Remind me again why we spent all this money on law school tuition?
A very long time ago, when I was about to graduate from college as an English major, I contemplated my future. So many people inquired if I planned to teach or go to law school, I figured those were the two main choices, and I certainly didn't want to teach so I applied to law school in order to delay growing up a while longer. After three grueling years I graduated, took the bar, and went to work for a large firm, where I spent the next two years dozing in the library over -- zzzzzzzzz -- research. Occasionally I'd emerge into the light like Punxsutawney Phil, see my shadow and scurry back to the library or my office, where I'd close the door and watch with fascination as a thirty story office building was constructed across the street. I learned a lot about construction; about the law, not so much.
Lacking the killer instinct to be a lawyer (not so much a drive to kill as not to care when others are trying to kill you), I found my lawyer years to be less than satisfying. Let's face it: I just wanted people to like me and not yell. I'd lurk in corners looking at my feet in a desperate hope not to trip over them, and try very hard to achieve invisibility.
Sometimes it worked. Sometimes I even worked.
Sometimes I got it right; sometimes not. During a lecture concerning some long-forgotten error, the managing partner (the one with the permanent Maalox ring around his lips) declared: "You know, making a mistake like this is not the way to make partner at this firm," to which I replied (in my mind only): "I just want to make it through the first year without having cardiac arrest."
After two years I quit; now I'm a recovering attorney. When I balance spoons on my nose in restaurants my mother rolls her eyes and laments all the time I wasted going to college and law school. When I'm spray-painting pasta in the garage to make noodle menorahs, I have to remind myself that I do have an advanced degree. There are some advantages to having a law degree; when I had a business writing resumes, CVs and business correspondence, mentioning my legal education usually helped to attract new clients. The diplomas look nice on the wall; they remind me that I once had a brain -- I just wish I could remember where I left it.
Lacking the killer instinct to be a lawyer (not so much a drive to kill as not to care when others are trying to kill you), I found my lawyer years to be less than satisfying. Let's face it: I just wanted people to like me and not yell. I'd lurk in corners looking at my feet in a desperate hope not to trip over them, and try very hard to achieve invisibility.
Sometimes it worked. Sometimes I even worked.
Sometimes I got it right; sometimes not. During a lecture concerning some long-forgotten error, the managing partner (the one with the permanent Maalox ring around his lips) declared: "You know, making a mistake like this is not the way to make partner at this firm," to which I replied (in my mind only): "I just want to make it through the first year without having cardiac arrest."
After two years I quit; now I'm a recovering attorney. When I balance spoons on my nose in restaurants my mother rolls her eyes and laments all the time I wasted going to college and law school. When I'm spray-painting pasta in the garage to make noodle menorahs, I have to remind myself that I do have an advanced degree. There are some advantages to having a law degree; when I had a business writing resumes, CVs and business correspondence, mentioning my legal education usually helped to attract new clients. The diplomas look nice on the wall; they remind me that I once had a brain -- I just wish I could remember where I left it.
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