Some people dress up for the first day of class. The ladies, I’m sure, made it a point to put together one of their better ensembles, and some of the guys might have sported a tie or a jacket. I wore a baseball t-shirt, with the following words emblazoned on the chest: “Hey Baby, Nice Torts!” When my part-time class affectionately remembers those first few days of law-school, which was in the midst of most of everyone else’s summer, I am fondly remembered as “that pervert with the t-shirt!”
Rule #1 of Law School: Always make a good first impression.
Being the foreigner that I am, I’m always ready to use that as an excuse for my congenitally eccentric behavior. Not long after I visit most places, screams from the masses arise for more vigorous debate on immigration reform. Whispers of “they just let anyone in the country these days,” abound.
To me, law school was a chance to make a change in my life. Straighten myself out and become responsible. Who knew the rules of civil procedure were more than “It is never acceptable to tell opposing counsel she can look at your briefs anytime”? Or that telling your professor on the first day of class that you are “going to have to fight him on that one” isn’t necessarily good classroom decorum. Trying to convince your professor to let go of his or her long-held beliefs is, as the great philosopher poet 50-Cent once exclaimed, like trying to keep a fat-kid from cake. It’s not going to happen, my fellow 1Ls. Even if you’re right, they’ll just tell you, “Well, you could argue that” and give you that look that has been cast at many a 1L direction: the “Forget Law Review, you won’t even make the movie reviews!” look.
Rule #2 of Law School: Chances are the professor is right and you’re wrong. (His 28 years teaching the material and your 29 minutes book-briefing the specific case notwithstanding.)
Now, you will also find, the perky people at Starbucks handing you ‘the usual’ and they will have learned to stop making annoying small talk with you long before you learn that a judge upholding your mandamus isn’t what you think it is. I’ve found more artificial stimulants à la Rockstar and Red Bull available on this campus than at an all night rave in
Amsterdam. Being strung out on caffeine, sugar and Flaming Hot Cheetos has supported me well this short time I’ve been at law school. You, too, can become one with the evil triumvirate of processed sugar, caffeine and mono-sodium glutamate.
Rule #3 of Law School: Caffeine is your friend.
All this just serves to add to the image I project to my fellow law-students (Supra Rule #1). Then there’s my felon-like picture up on the school website. Now my classmates don’t really know what to say. Funny, all I really ever wanted was to hear, “Hey baby, Nice Torts!”
