You wouldn’t know me, to drive behind me in my boring-looking gold Jetta wagon, with 80,000 miles and several nicks and dings and counting. But then I cut in front of you, one hand on the wheel, the other on the windowsill, tapping my fingers to the Beasties and Bosstones blaring from the radio, and singing “you can’t, you won’t, you don’t stop!” at the top of my lungs. Or maybe I sped by you on the left, one hand on the wheel, as I eat my large roast beef with sauce and cheese on an onion roll, and inhale the salty air of high tide on the harbor inlet. In any event, pull alongside me, and you see a 33 year old, slightly overweight woman in a silk sweater and pretty earrings, who’s been pounding out coverage opinions all day. It’s in my driving, and my singing at the top of my lungs, and in the way I laugh, more freely than usual, that tells you my inner seventeen year old is thrilled. It’s a beautiful day and I’m driving fast and singing loud, because despite that annoying coverage opinion, we won our case. (“Won” being insurance defense attorney-speak for “settled for less than we offered before jury deliberations” plus the jurors told us they would have found for us on comparative negligence and stiffed the guy on 3 of the 4 damages counts, and that the deciding factors were the cross-examination you did, and the cross points you gave to the partner with you to make.) It’s enough to make even analyzing competing coverage and exclusion clauses exciting.
Yeah– you can’t, you won’t, you don’t stop the legal geekery.