One Lawyer’s Secret Weapon

First, a pop quiz:

Question One: What do you do when you’re trying to negotiate with an opposing lawyer over something small, but important–say an extension to respond to discovery–which, among professionals–people who wear white collars and silk ties to work, who attended years and years of expensive schooling, passed excruciatingly difficult examinations, swore an ethical oath–would seem to be an easy thing to agree upon–what do you do when this opposing lawyer unreasonably refuses, without any explanation, this simple, routine request?

Question Two: What do you do when you’re sitting across from that same lawyer in a cramped conference room, taking his client’s deposition and, over the course of several hours, he repeatedly insults and demeans you, challenges you to justify every third question, asks no less than five times “how much longer” you’re going to be, persistently interrupts you mid-question to interject the start of what will surely be a long, inappropriate speaking objection, and instructs his client not to answer at least seventeen times?

These questions are not directed to what you do the next day, or whenever you ultimately resort to serving objections, or moving the court to compel answers to the deposition questions and seeking sanctions, or asking the court to appoint a discovery referee.  I’m asking what do you do in the heat of the moment, while your heart rate is still elevated.

If you’re me–and believe me I’m not bragging here–you take everything personally, get pissed off, turn beet red and start talking with the snappy sarcasm of a desperate salesman in a Mamet play. You see: I haven’t mastered the Secret Weapon. I can talk a good game. I’ve written over and over about the wisdom of maintaining a professional, cooperative demeanor in litigation. But when the rubber meets the road I struggle to avoid stooping to an unprofessional opponent’s level, or (gasp) worse. No, I haven’t yet mastered the Secret Weapon.

But you can. The good news is that YOU CAN master the Secret Weapon. When the lawyer I’m thinking of is faced with the above, or worse, he pulls out his Secret Weapon and does this: he simply acts nice. He meets rudeness, lack of professionalism–you name it–with an oversized bucketful of fluffy pink kindness.

It’s impressive to see. Picture Roger Federer being pelted with a barrage of ugly, aggressive cross-court winners and absorbing and converting the energy, speed and spin of each angry ball, only to gracefully return it with nothing more than an easy, gentle lob. In fact, like CIA assassin Jason Bourne, whose manner of calm resolve seems actually to increase in a disturbing direct proportion to any rising threat of imminent capture or death, this lawyer’s attitude of kind, gracious, solicitude seems to actually grow in direct proportion to the lack of professionalism of an opponent.

He invariably takes the high road. He literally kills them with kindness. Is it always easy for him? I doubt it. Is he sincere in his “attitude of kind, gracious, solicitude”? Who cares. He’s getting the job done. In most encounters, his weapon immediately deflates a situation that in my fat, clumsy hands would become a runaway train wreck. It works. It really does. Try it next time you’re dealing with a total asshole less than professional member of our profession, you’ll see.