Process Servers Only
Or the story of how I would become a process server
"Hey, miss." He was broad shouldered, with a bushy moustache and a steel coffee mug that said he meant business. "This coffee is for real process servers only."
It was the Bench Cafe, not really a cafe but a small corner shop where all of the lawyers, judges, paralegals, and process servers who worked downtown went to fuel up and recharge between cases. I'd seen this guy a few times before, and he was always giving me a hard time.
"It takes a man to do this work," he would say.
I thought about going someplace else for a while, but it didn't feel right to cave to these assholes.
I'd been serving papers for a few months, slowly building up my client list by going door to door and introducing myself. It was tough at first, but I kept going no matter what I encountered and had some help from Process Server 101's blog about how to become a process server.
It was tough work but I loved it. The stakeouts, the hours spent drinking coffee and listening to talk radio in the front seat of my old Bronco. I knew the process server business was for me the moment I served my first papers.
But there are always people who want to drag you down, shit on your game.
And there he was, by the coffee machine.
"Don't cry," he said. "Listen, we'll help you. You have any real tough papers that need served you just let me know, okay?"
I watched the steam rise from my coffee and for a moment thought about pouring it down the front of his pants. But a process server needs a clean record, and losing my cool would only feed his ego.
He followed me to the counter and was watching me pay, I counted the coins slowly, just as Barbara Hattingfield entered the shop.
She was the top divorce attorney in town, and every process server wanted to work with her.
She wasted no time approaching moustache man. "Where have you been?" She demanded. "The Johnson case is still waiting to be served and your over here screwing around at the corner store."
He only managed a stammer before she interrupted.
"I need you on the road," she said. "That case was supposed to be served yesterday."
"They're never home." He shrugged and sipped his coffee. "They're like ghosts."
She let out an exhausted sigh. "Can't anyone get these people served?"
I raised my hand like in school. "I can."
He snorted.
"And who are you?" she asked.
My reply: "I'm the process server that's going to serve those papers today."
"What the hell?" she said. "At this point I'll take a chance."
Moustache man was floored, and could only mumble a few words as I followed her back to her office.
I served the case that day, and in doing so scored one of the best clients in the city.
And no one ever hassled me about coffee ever again.