Day One of OCI

Welcome to today’s episode of “I don’t know what I’m doing… don’t hate me.” It’s time for on-campus interviewing, otherwise known as the ritualistic torture of unsuspecting second-year law students!

I somehow managed to make myself presentable this morning. As I passed the mirror of my bathroom I had to look twice – it seemed like another person eyeing me critically. With considerable reluctance I dragged myself, kicking and screaming, to the law school at 9:00 for my 9:30 appointment with the heartless soul sucker – oops, I mean, mock interviewer.

I paced in the waiting room for about three years before he finally came out to retrieve me. Oh, I’m sorry – he sent his secretary out to retrieve me. Thirty minutes later, I limped out of his office about four inches shorter, ready to purchase a noose.

Some questions he asked:
- Tell me about yourself? (I paused for a moment here, trying to keep the inevitable stupid expression from my face)
- What made you want to go to law school? (“Art school wasn’t an option. Not the right answer?” …just kidding, I didn’t really say that…)
- Tell me about your extracurricular activities at U of I. (trying to stay alive?)
- Why did you decide to go to U of I?
- What made you interested in our firm? (the potential paycheck?)
- Where do you see yourself in five years? (steadily employed, God willing)
- So… your GPA is a bit lower than the candidates we typically hire. What should I tell the firm about your grades? Did you have any health problems? (where do I begin?)

He essentially stated that, with my grades, I had no chance at procuring a position through OCI. (Although he did attempt to soften the blow by commenting that I displayed no nerves, possessed stellar conversational skills – you can stop laughing, Mom – and presented myself well, with good posture and attire.) He proceeded to mention that my resume, while interesting, was not “the kind of thing law firms are used to seeing.” Guess that means I’ll be re-doing it, hmm? He offered to “take the liberty” and edit my resume for me. He claims he’ll e-mail me when it’s finished. Mmm-hmm.

With solemn limbs and a slow gait, I moped back to my car and drove over to join the firing squad for my “real” interviews. They’re held at the Digital Computer Lab, which also serves as the engineering building. It’s obvious where all the money at U of I went – this is a massive, four-story conglomerate of elegance, class and shining glass.

Luckily, I found a parking spot right in front, and jogged over to the door (although I had arrived a half hour early). As I reached for the door handle, I realized my new navy shoes were no longer strangling my toes, and glanced down to see I was still sporting my tennis shoes, into which I had changed for the drive over. After a quick change, I breezed in and asked the first person I saw for directions. The lady shrugged and pointed up, which helped immensely. Luckily, I ran into two classmates toiling in the lobby, and sat down to join the exposition of nerves and agitation. The girl also had an interview at 10:40, so after a few anxious minutes we migrated up to the third floor together. There were a lot of nervous second-years milling around, most sporting new suits and crisp white shirts, some looking less than stellar in obnoxious hot pink or tan ensembles.

At the check-in desk (manned by a particularly haggard-looking administrative lady), I received a little tag with the name of my firm (Schiff Hardin LLP) and the interviewers, along with the room number. They instructed me to stand outside the room and wait until 10:40, then knock on the door.

I parted ways with Amy and went in search of room 20. The long hallway curved into a menacing U-shape, with pristine tan carpet and a long parade of crisp wooden doors with official gold handles. Students in various states of nervousness and agitation milled about each of them, fingering their freshly-acquired lapels or drumming their fingers against pressed pants. I felt like a candidate for the firing squad, passing sympathetic faces en route to my premature and inhumane demise.

Although someone had left the door to room 20 ajar, it was vacant. I crossed my arms and attempted to look as innocuous yet confident as possible while standing stupidly in the middle of the hallway staring at a schedule posted outside the door. After about thirty seconds a friendly-looking heavy-set black woman appeared and said, “Oh, I’m sorry; you’re waiting for us!” She welcomed me inside and we engaged in idle chitchat about how grade and high schools seemed to start so much later than law school. She was friendly and engaging, and I found my nerves diminishing rapidly.

After a few minutes a tall, reedy-looking Geek Squad candidate joined us, and the afternoon went quite well…

- So, tell me about living at Baytowne. I lived there when I went to college… I still remember my apartment and building number…
Me: It’s wonderful, blah blah blah, we just got wireless internet in the gatehouse, which is fantastic…
- It sounds like you had a really varied summer working for Eagles Entertainment. (long pause, obviously for me to jump in)
Me: Yes, I am immensely grateful for the experience…
- Why did you decide to go to law school?
- What kind of law would you like to practice?
- Do you have any questions for us?

Notable comments about the firm:
- everyone is issued a BlackBerry, at the firm’s expense

Later that afternoon, I arrived about five minutes early to my McDermott & Wills inquisition. Positioning myself outside the door with a well-practiced rapt yet casual expression (I hoped), I read the bios someone had posted about the two potential interviewers. Through the door window I glimpsed a flash of blonde hair, so I expected the subject of the female bio to be my torturer. She specialized in litigation, particularly torts involving products liability (nothing that remotely interested me, but a little forged interest never hurt anybody).

Someone approached from behind me that I did not recognize to peer in the door’s window. Although he had about a decade on me, I presumed him a 2L interviewing student due to his casual demeanor. “You next?” He inquired.

“Yep, I’m next on the firing squad,” I nodded.

He made some sort of hand motion through the window and then nodded to me, “She’s motioning for me to come in. It’ll be just a minute.”

“Okay; thanks,” I smiled stupidly. He disappeared into the room, and I realized with mounting horror that the man who had just spoken to me matched the mug of the male interviewer posted on the door. I hadn’t recognized him without a tie and with substantially shorter hair.

Oops.

They sat beside each other, eyeing my resume with blank yet pleasant expressions. Each interviewer is issued a binder of resumes for each student, and then inserts their own “grading” pages, onto which they scribble indecipherably while the subjects of their narriatives attempt to focus enough to spout something approaching Shakespeare.

- Why are you interested in McDermott as opposed to all the other firms you could be interviewing with?
- What classes are you taking in the fall? Are you tailoring your selections to the IP field?
- What is the Eagles Club?
- I see you clerked for Judge Halbrooks?
- Do you know what you would like to practice?
- What kind of firm are you looking for? Small, large, corporate…
- Where would you like to practice? (they have multiple offices, and were agreeable and encouraging when I mentioned I would like to start in Chicago and transfer to Miami – apparently that happens frequently)
- Are you interested in litigation at all?
- What in your background indicates that you will succeed in the IP field?
- Obviously we have a limited amount of time in which to get to know you, but I would like to extend the opportunity for you to pose some questions to us. (Argh! I hate this question! I’m learning, people – help me along! Toss me a bone! I know you’re not going to offer me a job, anyway, so let’s get some practice going!)

Notable comments about the firm:
- very self-driven; you choose your own hours
- lots of associates start in one location and switch to another location, and the company is amenable to that

On the way out, the woman motioned toward a black bag sitting on the corner of the table. The man reached in obligingly and produced a tiny object with the firm’s name printed on the side. I leaned forward eagerly and burst out, “Oooh, is that a flash drive?” The woman interviewer smiled and said to the man, “I knew she’d like it!” (We had spent a great deal of time discussing my interest in internet technology and computer-related IP law.)

All in all, not a bad day. I’m sure they were both just humoring me with their feigned interest, but I sure appreciated not feeling like an incompetent reject from Freaks and Geeks.