Mitchell’s Malarkey

CALL ME MAUDE

“Misery loves company” is an immutable law of human nature. It also serves as the only explanation for the radical shift in the composition of my friend group, which is now 90% attorneys or their spouses. Seriously, despite the fact that I have developed a number of meaningful friendships with non-lawyers in my life, I have somehow found myself always surrounded by lawyers or the lawyer adjacent. I blame law school, at least in part. From day one, their stated goal was to rewire our brains to “think like lawyers,” which they defined as being “critical thinkers and problem solvers.” That’s a load of crap. What they really meant was, “Be neurotic.” In my case, they succeeded.

I have become the person who can’t help but discuss work in social settings. My pastimes are trash talking difficult opposing counsel and deleting emails. I now walk into a room and immediately identify risks. Seriously, if I had a dollar for every time I’ve walked into a store and said to myself something like “those steps are uneven” or “that sidewalk is too slick,” my retirement account wouldn’t be such a reminder of my many failures. I have become a paranoid curmudgeon. “No” is my favorite answer.

Notice my repeated use of “have become” in the preceding paragraph. In all honestly, that may not be a fair use of that verb tense. The truth is, I don’t really remember what I was like before I became a lawyer. Did my personality lead me to this profession or was it the other way around? This question is an interesting exercise in introspection, which is something most of us should do more often.

I’ve considered the issue more times than I can count, but I was most recently faced with it this weekend when a friend (also an attorney) asked everyone in our group text (also attorneys) to name ten T.V. shows “that would explain your personality.” There are no time or genre limitations, and the basic idea is that someone wanting to know more about you could watch these shows and get a feel for who you are what you’re about. Like Buzzfeed clickbait, I’m a sucker for creating these kinds of lists, so I couldn’t help but participate.

This group text where I was first introduced to this exercise has an unwritten confidentiality rule, so its constituent members will remain anonymous (unless you cross me). Lucky for them because their lists were hilarious, sometimes scary, but totally on point. Each had at least two shocking titles. Some of the more notable ones were Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Supermarket Sweep, Lost, and Dr. Phil. Honest to God, that Dr. Phil or a show about a teenage vampire hunter would explain you as a person is frightening for many reasons, and going forward, I will approach my friendship with the Lost sympathizer with the utmost caution.

Fortunately for my friends, my list was equally as embarrassing. Because I have no shame and anonymity is the antithesis of what I signed up for when I agreed to do this monthly column, here are my choices in no particular order: The Golden Girls, The Critic, East Bound and Down, Curb Your Enthusiasm, Seinfeld, King of the Hill, The Righteous Gemstones, Judge Judy, The Real Housewives of Atlanta, and Nash Bridges.

I’ll spare you the rationale for each, but suffice it to say, these create an interesting profile: female, mid-sixties, erratic, loves canasta, and bitter. I’ll admit that some are aspirational. East Bound and Down, for example, doesn’t necessarily describe me. Kenny Powers and I share an accent and have similarly limited vocabularies, and while we both have strong senses of justice, we right wrongs in different ways. Kenny trashes your car or knocks out your eye with a fastball. Meanwhile, I ignore emails and hold grudges. The largest personal escalation I can remember is stealing my mom’s Hootie and the Blowfish tapes after she took away my Gameboy. Others on my list are more personal. The Golden Girls, for example, (weird as it may be) has deep personal ties to the especially close relationship I had with my paternal grandmother. This show was one of her favorites. We watched countless episodes in her living room, and everyone in our small, unincorporated community of Irving College, Tennessee, which is just ten miles (give or take) outside the epicenter of Southeast Middle Tennessee, McMinnville, referred to my grandmother’s immediate friend group, which was comprised of my Great Aunt Wavie (that was her God-given name) and my Aunt Gladys, as the “Golden Girls.” My grandmother was always partial to Bea Arthur’s character, Dorothy. She always called me her “Maude,” having been a devoted viewer of the Norman Lear show of the same name that Bea Arthur headlined in the 1970s.

Identifying with Dorothy made sense. She and my grandmother shared a number of similarities. They were both tall, thin, and had beautiful white hair—often in a perm so tight that no modern-day chemical could replicate. Beyond their physical similarities, they shared several personality traits as well. Both were sharp as tacks, full of oneliners, suffered no fools, and lacked any fashion sense. I can relate with some of those characteristics. I don’t have the brains, thin frame, or the perm, but I do have a low threshold for ignorance and despise bullies, and no one has ever remarked favorably on my fashion choices. (My favorite articles of clothing are gym shorts and short-sleeve button-ups.)

By now, most of you are wondering is there a point to this article? To that I say two things. First, no. Second, you were warned. In last month’s opener, I told you that this column would provide no benefit— personally or professionally. I’m just following through on that promise. That said, I will leave you with this challenge: make your own list. It might surprise you. But one word of caution: respect yourself enough not to share it with the entire bar.

MITCHELL’S MALARKEY By: T. Mitchell Panter

Lewis Thomason, P.C.