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Last night, after a couple beers with a few old friends (I realize this sounds like the beginning of a joke, but it isn’t), we began discussing the current state of the economy. One of my friends wondered aloud,
What happens if the current economic collapse extends well beyond its present state? What if the government fails, currency becomes worthless, and we’re all plunged into a state of total anarchy? Do you just form a gang with your friends and start looting and pillaging?
Between the three of us, we have 9 academic degrees (including high school diplomas), with two more on the way. BA, MA, MFA, PhD. Unfortunately, collections of letters printed on high bond paper with raised seals don’t mean shit when you need to smack someone in the face with a 2x4 and steal his case of Faygo. Or, as my friend more appropriately put it, “I just want to watch the Arrested Development DVDs and drink good beer.”
I think this was the only time in my life when I looked at my two good pals, both of whom I’ve known for over 15 years, and thought, “Wow, I’m gonna need some new friends.” This economic stimulus thing better work, because I don’t want to choose my friends based on their ability to brain someone with a fungo bat.
Yep, my locker. We have lockers at Duquesne Law, just like we did back in high school. Where else are we supposed to put our coats? What about books? It’s not like we’re going to take THOSE home. My locker is near Corie’s and Maggie’s. But other than that, it’s just a bunch of second years back there. I guess I got stuck there because on the first day of first year, I had this really cool locker up near the front, but the combination they gave me didn’t work, so I had to get a new one.
Today at lunch, they were having the blood drive right in the lounge where everyone eats. They take up like half the room with all those cots and chairs for people giving blood. I was sitting with Jess and Dennis most of the time, but Darren stopped by too. At least it wasn’t crowded with that dumb fat second year kid who yells so loudly about how great the Yankees are every day. OMG. I wish I could like totally make that kid sit somewhere else at lunch.
Do you think I’m exaggerating? Did you know that, at some point during my six semesters at Duquesne, the registrar has asked me for my parents’ address and phone number no less than eleven times? I’m 29. I’ve been married for over 6 years. My mom doesn’t list me as a dependent on her tax return. I don’t live at my parents’ place between semesters. My parents don’t pay my tuition or my fees. Why, oh stupid registrar, do you keep asking me for my parents’ address?
Oh, yeah; how could I forget that we had our prom at the Sheraton Station Square this year? They call it “Barrister’s Ball.” Everyone dresses up, and all of the girls talk about what people are wearing. A lot of people tried to go to this after-party, but they couldn’t get in.
Don’t misunderstand me; I’m not complaining. In fact, some part of me is enjoying the hell out of this break from the reality of having to be a grown-up. But next time it occurs to you to associate “law school” with any form of the word “professional,” just don’t.
Some scenes cause one to immediately recoil in horror, shame, or disgust. For example, I've never been especially fond of fresh roadkill or seeing blood near the scene of a particularly violent car accident. Also not a fan of seeing a child or a dog being physically disciplined in public. The impact of these events or circumstances is immediate.
There are also scenes that cause one to develop a sinking feeling more slowly. Often, the delayed onset of dread is related to the fact that some mental processing must occur before the full extent of the problem can be appreciated. Like watching a snake wrangler at a local wildlife festival hurriedly scanning the ground near the serpentarium, with hooked snake-handling metal pole in hand. The only thing even remotely funny about this development was seeing the dawning awareness of the festival-goers, which was followed immediately by everyone looking at his or her feet.
Other than that, the Southeastern Wildlife Exposition in Charleston, SC was a perfectly fine way to spend a Sunday afternoon.
Sadly, I know a number of people who would be qualified for this position.
There’s a large lounge room in the middle of the law school building at Duquesne, a big open space with tables, booths, a few couches, and a coffee counter that also sells pre-made salads and sandwiches. Naturally, the bathrooms at this central location are the busiest in the law school. But despite the fact that I see at least three or for other dudes when I use the men’s room there, generally no conversation takes place at the urinals themselves. People will say things at the sinks and on the way in or out, but not while they’re actually peeing.
But one man makes his living breaking this custom. He’s a middle-aged law professor who taught his Corporations and Securities Regulation courses entirely through PowerPoint presentations. This guy walks up to the urinal, unzips, and starts chatting. He says things like, “cold out there today, huh” or “boy, that Steelers game yesterday made me nervous.” To supplement this conversational brilliance, the guy even looks at you while he’s saying these things. And I’m not talking about a casual glance; I’m talking about looking at you the way he’d look at you in conversation across a table. He’ll even take the urinal right next to yours even if all of the others are open.
Where did this guy learn this? Did he grow up someplace where all the dudes would line up at the urinals and have conversation time? Did his dad tell him that he should talk to other men in the restroom? Doesn’t he notice how awkwardly some guys respond to him (or don’t) when he does this? For me, I guess there’s just something slightly amiss about making small talk with a colleague while your dicks are both hanging out.
I know about our nation’s puritanical roots. I know that we like to consider ourselves an enlightened society and an example to the world of clean living. I know about the FCC. I know about editors. I know about setting an example for our young.
I also know that when composing a text message using the “Word” entry method on my cell phone, I have never once intended to write the words “duck” or “ducking.” For instance, I do not generally intend to pose queries like, “Where the duck are you?” Also, I have never sought to admonish anyone for “ducking up our plans.” If I type a 3-8-2-5 sequence on my cell phone, I’m okay if my phone rewards me with the word “duck” the first 5 or even 10 times. Really, I’m okay with this being the default response. But the software should be smart enough to learn that if I type the sequence 3-8-2-5 and then change the word “duck” to a very similarly-spelled word (and I don’t mean euck) 50 or 100 times in a row, I want that other word.
Verizon, please let me teach my cell phone how to swear more efficiently.
