The Great Rubber Chicken Revolt

Four years ago, I began my career as a legal humorist by speaking to local Rotary, Kiwanis, and Lions Clubs on what is termed the "rubber chicken circuit."  It's called that because, in lieu of a fee,  speakers are compensated with a free meal that almost always consists of a piece of chicken more overdone than the Rocky series of movies.

Back in those early days, I would attempt to choke down my rubber chicken lunch, give a funny speech, and then sell enough books to pay for gas money home.  More often than not, I was unsuccessful on all three counts.

Of course, things are different now.  As a leading legal humorist, I no longer have to depend on book sales (or a siphoning hose) to provide my travel to events.  I am now able to command a reasonable (and whenever possible, unreasonable) fee for my services.

Yet, with all of my "success," one thing still remains the same -- the rubber chicken.  In fact, the dining fare at legal events is even worse than that served at your typical Lions Club, Rotary Club or homeless shelter.  In addition to inedible chicken, I am also served what is supposed to be a salad and dinner rolls hard enough to cut diamonds.  In fact, the fare is so standard that I'm beginning to suspect that an inedible meal is a requirement in every legal organization's bylaws.  Somewhere in the quorum section, it must read:

"Quorum.  A quorum may only be maintained by first serving the members a meal consisting of dry salad, an even drier hunk of chicken, and dinner rolls.  If dinner rolls are unavailable, any brick or rock can be used as a substitute.  Upon the first chipped tooth or broken jaw, the presiding officer shall commence the meeting."

Even worse, I seem to be the only one who isn't thrilled with the meal.  Everyone else at the table seems perfectly content to graze upon a salad which consists of every green plant on the planet but lettuce.  They seem even more pleased as they attempt to break open their dinner rolls with the heels of their shoes.  And they appear almost ecstatic as they attack their chicken entree, which is actually the one way possible to cut through three inches of cremated chicken with a butter knife.

Meanwhile, I'm forced to make excuses as to why I'm not enjoying such a wonderful meal.  "Oh yes, it looks lovely.  I wish I could join you, but I just had my stomach removed last week."  That is, until last week, when I finally reached my breaking point.

I was seated at the head table right next to the president of the organization, who turned to me and said, "I noticed that you haven't touched your food.  Don't you like chicken marsala?"  Without thinking, I replied, "Sure.  I just like having a full set of teeth more."  Before the last syllable left my lips, I knew I had made a huge faux pas (i.e., I hadn't collected the balance of my fee before dinner).

Fortunately, I've become so accustomed to putting my foot in my mouth at these functions that I've begun dipping my shoes in chocolate sauce before leaving the house.  Therefore, I was quickly able to defuse the tension by saying, "You didn't take me seriously, did you?  Remember, I'm a Humor-ist at Law not a Serioust at Law.  Hehe."

And while that did the trick to soften the anger of my dinner companion, it only increased my anger.  As I see it, they simply don't pay me enough to eat these meals.  Think about it.  On Fear Factor, I'd get paid $50,000 to eat a disgusting meal and I wouldn't even have to give a 45-minute speech afterwards.

However, I wasn't just upset for me, I was upset for the attendees at this so-called "banquet."  While I wasn't being paid enough to gnaw on rubber chicken, everyone else had paid a few hundred dollars for the privilege.  This seems backwards even by lawyer standards.

I must confess that I had trouble sleeping that night.  It probably had something to do with the fact that I foolishly attempted to "sample" the dessert served that evening.  It also had something to do with the fact that I simply can't understand why we lawyers put up with these rubber chicken dinners.  Was I absent the day in law school when my classmates had their taste buds removed?  Or is it the case that, after spending years eating tuna fish sandwiches for lunch at their desks, most lawyers are happy with any meal that doesn't come in a plastic wrapper?

In either event, it's time for the members of this learned (and malnourished) profession to take a stand.  More than two centuries ago, brave Americans stormed aboard a ship and dumped crates of tea into the Boston Harbor to protest their dissatisfaction with imperial oppression.  Today, it's time for lawyers to protest our dissatisfaction with gastrointestinal oppression.