ROGER MORONEY: Just a teensy bit of pain for a heap of gain

I 've just finished doing the sums and I like what I see. Basically, by Christmas I will have about $3 million, although I'll have to carve 20 or so percent of that off for my lawyer.
But it'll still be enough to buy a large Italian motorcycle, which I'll pick up personally from the factory, while visiting our summer villa nearby.
It seems to me that making money is easy. All you have to do is hurt yourself and blame someone else for it.
That's the upside. The downside is I'll have to go to New York to carry out this remarkably simple, yet effective, means of stuffing my bank account with dosh.
Although spending a fortnight in the Big Apple is not really a downside it's just that I will have to give the old credit card a bit of a thrashing for the air fares until I start pulling the moolah in, and they probably won't have the rugger on despite the joint having 40 or 50 channels.
But anyway, one has to speculate to accumulate. One also has to suffer for one's avarice, but I'm prepared for that. I am a veteran of five fractured bones and several dozen stitches and I am good and ready for another hospital visit.
And after that comes the real nuts and bolts of the scheme. A visit to my New York lawyer, Seymour D'Amages. He's a good bloke who, while no longer in the business of barristing, has been known to occasionally solicit.
Seymour is brilliant, and if he could he would work the American legal system to the limit. But he can't you see, because in the land of litigation there is no limit.
Slapping a lawsuit on corporations with fat wallets is the right of every American. They also have the right to bear arms and the right to remain silent despite having the most damning evidence of guilt shoved in their faces.
P eople are taught to spill hot coffee on themselves or bite into hot cheese on tuna melts from the age of four. By the age of seven they are encouraged to make their first damages claim. By the age of 11 they will have their own house.
It can't fail, as this story which appeared over the newswire earlier this week shows.
A New York lawyer (not Seymour, by the way) took out a damages claim against the Starbucks coffee chain and was awarded the very healthy sum of US$300,000 - that's NZ$478,850.
Why did he receive this amount? Did he lose a hand to a clumsy waiter who slipped while slicing the lawyer's muffin in half?
Did he lose the sight of one eye after a coffee bean was spat out of the grinder?
No, your honour. He was burned on the foot after coffee was accidentally spilled.
A foot. A burn. A petulant loudmouth New York lawyer. That equals payday!
Now one could easily become cynical over such an incident, but if it means the difference between an apology and buying a house freehold then, well, ask yourself. However, it has to be pointed out that a Supreme Court judge has agreed to reduce the damages payout after Starbucks' lawyer appealed.
But Mr "Oh, My - I'll Be Scarred For Life!" will still get a pretty penny.
So, inspired by these events, I shall embark on a misadventurous tour of New York. Alighting from the taxi after arriving at my hotel I shall clatter my shin on the "poorly designed" car door. A door devoid of warnings that it could be dangerous. Trauma and physical pain : One million big ones, thanks.
After hobbling out later to explore this exciting metropolis I turn my ankle after striking an uneven slab of pavement which should have been repaired. Trauma, physical pain and public humiliation: One million dolleros, thanks. Trying to relax in a bar I fall victim to being lulled into a false sense of sobriety as there are no "don't drink too many" warnings on the bottles. Massive headache next morning convinces me I have suffered brain injury of some kind. The stress and worry is overwhelming as I seek medical help, only to walk into a bathroom door devoid of warnings that "when closed could be hazardous if walked into".
Physical pain, mental anguish, trauma and laundry bill for drink stains down front of shirt: One million gazoolas, thank you.
Three minutes with Seymour D'Amages and it's three million bucks.
You know it makes sense. See you in Barbados.