All my suffering has to be worth something, too!

Not to make light of Jayne Feshold's suffering, but are you kidding me?

After the data technician at University Medical Center complained that her small work cubicle aroused severe anxiety due to her claustrophobia, and proceeded to sue the county for failing to provide her with a more appropriate work environment, the Clark County Commission settled the case for $150,000.

And that prompted an expert in employment law to tell the Review-Journal's Scott Wyland that more people may file lawsuits as a result.

You think?

"You're going to see an upswing," said Robert Spretnak. "The question is going to be whether it's going to be a tremendous upswing or merely a very large upswing."

And the criteria for work-related disabilities covered under the Americans With Disabilities Act are pretty liberal: Apparently, acute depression is a cause of action. And who isn't depressed when they have to go to work instead of, say, playing golf, going to the beach or enjoying a good book?

But thanks to Feshold's groundbreaking case, you can have it all, assuming you can get your case to the point of settlement.

As I began thinking about the ramifications, I spotted a flaw in the plan right away: My private-sector bosses are not going to roll over as easily as, say, the Clark County Commission, which settled the case on the advice of its attorney. (If they hadn't, who knows what a jury would have awarded?)

But, like Feshold, I work in a little cubicle in the Review-Journal's building downtown. And while I never really felt claustrophobic, when I contemplated the number of cigars I could purchase with $150,000, I felt the walls start closing in.

But the law is nothing if not a living thing, and the tiny-cubicle path has already been trod. If I'm going to score really big, I need to beef it up a little.

My bosses insist I meet deadline, which has created an acute anxiety whenever I look at a clock, my watch or the little time display on my computer. That anxiety has got to be worth something, right?

Since my job often requires me to drive our local freeways on company business, I could add an anxiety complaint for dealing with Las Vegas drivers. You know, the tractor-trailer rigs that maneuver like Ferraris to prevent you from passing, or the lane-jumpers who stay in a choked-off lane until the very last second to avoid the long line of suckers who merged miles back. That gets on your nerves, and I figure that's worth about $1 million. (Hey, maybe I could add the Regional Transportation Commission as a defendant; they seem like easy marks.)

Since I appear on TV a couple times a week, I usually have to wear a nice suit, and in Las Vegas' summer heat, that sure makes me feel depressed. And since I found out that workplaces are on the hook for big bucks under the ADA, I'm suddenly developing an acute fear of bright lights and public speaking. That's got to be worth at least a few million, right?

And while the Review-Journal provides plentiful free parking, it's not covered free parking. That means I have to walk back and forth to the building, which puts me at risk for sun-caused cancer, not to mention the acute anxiety of knowing the steering wheel and stick shift will be radiating about 120 degrees at day's end. That's traumatic, and by "traumatic," I mean, "worth about $2 million in mental and emotional damages."  

All I need now is a good (but reasonably priced) lawyer, and I think I could be depressed enough to retire to Napa Valley by December.

Steve Sebelius is a Review-Journal political columnist and author of the blog SlashPolitics.com. Follow him on Twitter at www.Twitter.com/SteveSebelius or reach him at (702) 387-5276 or ssebelius@reviewjournal.com.