“The exhaustion of old age is something people who are younger don’t fully appreciate.”
I have eight appointments on my calendar today, and a needy client clamoring for a ninth. All are virtual, mostly by phone, but that's still quite a lot. Thankfully I'm at the farm, so the view outside is lovely and there's no one bothering me here in this unlit home office.
And I have 241 unread emails as of this moment, after spending all day yesterday deposing the opposing party in a case I'm covering for one of my partners who's home recovering from surgery. The deposition was a complete root canal, with a witness carefully coached never to answer whatever question I posed. The whole charade was exacerbated by the fact that he was an almost indecipherable Aussie who kept calling me "mate" or by my first name, like we were two old buddies going to hoist a pint.
His lawyer, a south Florida stereotype of passive aggressive unprofessionalism, objected to the form of nearly every question over our seven hours together by Zoom.
A bit of explanation here. In a deposition, the lawyer who's not asking questions may object to the form of a question simply by saying "form" on the record. The witness then answers the question, and later if the transcript is used in court the judge will review the question and determine whether there was something about the form that was legitimately objectionable. For instance, maybe it was compound or repetitive or asked a witness to assume a fact that wasn't really a fact.
I use form objections very sparingly, saving them for questions that truly seem meant to trick the witness. But there is another school of thought, advanced by what I've always considered to be the scumbag bar, that you should object to most questions so later maybe you can render the entire transcript worthless as the judge strikes through most questions and responses.
I've only encountered this once or twice in my quarter century of taking depositions, simply because in the Florida panhandle it's considered a waste of time and a sort of sharp-dealing. But this counselor was from Broward County, where they do things a little differently.
So my transcript is peppered with form objections, and exchanges that went like this (actually pretty close to a real exchange late in the deposition).
Me: "How many tons of ilmenite did you have on the pad at your facility in March of 2021."
OC: "Form".
Witness: "Well, your question doesn't make sense, Michael. We didn't agree to sell to your client. There might be some amount of ilmenite out there, but we didn't have a contract. This was just pre-negotiation."
Me: "Our purchase order called for the purchase and sale of 30,000 short tons, correct?"
OC: "Form".
Witness: "I can't really answer that question, mate. You see, we had no contract. This was just pre-negotiation. Your client didn't have all the essential terms of the sale in that PO. And we don't know if he had an end customer."
Me: "Okay. Let's try this. Assume my client sent a PO for 30,000 short tons."
OC: "Form".
Me: "And you turned around and sold 40,000 short tons to someone else."
OC: "Form".
Me: "Would you agree with me that 30 plus 40 equals 70, so to fill both orders you'd have to have 70,000 short tons of ilmenite available."
OC: "Form".
Crocodile Dundee: "Well mate, your question makes no sense. We had no contract with your client. And there's lots of different compositions of ilmenite. We also didn't know your client's end purchaser, if there was one. And how was he going to pay for it?"
Me: "Would you agree that 30 plus 40 equals 70?"
OC: "Objection. Asked and answered."
Me: "No it's not. You can answer."
Waltzing Matilda: "Oy, crikie. I can't really say Michael. I mean, what does that have to do with anything."
Rinse and repeat. For seven hours. I wanted to shoot myself.
But today's another day, begun with me fumbling around in Peg's tractor to re-attach the bush-hog to the quick-connect coupling after it got knocked off last night while she was mowing. I'd never even sat in the John Deere before. It's pretty spiffy.
And now she's on her way out toward the gate to mow that section of Wyldswood, in anticipation of one of my oldest and best friends and his new friend coming to spend the night tonight.
I'll power through my slate of appointments and mass of unread emails, then help her clean up and edge ahead of our guests' arrival. It's not so bad.
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