The First Day, Part Une

Well, T-minues ten minutes. All the sheep (students) have been funneled into the corral (room D) and tethered (via keyboard and extension cord). Now we’re all mulling restlessly. No one really knows what’s going on. We’re all shifting about in the elegant but extravagantly uncomfortable hardback chairs...

You’d think the professor would make an appearance a few minutes ahead of class – we’re six minutes away and he has yet to show. Then again, maybe it’s best that he doesn’t; who knows how we’d all react. Cold panic might spread like the plague with a set of dark, authoritative eyes peering out at us. Maybe the guy doesn’t want to have to make small talk with underlings like us.

The room filled up in a predictable pattern – fourth and fifth rows first, then the third and sixth, then the rest of the front. The seventh row is just starting to clot, and the back, eighth,is completely empty. We’ve all been warned about the perils inherent in that row. I’m on the far right end (for purposes of maximum mobility/space and minimal elbow bashing and panic possibility) in the fourth row. It seems to be fine.

The class breakdown is rather typical. About half of the people are in jeans and t-shirts, a few with halves. The majority have nice pants and those loose, dress, ratcatcher-type shirts. Then, a few of us went all out, dressed up with makeup and the whole bit. It’s basically me and all the people who took a few years to venture out into the business world before coming to law school.
Why would you wear a pair of shorts and a t-shirt with a backwards baseball cap for the first day? Good Lord, you slob. He’s in the front row, too.

Professor Maggs walked in and silence fell like a thick fog. He’s in a suit, with one of those tacky pastel dress shirts, paired with slte gray pants, a navy blazer, and a totally clashing hunter green tie with tan polka-dots. And his wife let him leave the house like that? !He’s got a little ring of gray hair and a bald head, and bears a striking resemblance to the beauty salon guy I saw in the Princess Diaries 2 commericials, the one that said, “You make all the boy moose go HWAAAAAA.” His face is always kind of scrunched up, puckered like a lemon. He’s got one of those voices that has just started to lower with age and occasionally brushes up against a gravelly texture with slightly breathy intervals.

He passed out a seating chart and asked only for the last names. From here on out I am “Miss…last time” (omitted herein lest some internet bypasser happen upon this page).
It’s really nice to look around and realize everybody’s alone. No one really knows their neighbor, or who they’re sitting next to. There are a few roommates, but that’s the extent of our networking thus far.

I really like how they cut out the fat, here. If someone answers incorrectly, there’s no, “Well, close, but…” or “That’s a good guess, but…” Instead, he just picks another person to ask, and the conversation continues. It’s such a nice change from undergrad – the difference between walking to the store nonstop with your destination in mind and meandering to the store while stopping to look for red pebbles every few steps. It’s like, let’s just get there and do our thing and leave, huh? (I suspect my opinion on this matter will change the first time I answer incorrectly and meet the Cold Shoulder of being Ignored).

I don’t know whether it’s the fear of being called on or the general anxiety of the day or the result of too much caffeine this morning, but I have to use the restroom like you would not believe. I do not, however, believe in walking out in the middle of class. That always bothered me in undergrad – it’s like a slap in the face to the teacher. “Here I go! I have better things to do than listen to your boring monologue!”

I feel slightly like a new zebra at the local zoo, or like Bambi after he was born in the forest. Everyone who walks by eyes the lot of us like a fresh batch of flowers. Earlier there was a trio of professors standing outside, rotating in a semicircle to get a good look at all of us. What are we, slabs of meat? I realize we’re new recruits, but, some on!

Some dude just got up and walked out, I can’t believe it. In a bright orange shirt, too.

Next up : Dean Hurd’s class. She’s in a classy cream pantsuit with flowing material and a lace shirt, very classy and expensive, the type of elegant fabric and cut I always remember my Mom wearing to important functions and church., complete with fresh pleats. She has big silver raindrop earrings reminiscent of the 80’s that look so heavy I hope for her sake they’re clip on. Her hair is immobile, hay-colored and styled in a wide sweep beneath a deep coat of hair spray. She’s stern but friendly and sprinkles her speech with jokes and smiles. What gets me is her eyes – she has those thick, focused eyes that peer with a steely glint. I’m going to hate playing the rabbit. The whole effect is topped off by a French manicure and crisp fake nails. Obviously a child of the 80’s, but quick, to the point, and abrupt in her manner.

You know, Dad took Latin in high school and called it a largely worthless endeavor. I wish to take contention with this assertion – there are so many legal terms I could spit. I feel like I’m going to school at Hogworts.

Time to focus. See you later!