Livin' law vida loca

Dear fans,

I am so sorry for any emotional distress I may have negligently inflicted upon you due to my lack of blogging. It is just so hard being a lawyer.

I went home for Fall Break over the weekend and rediscovered the real world. I am proud to say I came in second in one of the Schott family pumpkin-carving contests. Yes, over a course of four days, we managed to have two pumpkin-carving contests. John won the first one, and Tyler won the second. Big freakin’ deal.

Here are a ton of pumpkin pictures: 

The following three are from my pumpkin:

 

The next two are Tyler's:

Andrew:

Trevor:

This is the contest that John won, by the way. And I just realized I don't have a picture of his, so just use your imagination. His featured a weird face and pumpkin seeds appearing to spew from its mouth. And Trevor's came in second for this one.

Now, some stories about law school life.

My Criminal Law professor is a very old man. He is also very blunt. He has a thick Southern accent and demands that we pronounce his name with a Southern drawl. I don’t think he realizes he is asking us to do this. I think that’s just the only way he knows how to say it. On the first day of class, Professor Miley said, ‘It is not MY-lee, like most of you will say. It is MAAAH-lee.’

Professor Miley likes to tell us how tough law school used to be back in his day. He says when a professor would call on a student back then, the student would have to stand up and talk, without the help of his notebooks or textbooks. Miley tries to occasionally give us the same intimidating experience. He once called on a girl who began glancing at her computer – probably looking for an answer in her notes – and he suddenly said, ‘Close ya lid!’ To be fair, the girl does have a huge computer and most of the time you can just barely see her eyeballs rising above it.

Another time, while talking about some case involving drugs, Miley asked us if we knew that when you hand a marijuana joint to someone, that constitutes a sale as a matter of law. After he delivered this little tip, which he clearly believed to be mind-blowing, he looked as us accusingly and said, ‘Think about that at your next pot party!’

Miley typically spends most of class time babbling – I mean, lecturing – but he also calls on students at times. Lucky me, I was among the first to be called on in his class. We had read a case about this man who had been stopped by police multiple times and arrested because he could not show the police ‘credible and reliable identification.’ The court was trying to decide whether the law that allowed police to stop loiterers and arrest them for being unable to show such identification was ‘unconstitutionally vague.’

He started by asking me what the issue was in the case, and I said basically what is in the paragraph above. He walked over toward my side of the room and asked me some tougher questions, and at some point he asked me a question that required me to think for a second. But after a moment of hesitation, the impatient old man said, ‘Is my question unconstitutionally vague?!’ Everyone around me nodded – he does ask vague, weird questions – but I just did my best to make up some kind of answer that was as vague as his question.

Meanwhile, in Torts class, Dingles has decided I am a ‘contracts expert.’ This is obviously total nonsense. I simply gave a correct answer to a question about a contract early on in the semester, and Dingles has since referred to me for questions about contracts. The questions always require an easy answer. He will say something like, ‘Sam, how does it work when you take a bus? Do you just hop on the bus and tell the driver hi and take a seat?’ And I say, ‘No, you buy a ticket.’ (Which implies a contract … or something. I am really not an expert.)

So today, we were talking about a case where a newborn baby was abducted from a hospital. The baby was returned safely four months later. Should the hospital have to pay the parents of the baby for negligently causing them emotional distress? In the middle of questioning another student, Dingles suddenly shouted, very quickly, ‘This is a question for Sam! Sam, how do we get a baby?!’

Cue deer-in-headlights look from Sam.

How do we … get a baby?

The whole class laughed because his question sounded so, you know, awkward. I think the class also finds it funny that he calls on me all the damn time. Once the laughing stopped, I stalled and said, ‘What … is the question … exactly?’ And the class laughed again, and I hesitantly laughed along, pretending like it would be totally no big deal if I had to talk about the birds and the bees in front of the class.

Anyway, he clarified, saying, ‘Say I’m pregnant and am ready to have my baby. What happens?’ And I said, ‘You go to your doctor that I guess you have a contract with already.’ Or something.

Phew.

Law is a battlefield

Eleanor Roosevelt once said, ‘Do one thing every day that scares you.’

She could have just said, ‘Go to law school.’

Law school, for the first-year students, is basically a life of constant fear.

(Also, from now on, I will say 1Ls, as that is what the first-year law students are called. We are 1 Laws, I guess? 1 Lawyers?)

Our professors use the Socratic method to teach – and terrify – their students. This means they call on students at random. Some look at the roster, in which case we are all fair game, and some look into the crowd, in which case everyone employs her own strategy – look them in the eye, look away, look smart – and we hope for the best.

Some professors prefer to choose a victim or two at the start of class and stick with them through the entire hour. Other professors bounce around the room and call on many students each class, kind of like a game of dodge ball, except dodging is not an option.

The most intimidating class so far is Torts with Professor Dingles. Professor Dingles has a fancy accent, solid abs and stories of his time in the army. On the first day of class, as we were walking in and seeing him for the first time and he was seeing us for the first time, my roommate asked him a question. He looked right at her and confidently said, ‘Thanks for pointing that out, Caroline.’

Clearly he had studied our names and photos beforehand using the online law school directory.

Although he seems like a nice man, Professor Dingles is clearly determined to give us the law school experience, which consists of lots of reading with a side of humiliation. He typically chooses a handful of students each day – claiming they are on ‘his list’ – and fires questions at them at a rapid pace.

On the first day of class, he looked out into the crowd and picked Jane. He had trouble remembering her name for a second though and in the process of remembering it, he scared the hell out of me: ‘Clare! … No, Sam! … Jane!’

My heart skipped five beats. I nearly fell out of my chair.

On the second or third day of class, Professor Dingles called on Davis, who was sitting right next to me that day. I sat through class praying that Professor Dingles would be satisfied with Davis’ answers so that Dingles would not simply wander over to me. Dingles told us on Day 1 that sometimes he is looking for the wrong answers, so he can lead us to the right one. For this reason, I try to indicate through fantastic eye contact that I am completely following along and basically totally brilliant, so he should probably just call on someone else.

That seemed to work for the first three days of class, but then on Day 4, I got hit.

He began by calling on my roommate, who sits next to me. Caroline did well for a while, but then one question stumped her. Lucky for me, I had my materials ready. (My desk looks like a warzone every day. I have my computer, books and papers sprawled all over, in a very organized but still overwhelming way. My friend Austin sits next to me and asks me on a daily basis to keep my chaos out of his space.)

I started off well, keeping up with the professor’s pace and keeping my panic concealed.

After hours of delivering nothing but perfect answers, he asked me a tough one. I babbled incoherently until I could tell he wanted me to shut up. Aside from that one question though, I pretty much felt like a rock star.

But wait. The best is yet to come.

Later in the day, I glanced at my phone and saw that I had an email from Professor Dingles. I thought it would be another email to the whole class telling us which cases to memorize for tomorrow. Instead, I saw, ‘Hi Sam.’

I opened the email and saw a small glimpse of heaven:

‘Hi Sam.

I wanted to thank you for your participation in class today. It was clear you were well prepared. Keep up the good work.’

Basically, this was my very own Elle Woods moment. (Legally Blonde the Musical – Buy the soundtrack.)

‘Ms. Woods, you just won your case.’

‘OH MY GOOOD!!!! Wait, hold on, we just won the case! OH MY GOOOD!!! Elle got all up in Warner’s face! OH MY GOOOD!! I am starting to like this plaaaace! Yeeesssss! Omigod!’

Battle of the Schotts

I am proud to announce that after spending a week at the beach with my family, I have a slight tan. I also have gigantic pale circles around my eyes from where my sunglasses were – oops. This has happened to me before – yes, I should have learned my lesson – and John cleverly decided to name them my ‘raccoon eyes.’ For what it’s worth, I tried in vain to fix this on the last few days of the trip, but the cloudy weather just laughed in my little raccoon face.

Andrew joined us in the beginning of the week but then had to return to work on Wednesday. Despite his short stay, however, he managed to make headlines.

Every Tuesday during the summer, a Beer Dig takes place at Silver Dunes Condominiums, where my family stays during our summer trip. This Beer Dig consists of a tennis ball buried in the sand, an average of 75 sweaty diggers and a trophy gleaming on the sidelines in the form a cooler filled with cold beer. This goes to the lucky digger who unearths the tennis ball.

Our odds of having a Schott affiliate win the Beer Dig this year were good. My family has been visiting Silver Dunes for about 25 years, and each time, we bring a big group – family, friends, neighbors, etc. (The only qualification for securing an invite to our trip is being remotely liked by the Schott family.) This year our umbrella of acquaintances included roughly 40 people.

Not only did we have strength in our number, some of us Silver Dunes veterans are close to cracking the Beer Dig code. We believe the way to win is to follow the eyes of Mr. George, the leather-skinned man who runs our beach and cannot help but look in the direction of the tennis ball during the dig, surely hoping to catch the look of excitement on the face of the winner.

After Mr. George blew the whistle to commence the digging, the Schotts dispersed across the square of sand. After a few minutes, however, we all had gravitated toward the center, thanks to the accidental hints from Mr. George. Sure enough, within minutes, Andrew raised the tennis ball victoriously.

There were hugs all around, pictures, fireworks, confetti and a congratulatory blimp. (I made up the majority of that sentence.) Andrew turned to me and said, ‘Man, this is only my second year coming on the trip with you guys! This must be some kind of record!’

Yes, Andrew, you are the greatest, most perfect person ever! I’ve been coming on this trip for 23 years, and I still haven’t won! YAY, I’M SO GLAD YOU BEAT ME!

I kid … a little bit. If I couldn’t win, my next choice was Andrew or Trevor. (Tyler and Kenzie have each won twice, and my dad has won as well. Mom doesn’t always participate, and when she does, she just watches Mr. George and tells her kids where to dig.)

Of course, in addition to the Beer Dig, we had other competitions throughout the week, including fierce games of Running Charades and Salad Bowl.

Allow me to explain Running Charades. We have two teams, each in separate rooms. One person sits in a middle room with a list of movies that he or she wrote. One person from each team starts in the middle room, where the movie-giver tells them the first movie. They run back to their teams and act it out. Whoever guesses then runs back to the middle for the next movie, and so on and so forth until one team makes it through the entire list.

There were many memorable instances, but I would like to highlight one of my more impressive moments. Nine-year-old Philip ran into the room, counting with his fingers. After a few precious moments went by, he indicated that the movie title had eight words. He then did our symbol for place, and our team shouted every country, state and major city on the planet, except for the one he was looking for. We then determined that the third and seventh words were ‘are.’

Suddenly enlightened, I shouted, ‘THE RUSSIANS ARE COMING, THE RUSSIANS ARE COMING!’ Philip nodded with glee as I sprinted out of the room.

We also played Salad Bowl on Saturday night at home in Louisiana. Andrew came over, and we recruited Dad to play. To refresh your memory on the workings of Salad Bowl, each player writes words or phrases on pieces of paper. We place them all in a bowl. We have two teams – every other person – and then we pass the bowl around for one-minute turns. First, we give clues like in Catchphrase. Once through all the words, we dump them back in the bowl and do charades and then go through them again using one-word clues.

Andrew submitted phrases like ‘justifiable homicide,’ ‘reasonable suspicion,’ and other police terms, along with the controversial ‘Barj Dubai.’ This is apparently the tallest building in the world, yet no one in my family has heard of it. Trevor wrote ‘Mirado Black Warrior,’ which is supposedly a kind of pencil. Both Andrew and Trevor were scolded for writing obscure words, and they nobly defended themselves. I ended up siding with Trevor who fought like a warrior to persuade us that his pencil brand was a manageable entry. Concerning the validity of Andrew’s entries though, I am still reasonably suspicious.

In deep water

GUESS WHAT I’M FAMOUS!!! A magazine published my feedback! It’s the British version of Brides! Go buy it! Page 24!

I bought two copies yesterday evening and the ladies working at Barnes and Noble congratulated me … on being engaged, I suppose. I told them I am not yet engaged and I actually just like weddings. I also explained that my feedback had been published in the magazine and asked if they wanted autographs.

Upon hearing this, one of the ladies practically screamed: GIRL YOU GOTTA GO BUY LIKE 10 COPIES!!

I KNOW! IT’S THE GREATEST DAY OF MY LIFE!!

Speaking of weddings, Andrew’s brother got married over the weekend. The wedding featured hay bales, horses, bees, a barn and a general consensus that Sam and Andrew are next in line to be married. I told those who asked to calm down; Andrew and I will get married in three years, unless before then Andrew miraculously decides to start reading my blog and breaks up with me for this post, among others.

The wedding was in Georgia, and to get there, I made the mistake of flying U.S. Airways. When I arrived at the airport, I first stood in a very long security line. Luckily, I was behind two funny gentlemen on whom I could eavesdrop.

As we neared the security scanners, the line forked and you could choose one of two lines. These two men decided to pick different lines and race. As the lines crawled along, they bantered back and forth with each other.

Man 1: It’s too bad I put a giant water bottle in your bag.

Man 2: Well, I put my three extra laptops in your luggage, so good luck with that.

This provided nice comic relief in the midst of this bucket of hell that was the majority of my airport experience.

After security, I found my gate and looked for a seat. I had no luck, however, because U.S. Airways thinks it’s a good idea for ten flights in a row to share one gate. This means people are nearly gridlocked in this small space and just standing around holding heavy luggage and growing grumpier by the minute.

As you hover around, you listen for your flight to be called over the loudspeaker. When a flight is called, people bump into each other as they move to the escalators. These take you downstairs, where you wait in another line. After this, you would think it’s time to get on your plane, but it’s not. It’s time for you to ride a small, hot crowded bus across the airplane parking lot.

People cram onto this bus, where there is not enough room for everyone’s luggage in the luggage racks. So some luggage ends up just sliding around in the aisle and falling over as we ride. The suitcases also receive free water on the way, leaking from the roof of the bus. Considering the bright, sunny day outside, this steady flow of water from the top of the bus confused me.

By the time I am on the plane, I am determined to never fly U.S. Airways again, and I am desperately missing the smart, friendly way that Southwest treats their passengers. I even Tweeted at U.S. Airways to tell them how disappointed I was with their chaotic boarding style. Unfortunately, they were too busy responding to loads of other angry customers so they never got around to answering mine.

When the plane landed in Chattanooga, passengers exited the plane and were surprised to find themselves standing in the middle of the airplane parking lot. I want to reiterate that – we were in the airplane parking lot, where the gigantic airplanes drive around and take off and stuff.

Many seemed confused like me, and I creepily took pictures of them while we stood around. I also laughed to myself like a weirdo.

(I think homegirl may have caught me snapping this shot, now that I look at it.)

Andrew soon happily greeted me inside the airport and I grumpily told him I was hungry. We drove to the property – where the wedding was and where the bridal party stayed – and we soon feasted at the rehearsal dinner. Then we taught the bridal party how to play Salad Bowl.

At the lovely wedding the next day, the groom cried uncontrollably and caused all of the bridesmaids and most of the groomsmen to completely lose it as well. As I stared at them from the audience, I didn’t know whether to cry with them or laugh at them. I ended up crying.

Calling the police

I thought the world was ending last night.

At 3 a.m. I woke up in a panic. Immediately, I called Andrew, my personal police officer. This is the second time this has happened, and I realize how blessed I am to have a nocturnal boyfriend.

In my nightmare, I had been sitting in the living room of the convent, with all the other residents, and news was spreading across the country that the world was ending. Something terrible was happening in Dallas, but no one was saying what it was because it was too terrible. For some reason though, Kenzie was still planning to drive to Dallas.

When I told Andrew this, he pointed out that in real life, Kenzie would not be heading to Dallas under these circumstances. I now see that he was trying to help me realize that my dream was far from reality and I didn't need to be scared.

But I wrongly interpreted his comment as criticism to my dream, so I gave a defensive response: "Well, yeah, I know! But I can't control my dreams! Leave me alone!"

I didn't really tell him to leave me alone. I was still clinging to the phone in fear.

After a brief summary of my dream, I insisted we talk about happy things. But fear soon struck me again when I realized I needed to use the restroom ... and I was too afraid to walk down the hall ... because, you know, the world could end if I venture into the hallway alone.

So I asked Andrew to stay on the phone while I scurried down the hall and then scurried back.

If that is TMI, I apologize.

(Mom, Dad, Grandma – TMI = 'Too Much Information.')

LOL. TTYL.