At a Saturday night business mixer in Chicago, the room buzzed with chatter, wine glasses, and overly enthusiastic handshakes. Dr. Michael Harris, a respected cardiologist, found himself at a round table with Jonathan Reed, a sharp corporate lawyer who wore confidence like an expensive suit.
“Doctor and lawyer at the same table,” Reed joked. “Feels like the setup for a bad joke.”
Dr. Harris laughed. “Don’t tempt fate.”
But fate needed no tempting. Within minutes, a woman in red leaned over, hand on her chest.
“Excuse me, Doctor. I get this weird pain whenever I climb stairs. Is it serious?”
Dr. Harris forced a smile. “Could be a lot of things. Cut back on caffeine, watch the salt.”
She left beaming, as if he had cured her right there.
Moments later, a balding man appeared. “Doc, I’ve got this burning in my stomach every night. Ulcers?”
“Try avoiding spicy food,” Harris sighed.
The man nodded gratefully and walked off.
Dr. Harris groaned. “This is my life. I can’t eat at a party without becoming a free clinic. Does this happen to you?”
The lawyer grinned. “Oh, all the time. People corner me about divorces, contracts, lawsuits—you name it.”
“And you just… answer them?”
“Of course,” Reed said smoothly. “Then I send them a bill the next day.”
The doctor blinked. “You what?”
“I send a bill. People complain, but they pay. Why should my advice be free?”
The idea was so outrageous, it stuck in Dr. Harris’s head all night.
The next morning, the doctor sat at his kitchen table, scribbling names. Mrs. Green with her knee pain. His neighbor with headaches. The woman with chest pains. The man with ulcers. Twelve people in all.
He wrote up polite little invoices—$50 per “consultation.” Enough to make a point. Guilt tugged at him, but the lawyer’s words echoed: Make them respect your invoice.
With envelopes in hand, he marched to the mailbox. But when he opened it, he froze.
Inside was already an envelope addressed to him.
Curious, he tore it open.
It was an invoice.
From Jonathan Reed, Attorney-at-Law.
Legal Consultation at Chamber of Commerce Mixer: $200.
The doctor nearly dropped it. He replayed the moment in his head. He had asked the lawyer: “Does this happen to you? How do you handle it?”
The lawyer had answered. And now—true to his word—he’d sent the bill.
Dr. Harris laughed so hard his wife thought he had gone mad.
“What’s funny?” she asked.
He held up the invoice. “I just got charged… for complaining about being asked for free advice!”
From then on, the story spread among their friends, turning into a favourite cocktail party joke. The lawyer teased him constantly: “Got my check yet, Doc?”
And the doctor would grin back: “Next time, I’m billing you for blood pressure counseling.”
Because in America, one thing is certain: nothing in life—not even a joke—is free.
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