When I was a college freshman I had a summer job at a New York law firm that defended most of the medical malpractices cases in the state. I did scut work: filed papers, answered phones, and arranged deposition dates. But the firm belonged to a friend of my father, and so my not-too-exacting duties also included accompanying that veteran advocate to expensive lunches with his medical clients.
Our doctors’ primary mealtime theme was the unbelievable ingratitude of . . .
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