One day, while waiting for closing checks to be produced, the other attorney nattered on and on in an effort to fill up every auditory pause and crevice in the room.
She blathered on about replacing the heels of her favorite boots, the price of gas, how she hated her kids’ soccer coach, and something or other she ate the other night that disagreed with her finely tuned digestive system. As best I could tell (I kept zoning in and out of attentiveness to her) the random choice of topics were hers alone, as no one seemed to be encouraging her trivial talk tsunami.
However, she drew my full attention when she started making fun of the “fatty’s class” at her gym, all of who “looked like beached whales flopping around.”
I’d usually object to such cruelty by leaving the room or harrumph-ing a few times, but this despicable talk needed to end here and now! How could this woman be oblivious to the fact that the client sitting at my right elbow probably tipped the scales north of 300 pounds?
“Do you want to continue your chat with your client outside?” I said quite icily, as both her client and the title closer looked like they wanted to slide under the table.
“No. What? Oh. Ha ha,” she said, before looking at my client and cooing, “Nothing personal, you know.”
Bless my client, who responded (holding his check, which the unwitting back attorney had just brought into the room and slid across the table), “I could lose weight, but you’ll never grow a heart.”