Now is a good time to explain how I wound up enrolled in law school. Usually, I tell people that I fell into it solely by default. Certainly, that's part of it. Nobody really selects such a field (nobody you'd want to be within speaking distance of... yes, there are those who "love" this, and they will get their day on this site, just like they will get a special circle in Hell, but that's for a different piece, later). Big commercial law is not a calling like the priesthood or rabbinical studies, or a lifelong goal, like being the next Dan Marino. It's always a lamentable also-ran among the possible careers you could have chosen. Big commercial law is the trash dump for the smart but risk aversive. It's a trash dump for the exceptionally organized and disciplined, but irrevocably uncreative (before you reply, remember, David E. Kelly and John Grisham left law). It's the trash dump for the hopelessly conservative minds who seek - need - to work within the confines of endless regulation. Its hierarchy favors the angry and the jaded - those who'd rather make enemies and tear down than create - those who actually enjoy viewing, if not contributing to, another's bad fortune. And it's also the trash dump for people like me - directionless suburban kids who didn't know any better.

As I stood there before the assembly, scanning my now Miller Lite sodden cranium for some semblance of an intelligent response to the professor's query, I recalled the lyrics to Oh La La. "I wish that I knew what I know now when I was younger..." It was fitting that I'd recall the Faces, a band of talented drunkards whose legacy was a series of reviews from critics about how good they might have been had they actually had some direction. "How great they could have been had they and put down the pint glasses for a moment or two and actually tried to play." Law was certainly not the direction I was seeking, but it was a direction, and that was better than no direction, I figured (also, my father promised to disown me if I tried to make a run for the West to do the ski bum thing). I didn't find law, it found me.

I figured I was a natural for this career. People told me my whole life I "ought to be a lawyer." I liked the sound of my own voice, I could talk, and I had great hair. I successfully played Otter from Animal House most of my life, so I figured doing it for a living was just a natural extension of a many years of truth-twisting. I'd been lying to parents, teachers, girlfriends, doctors, coaches, policemen, professors, deans, bosses and supervisors of every stripe for as long as I could remember. I didn't do this because I had a personality disorder. I wasn't a bad person. I just never paid attention to orders, regulations, directives, plans, procedures or fine print of any kind. I didn't post up when the coach told me to (in fact, I forgot all the plays), I didn't take notes, I didn't tie my tie all the way, I didn't memorize any of the Latin phrases for the quiz and I was always late for assembly. I never committed crimes of intent. I just couldn't be bothered with learning any of the rules. I didn't think I was above them, I just found reading them or understanding them too boring to warrant my time. By the time I was a Junior, I was making excuses to the Panhellic Council on behalf of my fraternity which would have made Otter blush.

"So, for the fourth year straight, your mandatory charity event will be a 'couch jump', which basically equates to placing a couch in the backyard and inviting people to jump over it and donate change as they do so? How is this fulfilling your charter?"

"Well, as you'll see in the slides..."

"These are slides from 1977. These people are wearing bell bottomed pants."

"Oh, excuse me, these slides here... its really a tough cardio exercise. And we have theme mascots who will manage the event..."

"This man here in the rainbow colored pajamas and flight helmet? 'Captain Trips' I think his suit has written on it?"

"He's actually a triathlete sir. He will be running a Knowles program after graduation."

"He has a beer and a cigarette in his hand."

"Did I mention that we've removed the old velour couch and replaced it with a much wider leather couch?"

Law, at least from television, movies and layman's general perceptions, appeared to be more about skirting the rules than following them. If I had no other direction, why not ply my natural talents?

Was I wrong. As I looked around the room I realized these people were different. I knew there'd be a change in the way I did business from here on out.

"I'm __________________. I'm from ______________ and I, it... because, well, it seems to make sense. I mean, religion is not real, and law is real, and the Founding Fathers had the wisdom..."

"Well, how is 'realness' a legal standard?"

Shit, you're way out of your element here. You've also had more than six beers. Say something women will like.

"It's like women needing to be able to choose. It's a constitutional thing. You can't have religion dictating policy..."

"Oh, well now you're onto federalism. It doesn't address the question raised, but lets go with this topic. How would you counter the federalists who say that Roe v. Wade violates states' rights?" He might as well have asked me what menstrual cramps felt like, or quizzed me on the differences between Cambodian coastal and mountain dialects. Shit, where's that kid in the pink polo shirt who asked me to join that federalist club? Raise your hand, kid, come on... somebody, raise your hand. Hook a brother up.

The room was dead silent. What was I thinking? This was not ______ University anymore. This was law school, in God country. These people were arch-conservatives. If I didn't get a helping hand on the school prayer thing, why in the hell did I think an abortion rights plank would command a round of applause? At the rate I was going, I'd be lucky to get a hand job from the granola girl in the back before the end of the term.

"Well, I just disagree."

"Uh, thank you. That, people, is a light example of the Socratic Method."

I understood why they forced him to drink hemlock. This was going to be a long three years.

I excused myself from the table, grabbed another beer and went outside for a smoke. I took a walk around the building, rethinking my decision to go to law school. When I went back inside, dinner had ended and everyone was finishing off the last of the wine and beer.

"Nice answer. My name's Wallace. Come on, some people are going to a local bar." Wallace was a 2L who was very obviously preying on female 1Ls, and he had a pile in tow. I'd be fool to turn down his invitation.

After about seven more beers at Chasers, and fifteen failed pick-up lines between us, Wallace and I were left at the bar with four obviously desperate 1Ls. They were the bottom of the barrel, but who else was I going to get? I was now the heathen abortionist on a campus of future Robert Borks.

Katherine was a large Irish girl. She had a very pretty face, but it came with an immense backyard she carried on a set of piano legs. She was what your grandmother would have politely called "big boned." Only very big boned. We knocked back a few more beers and slurred back and forth about the usual pre-hook up subjects (hometown, dreams, desires, career goals, whatever, etc.). Eventually we wound up making out in the ladies room.

"Lets go back to my place," I stuttered like some cirrhotic Joyce-ian troll.

"I can't. My car's back at the library. Will you walk me back?"

"Just leave it."

"My folks expect me home."

"But you're drunk as hell."

"I just have to make sure I'm home before six, when my father gets up."

When did I go back to high school? I must be in a time warp. "Fine, lets go to your car." Was I really going to hook up in a car? Sure I was. I was shitfaced and horny - if this is a time warp, I must go with it. I am being forced by a higher power. The guideposts are unmistakable.

To Be Continued

Posted by PhilaLawyer at 12:26 AM

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