Jumping a Moving Car, Badly (Nuggets, Vol. VII) - June 11, 2008

Getting hit by a car the morning of that first interview was probably a sign from above. An omen -- God or nature or whatever cosmic force runs the program giving me a hint, and me too stupid to take it.

It was the summer after graduation. I was living at home, studying for bar exams. People say that's a stressful gig, but it seemed more holiday than anything else.¹ Wake up at 10:00, fix breakfast, go to the gym for an hour, come home, turn on music and study on the deck. When I'd memorized enough material I'd go out with friends or rent a movie. Two nights a week I'd go to a bar review course. It was a great summer... Sunshine, free food and a stack of Allmans and Dead discs playing in the background.² The only annoyance was being penniless. Freeloading whiskeys from friends was terribly embarrassing.

I remember the sun waking me up on the morning of the interview, on a couch in the family room downstairs. Shit. I'd wanted to be up at 8:00, but my watch said 8:45. I had less than an hour to race into Philadelphia, park and run into a law firm in the center of town. I showered, shaved, ran out the door and jumped in the truck. Son of a bitch, I slammed my hand on the dashboard. The gas tank was empty. I'd reminded myself half a dozen times the night before - Make sure the truck has gas... Fill the gas tank... You didn't fill the gas tank yet! The self-nagging was wasted. As soon as I started watching television I forgot about the interview. It's always been like that. Try as I might to stay on focus, the minute anything sidetracked me - a newspaper open on the kitchen counter or a phone call from a friend - I forgot everything I was doing. It was annoying to have to run like a madman to make the interview on time, but I couldn't say it was surprising. I did everything at the last second, and though I never admitted it out loud, that was clearly how I liked things - running, confused, planning as I went. There's a freedom in menacing deadlines. Instinct takes over and all you can do is react... You hope.

On the way to the gas station I reached into the center console to grab a roll of Maalox tablets. It was a bust. All I found were cassettes, credit card bills and change. Motherfucker. There was no way I was going to talk to a bunch of lawyers without those. As the gas tank was filling I darted across the street to a drug store. On the way back, I crossed the street in front of a parked bus, scanning a newspaper as I ran, totally oblivious to everything around me.

That's when I heard the horn.

The car was coming from the left, at just enough speed to maim, cripple and disfigure. Through the windshield I could see the driver... meeting my eyes, cringing in horror and slamming the brakes in what was obviously too little space. Shit. I'm going to have to jump on the fucker... That or it's going to break my legs.

I threw the newspaper into the air and leapt with everything I had. It wasn't enough. The top of the grill slammed into my left ankle and I'd probably have bought it right there - face-planted straight into the hood - if I wasn't wearing dress shoes, lace-ups to be exact, which happen to be excellent for car jumping (at least with moving vehicles). The sharp rubber heel of the shoe dug into the car's hood, pitching me forward like a gear, driven ahead by the adverse force below. And I might have kept going, run right over the car. ...If the damned thing hadn't stopped just as I was stepping over it, stealing my momentum, leaving me to bounce off hood and roll into the street.

This is going to hurt later, when the adrenaline fades. I jumped up from the pavement and brushed myself off. "Are you alright? I am so sorry. I didn't... I-- I--" The driver was thirtyish, attractive and white with fear - hands flailing around the inside of her car, grasping for a phone and apologizing over and over.

"Don't worry about it. Don't call the cops." I had to leave quickly, before she calmed down... Before she noticed I'd put a huge dent in her hood. I probably had a case against her. Driving too fast, failing to watch the road - all the usual "negligence" claims. But that was just the law. Ethically, morally, the fault was all mine. I was the jackass who walked into traffic, reading a goddamned newspaper. I owed her a new hood, which I couldn't afford.

"Are you sure you're ok? I can take you somewhere." The woman was still rattled.

"I'm fine, really. Thank you." Just don't look at that hood until I can get in the truck and drive away. I probably could have postponed the interview at that point. Getting hit by a car was a pretty solid excuse. But I went ahead with it anyway. Hell, I'd already put on a suit, shaved and combed my hair. I wasn't going to waste that effort.

I stood on the gas pedal the whole way into the city, thinking about what I'd say when they started asking me questions. Most law students interview with firms during the second year in law school to get a clerkship during the following summer. I remembered walking through one of those "cattle call" interview scenes in the law school lobby, seeing the rows of bodies in two button blue and grey uniforms, white shirts and rep ties, standing around the lobby fidgeting with their resume folders... All the women with their makeup toned down and their hair pulled back... All the men dressed like Nixon, with JFK haircuts... Everybody nervously eyeing each other and smiling, waiting for the firm representatives to call their names from lists and process them into nearby classrooms. "Gilbert Sneedmer? Step right this way..."

Watching them disappear into those rooms reminded me of that horror tale The Lottery, where the residents of a town are forced into a yearly raffle after which the "winner" is promptly stoned. The tension in the room made me nervous, and I was just passing through, sipping a coffee. I could see the gears turning in the candidates' heads, imagine all the paranoid internal dialogue... Smile. Stand up straight. Hands at your side and don't bite your nails. You know the lines, right? 'I'm excited about Underphephler & Munklow's approach to litigation because...' Some of them looked like they were about to snap, grinding their teeth, eyes darting around the room, barely holding it together. Oh God I need this job. If I don't get it what will I do? I'll be a failure... A loser... I'll die in shame. They'll mark it on my fucking tombstone... 'Here lies Gilbert Sneedmer. Rejected by Lipshitz & Limptwiddle, 1995.'

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¹ Well, at least studying for the bars where I'm licensed. I didn't sit for New York, California or Delaware.

² Lyrics kill concentration. Bloated live versions of "In Memory of Elizabeth Reed," "Mountain Jam," or "The Eleven" are perfect for studying.

Posted by PhilaLawyer at 9:05 AM

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Comments

I don't think I've ever seen you mention The Doors. Preference or indifference?

PL: Really? Jesus, I have to fix that.

Posted by: Tristan at June 11, 2008 11:21 AM

I'm from Delaware. I have no intention of taking the bar there.

1) Its one of only five states that still recognizes the fee tail. That alone tells you something.

2) It also has a chancery court that is independent and co-equal to the court of law, appeals are taken directly to the Supreme Court of Delaware.

3) And the Delaware State Constitution has been amended so that no criminal penalties or civil citations issued by a magistrate in Newark are appealable.

4) Delaware didn't abolish whipping as a judicially sanctioned punishment until 1972.

PL: Don't you also have to work for a DE firm for a few months? It's a terribly protectionist state in regard to all licensing.

And what do you have against whipping?

Posted by: Joe at June 11, 2008 11:40 AM

was there any write-up in the police log about you getting hit? and how bad did it hurt the next day?

PL: Not that I know of. She'd have been pretty dumb to report herself after I drove away. Legally, she'd have been liable if I wanted to make a claim. As to pain, nothing spectacular as I recall. The biggest (and oddest) damage was to my suit.

Posted by: crah at June 11, 2008 12:43 PM

God you hit the OCI cattle-call perfectly. I thought I was cool, above the whole thing. Then you get caught up in the craziness of the moment. Nothing like a bunch of neurotic OCD nuts to make it a truly teeth-grinding experience.

Posted by: Hank at June 11, 2008 02:57 PM

Taking BarBri and "studying" (spending time on my deck with a six pack while pretending to review books) for the California bar felt like a vacation to me. Maybe that was because I realized it would be the last time, until quitting the firm, that I would be able to do whatever I wanted with my day for a full 2 months.

Posted by: anon at June 11, 2008 03:08 PM

You mentioned the Doors at least once, in that band-by-band comparison of AC/DC to the rest of the rock canon. That you've listened to An American Prayer demonstrates your acceptable depth of knowledge with regards to the rest of their work. (Because I, of course, am the arbiter of rock music familiarity.)

PL: Thanks. Of everything I've written, that's by far my favorite.

Posted by: Riordan at June 11, 2008 04:12 PM

I don't really have the class rank for anything coming through OCI. And since I'm from a lower-middle class background I don't have any "friends in high places" to sneak me into their firms by the back door either... all my friends manage restaurants or are USMC Staff Sergeants or build houses. But I am certainly amused by my law school's spaz population as they prepare for yet another of their monthly "drop everything and freak the fuck out" sessions.

Posted by: Kevin at June 12, 2008 11:15 AM

I was hit by a car when I was fifteen in Rehobeth on Route 1 by a police car en route to an accident in the bus lane with lights flashing but no siren. Traffic was bumper to bumper with a van blocking my view and my friend crossed the bus lane and I followed. I looked right and saw the cop (she told me she was going about 40-45 when she hit me), jumped up as you did, and went up on the windshield and got tossed when she stopped. We had crossed between two intersections, and being a minor I was not allowed to refuse medical attention, was taken to the hospital on my dad's birthday, whereupon my release I was charged with jaywalking. Had to go to court where the ticket was waived and court costs were a dollar. . . .Did I have a case?

PL: In PA, and generally I understand, the driver is charged with being in control of his vehicle and to some degree negligent anytime he drives into something in front of him.

I don't know about DE but there are, of course, exceptions, and yours is likely one of them.

Posted by: aaronspace at June 14, 2008 05:04 PM

I'm listening to "Everbody knows this is nowhere" right now. Maybe that will get more traction with you than my "Boston Pancake" comment. Pizza Pizza!

PL: The old man can still turn it on: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NNWlrAuuHXs

This is an interesting cover (I had no idea Daniel Carver had a band): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nc84bYzJDfs

Posted by: Rosie Palmer at June 17, 2008 02:14 PM