We've all sent invoices to counsel where we knew the call was coming from an irate paralegal wondering why their 350-page overnight rush with 2000 pages of exhibits was so gosh darn expensive, but by that point we're usually at a minimum safe distance from which we can explain the going rate for scopists, proofers, copier repairmen and a lost night's sleep. But as dumb luck would have it, recently I happened to be standing in counsel's reception area on week two of depos when in walks the UPS man with week one's COD.

Of course, the fears prompting the demand for payment up front were well founded. Counsel immediately launches into Lawyer Soft Shoe #47, "Well, my secretary has the checkbook, so I couldn't write a check even if I wanted to," (which he obviously didn't). "I know I ordered a copy, but that's kinda steep, isn't it? I'm good for it, can't you just bill me?" I just shrugged it off and said, "That's the policy," as I watched the hapless dude in brown schlep my copy order back out the door, disappearing in the distance... as did 25% of my paycheck on the O&2. Trust me, I was more comfortable and less p#ssed off last time I was shoehorned into Economy Coach on a trans-Pacific flight than I was at that very moment.

Now, luckily (and I use the term loosely) this was a referral job from an agency in another state not filed in a Texas court, so I can swaddle myself in my warm blankie with the knowledge that this weasel won't have the opportunity to play the "Just Send Me The Original" game, since there's no rule in that state compelling the referring agency to give my work product away to deadbeats; but that only slightly mitigates the fact that out of everyone in that room, I was the only one who, at the whim of another, was making below scale.

"My work is a game, a very serious game." - M.C. Escher