an insurance company.

It's not always clear why. Sometimes the person makes a vague reference to some kind of mishap — a car accident, a slip-and-fall, psoriasis — but often he or she just says something like: "The insurance company didn't want to pay me. So I called Harmon Stangle, and he got me four million dollars. And I didn't have to do a thing! They delivered a duffel bag full of fifties and hundreds right to my Barca-Lounger. Thanks, Harmon Stangle!"

Harmon Stangle (not his real name) is of course an attorney. He's a fighter. You have to have a fighter fighting for you, because otherwise the insurance companies will — How is this even legal? — deliberately try to not give you a large cash settlement. But Harmon Stangle will fight them for you. He will fight them in the courtroom, and if they try to flee he will chase them outside and fight them in the parking lot. He will pummel them with his briefcase until blood spurts from their ears and they have no choice but to give you a large cash settlement. That is how personally Harmon Stangle will take your case, assuming you have a case, which let's not kid ourselves you definitely do.

I consider myself to be a mild-mannered man, the kind of man who goes out of his way to avoid conflict except when the song "I Will Survive" comes on the car radio and my wife wants to turn it up. I am not looking for confrontation. But after being exposed — morning after morning, month after month, year after a year — to a relentless televised drumbeat of testimonials from people who are just like me except that they are satisfied legal clients, I cannot help but ask myself, as I wait for my coffee to be ready: Where is MY large cash settlement? I mean, for decades I've been sending money TO insurance companies, but I never get any money FROM insurance companies. HOW IS THAT FAIR? HOW IS THAT EVEN HAPPENING TO ME IN THE SO-CALLED UNITED STATES OF AMERICA?

So I'm thinking I should call the number on my TV screen. In an ideal scenario, whoever answers the phone will simply take down my name and address so they'll know where to send my cash settlement. But it's possible that they might want to know some more specifics about my case, which means I should probably, as a precaution, have some kind of case.

I've been wracking my brain, and I believe I might have something: I once got hit by a car. Really. This happened in 1996, and I actually documented it at the time in the form of a newspaper column. Here's an excerpt:

I got to thinking about courtesy the other day when a woman hit me with her car. I want to stress that this was totally my fault. I was crossing a street in Miami, in a pedestrian crosswalk, and I saw the woman's car approaching, and like a total idiot, I assumed she would stop. The reason I assumed this — you are going to laugh and laugh — is that there was a stop sign facing her, saying (this is a verbatim quote) "STOP."

I don't know what I was thinking. In Miami, it is not customary to stop for stop signs. The thinking in Miami is, if you stop for a stop sign, the other motorists will assume that you're a tourist and therefore unarmed, and they will help themselves to your money and medically valuable organs.

So there I was, Mr. Stupid Head, expecting a Miami motorist to stop for a stop sign, and the result was that she had to slam on her brakes, and I had to leap backward like a character in a rental movie on rewind, and her car banged into my left knee.

I was shaken, but fortunately I remained calm enough to remember what leading medical authorities advise you to do if you're involved in an accident. "Punch the car," they advise. So I did. I punched the car, and I pointed to the stop sign, and, by way of amplification, I yelled, "THERE'S A STOP SIGN!" The woman then rolled down her window and expressed her deep remorse as follows: "DON'T HIT MY (UNLADYLIKE WORD) CAR, YOU (VERY UNLADYLIKE WORD)!"

I should have yelled a snappy comeback, such as: "OH YEAH? WELL, NOW, IN ADDITION TO MY KNEE, MY HAND HURTS!" But before I could think of anything, she was roaring away, no doubt hoping to get through the next intersection while the light was still red.

I want to stress that even though, as a professional journalist, I lie a lot, what I wrote in that column was absolutely true: I really did get hit by a car. That's the good news, as far as obtaining a large cash settlement is concerned. The bad news, as I see it, is that my case has some weaknesses:

1. It happened in 1996, which might mean that we're past what lawyers call the "statute of limitations" (literally "habeas corpus").

2. I stated that the accident was "totally my fault." This was of course a joke, but insurance companies are not known for their sense of humor, which is why they still think the Geico Gecko is funny.

3. I didn't get the name or license number of the woman who hit me. If she is reading this Substack, I would ask her to do the right thing and send me her contact information, or at least become a paying subscriber.

Speaking of which: It's time now for you paying subscribers, God bless you, to express your views by means of this scientific poll: