Reminders.

From an article a professor sent to our class last year after exams:

Do not measure your success by your ability to achieve results over matters that you cannot control. You don't have to prove anything to anybody. Rather, you should attempt to earn your own self-respect. Your success or failure depends on the effort that you make in the learning process, not on how learning is measured in law school examinations. All that you can ask of yourself, and all that anyone can ever ask of you, is that you do your best--that you try hard.

Fall 2009 = Misery

Don't spread this around, but I did not hate my 1L year. I was too busy preparing for class, trying to understand what an outline was, and snuggling with my Bluebook at night. But let me tell you, I really, REALLY am not a fan of 2L year. And I've finally figured out why:

As a 1L, you're not expected to know anything. You're totally clueless, and that's okay. Everyone thinks that's cute.

But as a 2L, your professors expect you to have your shit together. You're supposed to understand what's going on in class. You're supposed to remember the elements of negligence. You're even supposed to remember to wear pants on campus.

For me, despite all the other let downs (OCI, GPA, Sarah Palin still has vocal cords), I think the real reason 2L is so terrible is because I am actually still just a 1L masquerading as someone who knows something.

Secret's out.

Panic.

I am trying, really trying, not to lose it here. The more blogs I obsessively read in my never-ending quest to waste time and resources, the more incredibly terrified I become of the future. All I see is that the legal market is in terrible shape, there are no jobs to speak of, there is no way to pay back my debt, and I can look forward to a lifetime of disappointment and food stamps (can you buy organic produce with food stamps?)

 

Part of my panic is indubitably related to my most recent (and final) Big Law rejection. Instead of doing things the humane way (writing a letter) this particular firm decided to torture me over the phone. That's right legal eagles, Big Law called me (excitement, elation, possible urination of happiness) to tell me that I was NOT getting an offer (confusion, frustration, unsuccessful attempt to control the volume and character of my voice). Anyone who has gone through on campus recruiting knows that if you get a call, you got the job. If you didn't get the job, you'll get a letter. Or in my case several hundred letters. This is the industry standard.

 

So imagine me answering the phone, realizing that it's Big Law, smiling and taking out a pen and paper to write down the details only to be told the following:

 

Hey, Soon-to-be-disappointed Loser, How are you doing?!?

 

What I Said: Oh hi, Big Law. I'm doing well, thank you.

What I Thought: A call! I have a job! All that hard work and blackmailing paid off!

 

I realize that you are probably not accustomed to this, but I am actually not calling with good news.

 

What I Said: Silence. 

What I Thought: What? What is he talking about? I realize he's expecting a response. Silence.

 

Unfortunately we are not going to be offering you a summer associate position.

 

What I Said: Okay.

What I Thought: Confusion. Anger. Silence. The emotional rollercoaster, once at such a high, begins to speed rapidly downhill.  At what point is uncontrollable rage/hysterical sobbing considered inappropriate in a professional setting?

 

Please realize this has nothing to do with you.

 

What I Said: Sure.

What I Thought: Oh really? That's strange because I could have sworn I sent you my resume, transcripts, blood type, and a Candygram. I could have sworn I told you all about myself and my goals during my on campus interview. I also thought I met with 12 other people at your firm. I could have sworn I spent hours interviewing and smiling and being my generally charming self at your fancy, over air-conditioned, downtown office. But thank you, I'm so glad that I had no part in your decision.

 

We just have such a limited number of spots to fill.

 

What I Said: Right.

What I Thought: We are cheap, soulless assholes who love to waste your time and energy. Let me guess, you're going to go in to the typical tirade about the economy and the restraints its placed on your summer program.

 

Typical tirade about the economy and the restraints its placed on your program…I just felt like I owed it to everyone to call.

 

What I Said: Sure.

What I Thought: Oh right, you thought you owed it to everyone to show them what it feels like when you're coming down from a coke high. Thanks, but that's not necessary. I am terrified of drugs.

 

Listen, if there is anything I can do for you in the future, please let me know.

 

What I Said: Okay.

What I Thought: Here's an idea. You could give me a job, fucktard.

 

And again, I am really sorry.

 

What I Said: Sure. Thanks.

What I Thought: I'm sorry, are you looking for some sort of FORGIVENESS here? WHY did you call me? SEND ME A LETTER telling me how qualified I am and how my hair has an extra-healthy sheen but DO NOT call me when the legal standard is: Call = Job! No call = No job!  And if you don't mind, I'd like the 13 Thank-You letters I sent to your firm back. And you can send that Express.

 

 

Listen. I know I can't have every job (believe me I know), and I know that I sound like a spoiled brat (I am) and I know that most people probably think this guy was just being nice (whereas I believe his struggling firm just didn't want to waste 43 cents on a stamp) but I put myself on the emotional roller coaster ALL BY MYSELF all day long. I do not need any assistance.

 

I am smart. And (at least to myself) funny. And sometimes I'm even nice to people. And I know that I have a lot of opportunities and all that crap. But all I hear is how bad things are out there, and it is really scary. Especially when I am staring down the barrel at thousands of dollars of loan debt. By the time I graduate, my passport will be expired. If I don't have a job, how will I renew it? If I don't renew it, how will I escape the country and blow off all that debt.

 

It's a conundrum. 

These are the kinds of hypotheticals I run through all day.

What's a gal to do?

 

Law School:

The reason why (1) my bank account is starving, and (2) I am getting fat.

Surge In Popularity

Well blog fan(s), it looks like I'll have a lot less time to post in the coming years because I have just sealed my fate as the Most Popular Student at School of Law.

In my European Union law class, when asked whether I thought State liability should apply to national legislative bodies, I replied,

"Well yes, in Germany's case, because they were just being rude."

Now that everyone knows how brilliant I am, I'll probably be far too busy espousing my wisdom to my adoring real-life fans to entertain my tens and tens of supporters online.

However, if on the off chance my fellow students see me for the clueless student/failed diplomat/unicorn poacher I really am...there's a good chance I'll be hiding in a musty corner of the library, making snarky remarks on The Internets for a while to come.

On a Federal Job Application:

7a. Are you a male born after December 31, 1959?
____ Y ____ N (If no, skip 7b and go to 7c)


7b. Have you registered with the selective service system?
____ Y ____ N


7c. If "NO" describe your reasons in item #16.


WHAT? I have to describe the reasons why I am not a male born after December 31, 1959?

How do I go about telling the Feds about how the babies are made...

Success In Interviewing

Big Law Interviewer, graduate of School of Law: So, who is your favorite professor at School of Law?

Brilliant, Charming Law Student: Professor X, I appreciate that she really challenges her students.

Interviewer: Oh. I couldn't stand her.

(silence...)



I'll take that as a "You're hired."

Giggles

While I'm studying for tomorrow's fly back interview with Big Law, PR is in the living room playing this Lego computer game with a friend. I've got a pretty decent handle on my concentration until I hear PR say this:

"Well, I like this one [Lego Game] better than the other one [different Lego Game] because the other one is childish."

I try to laugh under my breath, but fail. Before I know it I am laughing hysterically. At the end of the day, honey, you're still playing with Legos.

Thank God I have this child mature adult to be my partner through life.

My Environmental Law prof named his dog NEPA (nee-pa) after the National Environmental Policy Act.

My future as a lawyer is bleak.

Foreshadowing

An excerpt from The Nine, by Jeffrey Toobin describing Supreme Court Justice Sandra Day O'Connor:

"After blazing through Stanford Law School and graduating in 1952, O'Connor did not receive a single job offer as a lawyer. ( The major Los Angeles law firm of Gibson, Dunn & Crutcher said she could come to work as a legal secretary.) But O'Connor ignored the slights, as became her custom, and concentrated instead on building a life with her new husband, John."

Oh, the parallels between Sandra (can I call her Sandra?) and myself! At this rate, I think it's safe to assume I'll be the next influential Supreme Court nominee.

Kick you when you're down

In United States v. Cunningham, a nurse appealed her conviction for tampering with a consumer product. According to the prosecution, she stole Demerol out of syringes at her hospital and replaced the syringes with saline solution. After the faulty syringes were discovered, police questioned the nurse and took a urine sample to test whether she had any of the drug in her system. In the case against her, the prosecution submitted evidence of the nurse's past addiction to Demerol as well as the resulting suspension of her nursing license.

In his decision, the appellate judge details the nurse's history as an addict, her previous conviction for stealing Demerol, and the proceeding suspension of her nursing license. After he confirms that the submission of the prosecution's evidence regarding her addiction and license suspension was proper and thus denies all of her arguments on appeal, the judge writes this poignant last sentence:

"And she did flunk the urine test."

Ouch.