Kafkett versus
Kafkett
by Dimitry
Partsi
Kafkett and
his desk, a faux-wood beast on squeaky casters,
arrived on the 17th floor at 9:04 a.m. Kafkett, a
man with a perpetually surprised expression,
considered himself a legal force of natur. A
legal beagle, as he sometimes called himself.
His first stop was Zenith Innovations &
Futures, where a slick-haired receptionist named
Chad eyed the desk with irony. “Bringing
your own workspace, bro? That’s a vibe,”
Chad said.
“Is not vibe, is law office,” Kafkett
corrected, placing both hands on his desk like a
king addressing court. “Have you been sued,
but don;t know it yet?”
“Gonna stop you there,” Chad said.
“We’re good. Our legal team is fully
gamified and blockchain-integrated.”
“I see,” Kafkett said, a flicker of
hurt in his eyes. “You force my hand. Zenith
Innovations versus Kafkett! For wasting my
valuable time! You will be responsible for all
costs.”
“Costs for what?” Chad asked.
“Snacks, for one,” Kafkett said gravely.
“Deposition is hungry work.”
After being escorted out, his next target was
SynerCorp Global Solutions. He rolled his desk
toward a wide-eyed woman named Kathy, who put a
caller on hold. “Can I… help you?”
“I am here to take on your case,”
Kafkett announced. “For you, against you,
perhaps even diagonally. We are flexible.”
“We have a legal department,” Kathy
said, her hand inching towards the phone.
Kafkett sighed, profoundly disappointed. “You
leave me no choice. We will now be forced to sue
on your behalf.”
Kathy frowned. “Sue who on our behalf?”
“Myself,” Kafkett declared. “SynerCorp
Global Solutions vs. Kafkett. For emotional
distress caused by your rejection. I know all my
own weaknesses. The discovery process will be
devastatingly efficient.”
As Kathy dialed security, Kafkett’s final
target was the most ambitious: the law firm of
Sterling, Finch, & Hurst. He rolled his desk
into the office until stopped by a skeletal man
in pinstripes, Mr. Hurst.
“What, in God’s name, is this?”
Hurst asked, his voice like gravel.
“This,” Kafkett said, gesturing grandly,
“is justice.”
“Get out of my office before I have you
sanctioned into the next century.”
Kafkett shook his head. “You are making a
mistake I must now rectify. Sterling, Finch,
& Hurst versus Kafkett. For… for being
mean.”
Hurst actually took a step back. “You can’t
sue yourself on our behalf for ‘being mean’!
There’s no standing! It’s gibberish!”
“Standing?” Kafkett scoffed. “I am
standing right here. With desk. And is not
gibberish, is opening statement.”
Mr. Hurst, a man who had faced down federal
prosecutors, looked truly broken. The sheer
absurdity short-circuited his legal mind. He
reached into his wallet and pulled out two crisp
one-hundred-dollar bills.
“Here,” he croaked. “This is a
retainer.”
“You are retaining me?”
“I am retaining you,” Hurst whispered,
“to not sue yourself on my behalf. Ever.”
Victory. Kafkett pocketed the money. “A wise
decision. My case against myself was very strong.
I would have destroyed me.” The squeaky
wheel sang its triumph as he rolled toward the
elevator, a fully-retained legal beagle.
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