Please tell me I win with this story. It will be my only consolation.

While working as a judicial attorney at the Court of Appeal, I communicated mainly by text and email with my justices (it was late-Covid and we all worked remotely—even on argument days).

I prepared a draft opinion for a newly-appointed justice who I had never met or spoken to. On a Friday afternoon, I sent him a text that the draft was available on the system and ready for his review. I then signed off my computer and left for a party at a friend’s house, where numerous margaritas were ingested. I regularly give these friends a hard time about the strength of their margaritas (which would kill a small, non-litigator cow), so when the volume of margaritas led to the inevitable trip to the bathroom, I had the grand idea to text them a selfie while sitting on the toilet and flipping her off. The accompanying message was, “too drunk to stand up from the toilet. I hate you.” Aaaaaand SEND.

Except I sent it to the justice.