Instead of staying at the conference center, I stayed with BeadFreak so that I could take the Boston Terrorists with me. Our evenings were much tamer, and involved lots of red wine, giggling, wedding talk (hers, not mine) and Grey’s Anatomy. Oh, and pillow fights in our underwear. Because that is what we girls — even ones with professional degrees — do anytime we spend the night together (Note: Anonymous Boyfriend contends that if there are no photos or videos, it didn’t happen. I tried to explain that we law-types are risk averse and therefore wouldn’t record it, but he remains unconvinced).

The first day Judge D. gave one of the conference lectures. During his talk, he couldn’t resist singling me out: “My law clerk, LST, does this all day long. LST, where are you? Raise your hand!” This, of course, was a personal nightmare; those of you who know me know that I hate being the center of attention, whether at a professional conference or at a hibachi table. And of course for the rest of the week, people kept coming up to me and asking, “You’re Judge D.’s clerk, right?” Shoot. Me. Now.

At some point I also realized that gunners will always be gunners, even after law school is but a fleeting and distant memory. One of the Career Law Clerks they couldn’t resist getting into a heated argument with a judge about whether or not a conference is necessary before a party files a motion to compel discovery. Not only was CLC an obnoxious know-it-all, she was flat out wrong. It takes a lot of balls to fight with a judge, and even bigger ones to continue the fight even when you’re wrong and the rest of the room is fed up with you.

As if that weren’t punishment enough, I got my very own one-on-one time with CLC as she ambushed me on my way to the bathroom.

CLC: You’re Judge D.’s clerk, right?

Me: That depends on who is asking.

CLC: Can I ask you a question?

Me: I suppose that was rhetorical.

CLC: On the materials Judge D. handed out about adoption, it says that a criminal background check is required for all adoptions.

Me: Yes.

CLC: Is that just your circuit’s policy?

Me, dumbfounded: [long pause] It’s the law.

CLC: Is that a new law?

Me, trying to make a hasty escape: No. You’ve always had to get a state background check. Now, as of July 1, you have to get an FBI check too.

CLC: Does that apply to adult adoptions as well?

Me, incredulous: … No. There’s a whole statute about adoption. I hear it’s pretty informative.

She then proceeded to violate my aural canal with thisthatandtheother about the sheriff’s office and fingerprinting and the clerk of court blah blah blah.

It had to have been divine retribution for some horrible offense I’d committed, like replying to jail mail with random photocopied pages from the encyclopedia, or telling a petitioner that the statute of limitations on divorce had run so he’d have to just learn to live with his wife.

It’s a tough job getting paid to enjoy the gorgeous fall weather and play with your girlfriends and eat out every night on the state’s dime. Oh and learn. A lot. But, somebody’s gotta do it.

I got to work early (!) this morning, but still had to park across the street from the courthouse.   Even though I work for the judiciary, I often have little regard for the law, particularly stupid laws.  Because I didn’t feel like walking the rest of the way down the block to the crosswalk, I just waited for traffic to clear and jaywalked my happy ass across the street.

There was one car approaching, but I had plenty of time to get across the street.  But as it got closer, I saw it was a cop.  “No one gets in trouble for jaywalking,” I thought.  Well, no one except for me.

The cop car began flashing its sirens and honked the horn at me.  “Fuck me,” I thought.  “I’m about to get a massive ticket and lecture for jaywalking, and my judges will certainly leave me to my devices on this one.”  While I am fond of both of them and know they have my best interests in mind, I am relatively sure that neither of them would take to kindly to me pulling the whole, “Do you know who I work for?” line.  A previous clerk tried that and he is now in jail for DUI and assault on a police officer.

As I was preparing a (very poor) excuse for why I didn’t use the crosswalk, the cop car slowed down and rolled down its window.   As I was stammering out a “G-g-g-ood morning, officer,” I realized that the cop was none other than one of the bailiffs from my floor, just trying to fuck with my head and give me a good scare.

When he told me he wished he’d turned on the siren, I informed him that he would have received my dry cleaning bill after I’d gone home to change my pants.

I can safely say, so far, there’s yet to be a boring day at the office.

The boring witnesses testified yesterday. Like the coroner: “Yup, he’s dead. Cause of death is shooting.” I mean, even Fiddy wouldn’t survive 17 gunshots, I don’t think. So I wasn’t too disappointed to have missed out on graphic photographs of a drug-dealer-turned-swiss-cheese.

The more interesting witnesses took the stand today. Of note was a prosecution witness who was also a former drug dealer and good friend of the victim. Now, maybe I’m naive, but it seems like preparing a witness is a key tenet of good trial practice. It doesn’t seem too great to put someone on the stand who (1) testifies in open court that if you come into his “hood” and leave your door unlocked, he will have no qualms about stealing your shit, and (2) admits to pistol-whipping and robbing the unarmed defendant, again with no qualms.

I did, in fact, learn a great deal today. Mostly about the vocabulary and culture of the drug trade. To wit:

Trap (n.): A house (usually rented) where drug transactions take place. While people may “chill” at the trap, they generally do not stay overnight regularly.

Cop deuces (v. phr.): To concede a point or an argument in order to avoid a violent confrontation.

Heat (n.): Gun, firearm. Synonym: piece.

Bring it (v.): To carry a gun. See also: heat.

Slip (v.): To make a mistake, specifically a mistake that makes one susceptible to being robbed or otherwise victimized by crime. For example, leaving one’s car unlocked in the “hood” is a slip that makes robbery of said car fully justified.

Deal (n.): A drug transaction entered into after negotiation between the parties. The “deal” often depends on the parties’ relationship, i.e. whether the parties are strangers to one another, friends, or family. Prices vary accordingly. For instance, while the witness would be willing to sell drugs to the defense attorney for $12, he would charge the prosecutor $20, but a family member would only have to pay $4.

Connection (n.): One who introduces a drug dealer to a supplier or customer; also, one who provides drugs on a wholesale basis to a drug dealer. According to this witness, “You have to plug in a lamp before it turns on. The connection is the plug.” Makes perfect sense to me.

Straight (adj.): Having a lot of money, especially in the form of cash.

Trial practice lesson of the day: It’s always good to speak the language of your witnesses.

I left work at around 12:25 this morning and got home just after 1:00. I caught a few hours of sleep and got up at 7:30 to come back to work. As I was drinking coffee with my dad this morning at 8:15, he said, “I thought you were going in late this morning.”

“I am,” I said.

The Office had an outing last week to see “The Devil Wears Prada.” While I enjoyed the movie and thought it was funny, parts of it hit a nerve with me. I don’t want to be the girl that no one can count on anymore because she’s a workaholic. I already feel I’ve let down so many people this summer. So many times I’ve had to postpone my weekend trips to visit the Beef in Little A-Town. So many dinners I’ve had to bail on with my dad. This summer, I have been That Girl.

On Monday, I put my foot down and put myself and my friends ahead of my job. My best friend from high school, K, graduated from college, and I promised I’d be there. I told the Boss I had to leave at noon to be at an important event for a friend. We have a major brief due this week, but I left work in time to get to the graduation. It felt so good to be there for K on such a big occasion. For one day, I was no longer That Girl. For one day, my friends trusted me. For one day, I had no regrets.

Aside from the underlying legal issue, my real question was, “Who the hell fires someone at 7 o’clock on a Monday night?” That’s just asking for an office shooting, I say. There are even studies showing that firing someone on Friday greatly decreases the chances of retaliation on the part of the ex-employee.

But, there’s nothing like half-off bottles of wine at Osteria 832 on a Tuesday night to erase the week’s troubles. This might become a tradition.

I have been talking to my friends and hearing about their awesome summers at big firms, and I must admit that I am a bit jealous. They get assignments to do, but they also get taken to lunch everyday and they get to use the firm’s box seats at Turner Field. They get to interact with so many different people on a daily basis.

I know that I could have landed one of those jobs if I’d either 1) stayed at my First Law School and interviewed there, or 2) made my transfer decision earlier so that I would have been able to participate in Early Interview Week at PDSEU. Instead, my indecisiveness bit me in the ass and I missed out on all the cherry jobs.

Instead, I am working for a solo practitioner where I have real deadlines and work on real cases. While that may sound well and good, it actually puts me under immense pressure that I don’t feel like I am prepared for. I’m not a lawyer. I’m a law student.

After being lulled into a sense of contentment at my current job, I decided not to go to the firm that had offered me a job for the second half of the summer. Mostly because I don’t have to be at the office at 7:30 a.m. here and can occasionally bring T.Min. to work with me. I mailed them a letter declining their offer, which was probably not good, considering I’d previously accepted. Then, things took a turn here and suddenly felt trapped, thinking that I’d sent that letter just a few days too early. Timing – it always sucks.

If anything, this summer has been educational in showing me the reality of practicing law. Perhaps that’s better than working at a big firm in some respects, beceause I get to see the shitty parts of it in addition to the good parts of it so that I can make an informed decision about my career choice. I have more or less decided that while I definitely have the ability to be a lawyer, and a good one at that, I don’t necessarily want to.

For so long I had thought that the law was my calling. And I don’t hate the law, or even law school for that matter. I love both. It’s the practice of law and the reality that goes along with it that have so far left a sour taste in my mouth.

In light of all of that, I have been seriously pursuing the idea of going to graduate school after I finish law school. I want to get my masters in a program where I can get strong methodology training so that I can go into research consulting. I loved doing research when I was in college, and I even wrote a thesis that was not required. I enjoyed constructing surveys and measuring and calculating and analyzing. There is something inherently academic in it that is lacking in the practice of law.

I’ve gotten in touch with my college advisor, who is now teaching at a big state university in Tornado Alley. She has a wealth of information about graduate admissions and procedures and even volunteered to chat on the phone, given the complexity and number of questions I posed to her. Most importantly, she didn’t think that I’m being silly or flighty. I appreciate the fact that she takes me seriously and doesn’t think I’m absurd for wasting three years of time and tuition on law school.

So that’s where I am at this point. I will graduate from law school. I will take the bar and pass the bar and be sworn in at the Capitol. But I will also take the GRE and apply to graduate school and see where I get accepted and go from there. And ultimately, this all may lead to an entirely new adventure for me, one that I welcome.

This is doubly true when you have a 30-page paper due the same week as a reply brief in federal court. Choosing between an F and malpractice is simply not a feasible option. Staying up until the wee hours of the morning when you have to work in a couple of hours, however, is an option. The only option, it appears.

Today is my second day at my first summer job. I’m currently working in my boss’ living room instead of my normal office space. That’s because Financial Lady is here. FL is a cross between Paula Deen and Hitler and comes in on Tuesdays to do bookkeeping and other accounting, non-lawyer type things. She is very Southern and also very territorial and abrupt. I think I overheard her bitching about something on her — now MY — desk being out of order.

The Boss was gone when FL got here, and FL immediately flew into a tizzy because HER STUFF wasn’t in HER BOX like it usually is. Or something. I called and left The Boss a voicemail. I offered to call The Boss’ legal assistant (who is down in the Americus office) to see if she knew precisely what was going on. This is the response I got from FL: “SHE won’t know where it is! SHE’S in AMERICUS!” Whoa there, FL. See if I ever offer to be helpful again. Especially considering it’s not my job to be the secretary. That’s what Secretary is here for.

But, sure enough, FL came in after trying to call Legal Assistant and told me she’d gotten some weird automated message. Not only am I not the secretary, I am also not the phone expert. The Ex-MLB Phone Guy lives behind The Boss’ house. Go talk to him. Or, in the alternative, learn how to correctly dial a long-distance telephone number. I messaged Legal Assistant and she called the office to talk to FL rather than explain to FL how to call her. Maybe while she was at it she explained the joys of modern technology to FL.

I can’t really cross FL because she is the one who cuts the paychecks, after all. I think that next Tuesday I’ll encase her office supplies in Jell-O, a la “The Office.” Or maybe I’ll just rearrange everything on MY desk Monday night before she commandeers it again.

I received some questions from people who are thinking about going to law school. I’ll post my answers sometime when I get a chance, after I’ve finished the two (yes, TWO) papers I have left to finish for this semester.