Tales from USC law school

I composed most of the following during a Legal Writing class this week. In hindsight, the story was much funnier in person and probably not that entertaining on paper. But since I've already typed it up, and I have nothing else yet from this week, here it is.

Last night one of the student organizations in the University of South Carolina (henceforth and forevermore "USC") Law School hosted a social for the first year law students (which are generally referred to as 1L's). Free drinks at The Saloon in Five Points. I went, figuring it was a good chance to meet my classmates and if nothing else to get some free beer.

Upon entering The Saloon I felt about as out of place as a minister in a pioneer town bar. Apparently everybody else there had already made friends with each other, or knew most everybody from their undergraduate days. That, or they were just very adept at meeting people and making small talk in the traditional bar scene, something which I neither claim to be good at nor enjoy doing. With everybody already mingling in their groups of 3 or 4, I got a drink and found a corner with at TV and Monday Night Football.

Thankfully I ended up meeting a few guys that I had talked to earlier that day, and we ended up spending the entire evening chatting in that same corner. That is, until Neil arrived.

Neil is the quintessential southern frat boy/class clown/smarter than he acts but dumber than his opinionated personality would have you believe kind of guy. He's very friendly, energetic, a great story teller, and will probably do well in life either as a salesman or in politics. Or, if the saying around the law school is true, that A students will be professors, B students will be judges, and C students will be lawyers, then Neil will probably be a dang good lawyer someday. He's probably 6'2", about 225, is a diehard Carolina fan and drops the F bomb at least once every other sentence. Neil is the kind of guy I want to have on my side down the road.

After pointing out to us the 5 hottest girls in our class and explaining how the guys flocking to the beautiful 6'2" tall brunette didn't stand a chance against ol Neil himself, Neil then related a story that had taken place earlier that day.

In our lunchtime meetings with our advisors, Neil had ended up getting the yankee professor whom I had seen earlier that day and from across the room had easily pegged as a New Yorker. The prof is short, bald, and always has his arms crossed. I've never heard him speak, but it wasn't hard to imagine his whiny New York accent. You know the type, a cross between Danny Devito and George Costanza, only with the harsher legal professor side. Anyway, it got to the question portion of our advising, but none of the students seemed confident enough to ask a question. So Neil did.

Neil: Yeah, so I'm having a tough time understanding this Oregon v. Haley case that we've got to read.

Prof: Okay. Here's the gist of it. (He then launches into a lengthy verbal essay on the topic, complete with Latin phrases and other lengthy legal mumbo jumbo.

Neil’s commentating on the narrative: This was not helpful. I didn’t understand a word that MFer said. He just made things worse and more confusing. Of course nobody was gonna say otherwise, cuz they were too scared or nervous. I wouldn’t have said anything either, for fear that he’d start talking in that other language again.

Silence ensued.

Neil couldn’t stand the silence, so he thought he’d ask a little easier ice breaking question.

Neil: So what’s the deal with football tickets? We getting em or what?

Prof: (shocked that a law student would bother him with something so trivial) Hell if I know. I’ve been here 24 years, got really good season tickets the first year I was here and haven’t used them once since then.

Neil: (shocked that a USC season ticket holder would be so trivial about something so sacred) WHAT?!? Well maybe you and me can be like buddy buddy or something, you know, and I can help you use those tickets.

Prof: (somewhat perturbed) They’re already spoken for.

Neil’s narrative: More silence ensued. People had decided that this guy was a real jerk. I was nervous because I had already ticked off one of my profs, and it wasn’t even the end of the first day. Damn.

Prof: (rhetorically and hoping to bring up a teaching point) How many of you are GUARANTEED a job when you graduate?

Neil’s Narrative: Man, I’m in the military, so I know I got a job when I get out. I raised my hand and looked around, and damned if I wasn’t the only F-er raising my hand in our group.

Prof: (very sarcastically) Well maybe hot stuff here has got it all figured out and can manage to slack off in school and go to all the football games, but the rest of us are probably going to have to put in some hard work...

Neil’s Narrative: I was about to quit school right then. I mean, does it get any worse?

Jason’s MetaNarrative: I’m glad I’m not Neil. But I still think Neil is somebody I will want to know before it’s all said and done, even if that only means he may help me with something so trivial as football tickets.