So you wanna be a lawyer?

Me too! Ever since I was ten. I already know what you're thinking. "What warped little ten year old decides in elementary school that she wants to grow up to be a social pariah, making a living by exploiting the stupidity and/or misfortunes of her fellow human beings?" I'm not entirely sure how to answer that question, and even if I could, it's another story for another day. Of course, one doesn't just wake up one morning, think to herself, "I want to be a lawyer" and by so thinking, become a lawyer. No, no. There is a lengthy list of prerequisites one must meet before assuming the lofty title of "Counselor," because, contrary to popular belief and all apparent accounts, not every idiot gets to become a lawyer. One such requirement is law school; the aspiring lawyer's first foray into the exciting world of legal analysis and critical thought. Sounds thrilling, doesn't it? Daily intellectually sparring with great academic thinkers and other like minded colleagues! Then the first day ends and you realize you've set yourself not on the path to enlightenment, but on the road to Hell, paved not with good intentions, but the shattered remnants of your self esteem. But you're not particularly economically inclined and you don't realize that sunk costs are always irrelevant, so you press on; not wanting to waste your initial investment, and foolishly deluding yourself into thinking it will get better. It never does. But one day, your academic journey comes to an end, you don a goofy looking hat and robe, get a prestigious degree, and you're so sure that you've made it! Now you get to be a lawyer! Not so fast there, turbo. Aren't you forgetting something? Oh yes. The ultimate haze. The bar exam. This year the exam was held in Clackamas, a solid hour away from where I live. I thought it would be wise to rent a hotel room in that area for those few days in order to avoid unnecessary driving, stress, and loss of sleep. At the same time, I was already profoundly annoyed at having shelled out $650 to take the test itself, and to spend an extra $100 a night to stay at the test site seemed like the very definition of insult to injury, so I booked myself a shady little spot in Gresham, 12 miles from the hotel where the exam was to be administered. I headed up to my hotel on Monday afternoon, thinking it would be an easy drive, given the time of day. An overturned semi truck ruined those aspirations and the drive took two hours instead of one. I had also decided to take our little clunker Sentra instead of the Honda because I didn't want to put the unnecessary miles on our new car. Have I mentioned that our Sentra has no air conditioning? Well it doesn't. And the last week has seen record high temperatures in Oregon. It wasn't a pleasant drive. But I found the hotel, parked myself in front of the a/c unit in my room, and did my best to convince my rattled nerves to calm down. I turned in for an early night, but woke up every single hour the night before the exam. I suppose paranoia will do that to a person. I've been fed a steady diet of bar exam horror stories for three months now, and I was just sure that I would sleep in, have a flat tire, drop and shatter my laptop, and come down with appendicitis just prior to or during the test. No wonder I didn't sleep. On the morning of the exam, I got lost on the way from my hotel to the test site (thank you Mapquest), but still managed to make it there with time to spare. I checked in, made my way down to a poorly lit conference room full of tables as far as the eye could see, and staked out a seat to which I would be shackled for the next two days. Then I waited. Over the next hour, hundreds of people streamed in, and all around me were people gushing about how much or how little they had studied and how nervous they were. Thank you all for stating the obvious. Needless to say, I put my earplugs in long before the test actually started. The first day of the exam consisted of the Multistate Practice Test memo and 9 essay questions. About 8 hours in total. I was pleased that law spilled from my brain and onto the page like water through a broken dam. I was not pleased to see a Fed Tax question, which incidentally hadn't been tested in the last 7 years. About halfway through the day, the portable a/c unit in the room stopped working, apparently overloaded by the task of cooling a room full of hundreds of bodies and firebreathing laptops. When they managed to get it going again, it wasn't functioning properly and according to the temperature gauge on the proctor's clock, the mercury rose to 85 degrees that day in the testing room. It was stifling and I'm pretty sure there were many people there who neglected to shower before coming to the exam. But eventually it ended, and when it did, the relief at knowing the "hard part" was past was much appreciated. I staggered out into the 100 degree heat of the day, drove back to my hotel and collapsed in a heap of intellectual rubble. But try as I did, I didn't sleep the second night either. Who needs to be rested during the most important exam of her life, anyway? I'm going to say I probably did, as evidenced by the fact that I got lost again on the second day on the way from my hotel to the exam. By that time it was just comical. If anyone out there is wondering what to get me for Christmas or birthday, a GPS navigator would be nice. But back to the test. The second day consisted of 6 hours of 200 multiple choice questions, but don't be fooled. The answer choices weren't between right and wrong. Oh no. They were between right and more right. As I made my way through the test booklet, filling in bubbles on a Scantron for what I desperately hoped to be the last time, I started to feel incredibly dizzy. The words blurred on the page and I briefly considered getting up and walking around, just to get the blood moving. However, I just knew that if I got up, I would probably pass out, definitely hit my head on the table, and certainly require a visit to the ER, for which the bar examiners wouldn't give me extra makeup time. Reflexively I wondered who the appropriate parties would be to sue for such an occurrence. The temperature in the room had again risen to the high 80's, so I convinced myself I was just dehydrated. I took a few sips of water and a several deep breaths and soldiered on...and on. My brain ached, my wrists cramped, my soul whimpered. And then it was over. Though it felt like I had spent weeks in that exam room, the test finally ended and I made my way home in my air conditioningless car in 109 degree heat. As I drove home, I admit, I was pleased with my efforts. I studied incessantly, I responded as coherently as possible under the circumstances, and I honestly felt like I did all I could. That has to be enough for minimal competence, right? I sincerely hope so. When I arrived in Salem, I couldn't bear the thought of going home to my partially demolished, and equally air conditioningless apartment, so I went to the only place I knew I could find both a/c, wireless internet, and peace and quiet: the law library. But I didn't study. And for once in my life, that is completely alright.