Sleep with a lawyer.
Phone calls in the middle of the night scare the shit out of me. And, while it’s usually just Steve in a cab coming home from Nation, or some other unmentionable nonsense, last night was the bad version.
My brother—who I have been posting a lot about lately—called me at 3:30 a.m. He and my cousin were drunk in Weatherford, Oklahoma and were pulled over by a cop. Nate was scared shitless.
Fortunately, there was a lawyer in bed next to me. He recently remarked how it is only in his profession that people can say to you “I hate your fucking guts.” He explained, “I could shovel shit for a living and people must respect it, but because I practice law (for disabled vets, actually) people can just call me an asshole for no reason.”
That is true, yes. Anyway, he saved the day by telling Nate his rights (or lack thereof) and the boys got off with a warning—due also in part to getting a nice cop—rare in OK, I can assure you.
So, ladies and gentleman, they may be assholes, but I really recommend you sleep with one as regularly as possible.