We get lots of emails. Some of them are amusing, some of them are sad, and some of them are just so honest that they are both amusing and sad. This is an email we received today which pretty much sums up the futures of many of you (even if you don't want to admit it). Scratch that...she's probably doing much better than where you'll end up. Names and locations have been changed or removed at the request of the author.
I'm a recent law school graduate – ___________ School of Law 2005 – and here's a brief synopsis of my experience:
In late 2001, I was living at home in [Popular Mid-Atlantic Vacation City]-, bartending four nights a week, which was actually a highly lucrative career choice for someone with a BA (2000) in Art History. I spent all my tips earned for serving drinks by tipping others for serving me drinks, or buying clothes to wear out drinking. I complained when my parents wanted me to pay my own car insurance. Eventually, I realized that going back to school was easier than getting a god-awful real job. It also allowed me to suspend reality for another three years and excuse all my actions and inactions with the phrase "I'm a student." AND I would be able to move to a really cool new city. So I went to law school. In [Fun Desert Vacation Destination] .
I quickly found friends. I also found a gambling addiction…. But… back to the friends. With respect to the two close friends I made in law school, one dropped out after first year, one flunked out, and prior to those glorious achievements, the three of us nearly all got kicked out of law school for laughing in court while a rather unfortunate prostitute was arraigned. We had to write apologies to the dean and the judge, seriously. In the quagmire, I found a boyfriend… who, incidentally, had a wife. This boyfriend more or less saved my academic ass by teaching me Civil Procedure – to a solid C- level – in the course of 5 days so that I finished first year barely escaping academic probation.
Over the following two years, my dedication to my studies diminished dramatically, yet, strangely, my grades steadily improved. It reaffirmed what I had been convinced of for years – I am unable to self-destruct. The less I cared, the more I was convinced that I was a law school savant, destined to be discovered by some glamorous firm that would employ me for my natural mediocrity and impeccable instincts, and altogether overlook my absence of work ethic. This obviously did not happen.
I took the summer between 1L and 2L off, opting to spend my time lounging on the beach, occasionally bartending a night here or there, and dining and drinking with my married boyfriend. It was a summer of fantastical whimsy and utter avoidance. The summer between 2L and 3L, I worked for two lawyer friends of mine from [Popular Mid-Atlantic Vacation City], and on terms that can playfully be called "pro bono" – paid only by martinis and expensive bottles of wine, often consumed over lunch breaks. I used my paycheck-free status to excuse myself for showing up late or not at all, taking extended weekend vacations, and playing dangerous amounts of online Scrabble. I learned little of any pertinence to a possible career in law, mostly because "a career in law" was still far too disconcerting to take seriously.
Then came Third Year. Unprovoked, married boyfriend decided to leave his wife for me. The inevitable countdown to graduation occurred. I ran out of money and my parents refused to subsidize my career in professional sports betting. I was forced to work part-time waiting tables while frightfully considering the possibility that I may have to get a law-related job. I interviewed, and not well. My casual demeanor, personal charm and flawless conversational skills proved useless in the interview format. I decided that sometimes the best answer to a question was a question back to the interviewer. I thought these stodgy law types might appreciate someone who cares what animal THEY would be if they could be. Somehow, the artificiality of the interview process did reveal the truth about me – that I was completely unemployable in this realm.
While a strong sense of panic set in, my newly divorced boyfriend and I enrolled in a 2-credit class called "How to Start and Build Your Law Practice." The grade was based entirely on a final project called a "business proposal" that was, for me, a chance to make an artsy scrapbook designing letterhead and firm announcements, cutting and pasting pictures of classy office furniture, drawing blueprints and picking out hardwood floors. I got a B+, losing points only for my lack of examining financial pragmatism. Our class lectures consisted of a parade of lawyers delivering speeches about their successful practices. They always wore expensive suits and rarely mentioned the frightful phrases "zealous advocacy" "making a difference" or "pro bono." These lawyers, my boyfriend and I decided, were exactly who we wanted to be.
In his mind, I'm now aware, were dreams of business ownership, riches beyond belief, spending 24/7 to build something of which he could be proud, and doing all of this with his beloved girlfriend. In my mind were sighs of relief and joy for not having to endure any more interviews, for justifying taking 6 more months off before receiving bar exam results in October 05, and for installing hardwood floors and taking 3-hour/3-martini lunches.
We were able to fund this endeavor from the profits of the sale of his house in [Fun Desert Vacation Destination]. We both passed the bar exam and started our practice in October 2005. I somehow got stuck in this niche of doing [Boring and Depressing Area of Law], and I cannot articulate the extent to which I despise my life. But here I am, with real live clients, a website, a yellow pages ad, a 5-year lease on office space, and those goddamn overpriced hardwood floors. We just got a package in the mail reminding us to renew our malpractice insurance, and it is to me beyond all belief that one year has passed and I have not been sued for malpractice, investigated by the state bar, treated for a nervous breakdown, or had my stomach pumped.
Strangely, the firm is making (some) money, yet I have no idea how I have ended up here. Guys, I am spiraling out of control and cannot point to a definitive event whereby I could have prevented this hell, but I think I blame my parents for making me pay for my car insurance. (Not really. But this is the type of statement that best characterizes the level of absurdity of me being a lawyer.)
I just discovered your blog, and have thus far been immensely entertained. I guarantee you that no one could be less suited for the law while being so squarely ensconced in it as I am.
