Joe grew up in a town so small, the welcome sign just said “Hi.” After escaping to attend college and law school in the big city, he decided to return—because in a tiny town, being mildly impressive meant you were basically royalty. He dreamed of being the legal eagle of Mayberry and set up a shiny new law office, complete with leather chairs, diplomas on the wall, and absolutely no clients.
One day, salvation appeared: a man walking purposefully toward his front door. Joe panicked—in the best way. This was his moment. Showtime. He snatched up his dead phone and launched into the most Oscar-worthy fake phone call ever performed by a lawyer with zero cases.
Waving the visitor in like a hotshot air-traffic controller, he barked into the receiver: “No, no, absolutely not. You tell those Wall Street sharks I won’t budge for less than a million. Yes, the appeals court is hearing it next week—I’m lead counsel. My team? They’re just back-up vocals, I’m the headliner. Oh, and tell the DA I’ll squeeze him in next week between saving justice and lunch.”
For five solid minutes, Joe bluffed like he was playing poker with the Supreme Court.
Finally, he hung up, turned to his guest with a confident smirk, and said, “Apologies for the wait—things are intense around here. What can I do for you?”
The man blinked and said, “I’m from the phone company. I’m here to hook up your line.”
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