Cole’S Law Blog

After a three week break, classes have once again resumed and I enter Monday’s class at 10:58 a.m. At this point in my legal education I shouldn’t really be surprised that everyone is already seated, laptops at the ready for the class to begin, but am nonetheless disgusted and reminded of why law school sucks. I think that some of these people have somehow managed to forget this nugget of truth as there is a vibe in the room that is quickly approaching some kind of zeal.  It’s all very disconcerting and I take the seat closest to the door, open my bag, and remove my laptop. The wireless isn’t working and I can’t get to Google to pilfer someone else’s summary of the case we were supposed to read for today. Shit. Having just purchased my books on Saturday, they have not arrived.  It’s the first day and I’m behind on the reading.  More importantly, I can’t get to ESPN. Fuck me right?

My new professor walks into the room and sets her books close to the podium. She doesn’t move around nearly as much as my first semester professors and seems nervous. When she does walk, she cautiously touches her back heel to the front part of her other foot. She sounds like a cross between Mary Kathryn Gallagher and every character that Kristen Wiig has ever played on SNL. Her voice is cracking and she folds her arms as she tells us how to “wrestle” the assignments. I look around the room at my fellow students and notice a few changes in personnel.

In the past semester, every student was grouped into sections whereby the only people we would share classes with would be those within our designated section. These are pretty much the only people you notice or associate with for the entire first semester of law school and by the end of it you’re fucking sick to death of seeing the same gloomy faces. If it’s any consolation, they all probably feel the same way. Although this is still the case, each student may take an elective class whereby there are no section barriers. This is my elective class and to me it is a welcome sight. Scouting the room, I now realize how deprived I was in terms of my section’s talent pool.

There’s a portrait on the wall of one of the founders’ of the law school that looks exactly like a kid in the third row except thirty years older. But this is not important and I look away from Dorian Gray. Another dude walks in with his shirt tucked into his jeans and he’s now closer to the door than I am. I go over all of this quickly and look to the aforementioned influx of attractive women.  

In the front row, where a lot of hot girls always sit, there’s a redhead with a visible star tattooed on her foot and just below her pinky toe. I’m sitting in the second row and have to look back like a creep to check out the rest of the class. In the back of the room there’s a girl with a Grateful Dead sticker affixed to her laptop with no visible signs that she could actually like the Grateful Dead. I feel the girl sitting next to me nudge me with what I presume to be the course syllabus and I lock eyes with her for maybe a quarter second too long.

There’s another one in the front row, blonde with a dull look on her face and permanently pursed lips, typing away at something the teacher’s saying. Apparently the teacher has just said something important as there’s a chatter of typing around the room. She’s wearing a white sweater and pink meet-me-in-the-back-of-the-library shoes. It’s at this moment that I decide that I will remain here on the class seating chart.

Note: In the interests of full disclosure I’ve remained abstinent (not by choice) for the past four months so I’m taking out an indulgence for the previous and subsequent paragraphs.

The girl with the star tattoo clutches her pen. She has this fascinating oral fixation with the thing and twirls it about that facial vicinity whenever she’s about to raise her hand. I’m inclined to inquire further into the matter until the teacher answers her question, prompting her to bite down hard on the blue ballpoint.  Nevermind.

The real reason, besides boredom, that I’m looking around at everybody is to see the general disposition of the class after our initial examination period. Personally, I have adopted the unflattering habit of crossing my arms and lightly squeezing my puny biceps. A lot of people in class have other body tics similar to this, such as putting their hands close to their mouths to look as if they have nothing to say, or people who squeeze their hands for reassurance when it only appears that they are cold. This is primarily due to the absence of our first semester grades that we all await with morbid anticipation. Besides that not much has changed.

People keep telling me that law school is a means to an end but at this point it seems that it’s just plain mean.  As for an end, I can’t say that there’s one in sight.  It has been almost a month since we’ve taken our last exam and I’ve probably checked my grades multiple times a day, every day since December 18th and the start of the winter break. I have even developed a facial tic akin to the one that you get when you’re about to get punched in the face. At the same time, I usually cover my eyes like you do when you don’t want to see “guy butt” on Skin-a-max but still don’t want to miss anything.

Thus far, I have gotten two grades back and can’t say that I’m surprised to find myself in the lower totem pole of the class. The rest of the class looks similarly uncertain and I really want a beer. The girl with the Grateful Dead sticker blinks her eyes hard enough to stay awake and I look back at the clock. 11:07. Fuck me right?