“My lease says no pets allowed, but that’s only for like really big dogs—right?” You take a deep breath, look at your inquisitor and wonder anew why you left the comfort of your home for this cocktail party. At home, no one asks you legal questions.
If anything, family members generally want you to keep your overeducated mouth shut and cease and desist from explaining the news, lecturing them on why the logic of their position is flawed or ruining their favorite legal procedural TV show. But at social gatherings, when people learn you have a law degree, it’s as if you opened your own solo practice with a splashy ad: “The Lawyer Is In.”
If you’re a lawyer, heck, even if you’re a law student, you’ve no doubt encountered this phenomenon. Because people have legal problems, and they want them solved—at a social gathering and for free ideally.
The problem is people don’t realize that “the law” is not a finite thing, enshrined in a tome no bigger than a comic book and memorized in its entirety by all lawyers. People can’t fathom that most lawyers don’t know the Constitution by heart. Nor do they grasp that there are many different areas of the law and many types of lawyers. Indeed, the fact that every lawyer isn’t equipped to offer precision advice on matters ranging from bankruptcy to criminal possession of an endangered species would surprise most laypersons.
The fact that this is so, however, does not magically extricate you from this situation.
Accordingly, you look at your inquisitor and find yourself wondering whether media reports about failing literacy rates are underreporting the problem. But then you shrug this off. Clearly, your inquisitor can read. Indeed, they read the provision of their lease that prohibits pets.
Maybe social media is to blame. These platforms have fostered contrarianism and given rise to people espousing positions at odds with facts. In addition, given how social media has empowered anyone and everyone to voice an opinion about anything no matter how esoteric or abstruse, people have been conditioned to think that any lawyer worth anything should be able to opine on all matters legal in the blink of an eye and in 240 characters or less.
Of course, this is not so. Any lawyer who’s been practicing for more than a minute understands that the amount of legal knowledge they possess is far surpassed by the legal knowledge they do not have. Indeed, lawyers know that even when confronted with an issue in their core area of competence, providing an answer usually is not that simple and often requires a fair amount of research.
But your inquisitor doesn’t know this. All they know is you’re a lawyer, so you must know the answer. And not just any answer. The answer that they want.
Aha! So that’s it. This issue is a function of this person’s sense of entitlement. They want what they want, and the fact that the lease prohibits this they view as a mere inconvenience.
So what do you do? Of course, your first reaction is that you want to shout: “What about ‘no pets’ do you not understand?”
But you resist. Shouting would be an overreaction and would make you seem like a jerk. And as lawyers, we don’t need to give people more fodder for thinking this. They already believe we’re bottom dwellers and parasites. So, yes, while it’s true that a keen legal mind isn’t necessarily needed to handle this particular inquiry, shouting at—or cuffing the ears of—this person would be too much.
Next, you wonder whether you can simply walk away, leaving your inquisitor behind, with their question unresolved. But, again, you worry that this would make you seem like a callous villain, even though it would be an awesome power move that a movie character would employ.
Accordingly, you take a deep breath and consider how best to respond without alienating this person or the party’s host(s). Above all else, you search for a response that will keep this encounter as brief as possible, so you can return to your appetizer, your drink and either the company of the friend(s) joining you at the event or, better yet, your phone, which is a limitless source of distraction from the discomfort you feel by virtue of being forced to be at the event, rather than in the comfort of your own home.
But before you respond, there are some other factors to consider.
First, unless you relish the idea of taking on the cutting-edge case of Clueless Big Dog Owner v. Landlord, it is important to be careful about making statements or taking actions that imply the creation of an attorney-client relationship or even lend to the situation being considered a consultation. See generally Richards v. Kallish (analyzing factors considered to determine whether attorney-client relationship exists) and Comment 2 of ABA Model Rule 1.18 (“A consultation is likely to have occurred if a lawyer, either in person or through the lawyer’s advertising in any medium, specifically requests or invites the submission of information about a potential representation without clear and reasonably understandable warnings and cautionary statements that limit the lawyer’s obligations, and a person provides information in response.”).
On the other hand, just because you’re not interested in taking on Big Dog Owner’s matter doesn’t mean that you can’t be helpful. If you know of another attorney who might be suited for this matter, you could suggest that your inquisitor contact that lawyer. Of course, you may wish to investigate whether your lawyer friend really does want this matter before sending the inquisitor his or her way. No need to ruin that friendship by sending them a dog of a case without first giving them a chance to beg off.
Alternatively, you might suggest that your inquisitor check the lawyer referral directory for your local bar association or the ABA. In this manner, you can be helpful without buying yourself the headache of Frustrated Dog Owner as your client. Who knows? The goodwill you engender from this suggestion may net you future referrals and/or business from this person in future (though, no doubt, you’d like to avoid a steady stream of hapless and hopeless cases).
So choose your path, but choose wisely. Otherwise, you may find yourself embroiled in the case of Clueless Big Dog Owner v. Landlord for years to come (which, of course, will be measured in dog-years).
Alex Barnett is a partner at DiCello Levitt, where he focuses on complex, class action litigation and representing those injured by antitrust violations.
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