Sunday, August 26, 2007

1 Credit Down, 89 To Go. . . Why I'm Itching to Succeed in Law School


During orientation, we take a 1 credit test at the end of the week which our 2nd and 3rd year peers tell us repeatedly not to worry about. It is a pass fail test designed to give you an idea of what law exams will be like and how to adequately prepare for them. Rumor has it that no one has ever failed.

The test began with a multiple choice section of 20 questions, which gave me and idea.

Since this is mostly a charade anyway, and it's in EVERYONE'S best interest that we pass, I think a better way to conduct this sort of test would be as follows: a REAL game of 20 questions wherein the professor plays his students for all the marbles.

If the class gets the rule, concept, principle, or statute that the professor has written on a piece of paper in less than 20 yes/no questions, the class passes. If the students exhaust all 20 questions without correctly identifying the person, place, or thing written on the piece of paper, the class fails (with the option to try again and again until they eventually pass).

Here's what something like that would look like:

First student (looking confused): Is it a judicial precedent?

Prof (at front of class smiling mischievously): No. Think broader

Second student: Did we discuss it within the second HALF of the class?

Prof. : Yes.

Third student--Is it a place?

Prof. -- No. It is NOT a place.

Fourth student-- Is it bigger than a breadbox?

Prof. -- I don't think so

Fifth student-- Is it the substantive canon of statutory construction?

Prof.-- It IS the substantive canon of statutory construction. You all pass. Have a great weekend.

Though our class won’t be able to take advantage of a test like this, I strongly recommend it for next year’s incoming class. If the administration is looking for ways to implement this new educational strategy, please contact me privately.

The actual test was quite a bit different. The multiple choice was fine, but on the essay I made several major errors that may affect my grade (which means nothing because it was pass/fail). First, we were not to single space our writing or write on the front and back of pages in our blue book.

I did both. Doh.

Second, our professor had mentioned that that he prefers pens to pencils on tests. I used pencil. If there is a question where my professor needs to give me the “benefit of the doubt,” I won’t hold my breath.

When I was teaching English in Cameroon, the students who typically got the benefit of the doubt were those that weren’t jerks on the basketball court. I have made my bed and now I must lie in it.

But, despite the errors, all in all I feel like I did pretty well. All of the little circles were filled in and my writing seemed to flow effortlessly onto the page. And that's all pretty impressive considering I was reeling in pain with poison ivy during the entire thing. Yes, poison ivy.

The itch is unbearable, and now my arms have this weird pinkish-white (poison ivory?) residue all over because of the calamine lotion that I’ve been forced to slather myself in to stop the pain.

Why did God choose to smite ME with these horribly painful rashes? Believe it or not, I’m pretty sure that it was for doing an incredibly good act, which I guess is some kind of weird reverse Karma and the only way that He has to remind us of all those mysterious ways He works in. If I would have say, found a 100 dollar bill after doing a good thing, I would have said something like “God sure does work in straight-forward and uncomplicated ways,” which would clearly be contrary to what He wants.

The incredibly good thing that I was doing when I acquired the poison ivy was cleaning up a creek, which fulfilled the civic engagement portion of law school orientation week. It was my job to clear the brush, weeds, and litter from the ivy filled banks and put it all in a big pile to be carted away at a later day.

It was my own fault. The guide had explicitly said “wear a long sleeve shirt,” a recommendation that I cockily discarded as a paranoid warning for my weak-skinned comrades. Just like that recommendation on the test that said “double space your writing.”

I will never disregard another written recommendation again.

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