Wrong.

Turns out, Catholic does not require any certification that you’re actually working. (Quick calls to Georgetown, George Washington, and American confirmed that they don’t follow this policy either.) The upshot of all this is that if you have a job, and have genuine obligations, you should know that you’ll be competing against a bunch of people who have neither.

Here’s the “Official Fight the Hypo Guide to Identifying Employment Status” among evening students:

No Job at All – these “part time/full time” students tend to be younger, and have the express intention of transferring either to the day program or somewhere else as soon as possible. They probably didn’t pull the LSAT scores they needed to get right into a day program, or decided that they wanted the time to intern during the day, or work part-time. You’ll be able to pick them out by their flip-flops and relaxed expressions.

People Who “Sort of” Have Jobs – these folks cover a wide variety of professions, ranging from federal employees to those who initially seem to have real jobs. You’ll soon discover that this is garbage however, when you discover that these jobs don’t have performance requirements, deadlines, and they start babbling on about how they were able to “close the door to the office and study” during the work day without fear of repercussions. Also look for self-satisfied grins and lots of patting themselves on the back for how “hard” they have it.

People Who Have Real Jobs – turns out that this is a surprising minority among evening students. These people have jobs, with deadlines and performance requirements. You can easily spot them based on their scowls, weight gain, and look of rank frustration.

On a serious note, how is this fair? I know the law schools do it for the cash, but why does the ABA allow this to continue? If they can prevent full-time students from having employment during their first year, can’t they mandate that evening students have a job?

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The only grade I have so far is from Lawyering Skills and that class ended in April with our Appellate Brief. Dr. Bombay wondered last week whether other schools run on similar timelines. So, do you? Are you still waiting for Spring semester grades? When you were in school did you wait long? Did you even care how long it took to get grades back? Were you ever prevented from getting a job or internship by delays in receiving grades.

So, I’m still waiting on Property, Contracts, and Torts (the other Torts section received their grades). I’m told the deadline for professors to turn grades in is June 9th, a full month after the exam period ended. Even then, a friend says the Registrar’s office tells him that professors don’t really pay attention to the deadline, opting to just turn grades in when they get to it.

It can’t take that long to grade exams. Can it? The school’s website says that average first year class size 70. The entering evening division class is half the size of the day division class so I would imagine evening classes students that number is lower – my largest class was 46 (ish). So if we assume evening sections average 50 students (on the most extreme high end), a professor could review 3.5 exams per business day and be done with exams and grades in three weeks.

Frustration. I really want to say sincerely that I understand my professors’ predicament – they have demands on their time, they’d like a break, it’s a long semester, they have families, etc. While that’s all true, students wait for grades for any number of reasons, not the least of which is receiving an objcetive measure of how they actually did (no small issue considering we’re graded on a curve). It’s not like we’re Hart from The Paper Chase hanging out at the beach just waiting to tear up our grades because of some epiphany that they don’t matter. Aside from being a disappointing end to an otherwise great movie, we actually do obsess about such things and many of us actually do need them in a timely fashion.

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Of course, when I was in undergrad no one but the tools ever brought a laptop to class.

I am a big fan of limited rules in class – I would rather let my fellow students police behavior through good old-fashioned peer pressure than waste class time having the professors do it. I’m sure I can do a better job getting my neighbor to quit surfing Perez Hilton in class than the professor can.

Now, I don’t want to give the impression that no one in class is paying attention because they’re too busy playing World of Warcraft and eating catered dinners. But then again, last night, I was reminded that maybe professors do need to set down rules. Summer classes have begun and during our inaugural session our Professional Responsibility professor went through his usual rules, ending with “no drinking in class.” He said this with a bottle of water in his hand. I was about to get my dander up at this blatant hypocrisy when he clarified he was talking about alcohol, not general drinks.

I would be naive if I said I didn’t think this kind of thing ever happened in school – even law school. We’re all over 21, so having a drink before or after class isn’t a big deal. But c’mon. Drinking in class? Really?

I don’t get it. Unless you’re a bona fide alcoholic (which raises plenty of questions on its own) I don’t see how anybody needs booze to get through an hour long class. And what’s worse, I can’t believe that this is the kind of thing a professor actually feels the need to bring up specifically. And the way he couched it, he was laying the rule down not because he suspected it was occuring, but because it actually had occurred in his other classes. I had heard rumors, of course, but I didn’t think they had risen to the level that the professor would have figured it out.

I have to question the judgment of a future lawyer who would think boozing it up in Contracts is cool.

Then again, from one perspective, I suppose I shouldn’t be upset with this kind of behavior – if you’re drunk in class, you’re probably only going to help the curve come finals. At the same time, there’s something about it that I find inherently disrespectful.

I wonder if anyone else out there has an experience with this kind of crap in class. Is this a big deal? Is it not a big deal? Is it universal? Or was this an isolated situation?

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The conversation obviously swerved towards the first year experience, and some of the same consideration we’ve voiced here. Specifically, about the cost of attendance, and how law school debt can force you to make career choices that you might otherwise avoid. She said she selected Arizona not only because of its preeminence in the field of Native American and indigenous people’s law, but also because the cost was such that she didn’t have to worry about the debt affecting her career choices.

At this point, I will paraphrase the conversation:

Me: You know, I’ve done a little research on this topic for a blog I write, and I don’t think it’s going to be a long term problem. The number of American law school graduates really hasn’t changed since the ‘70’s, and once the baby boomers start retiring, a lot of space is going to be opened up in the profession.

Her: Interesting. What’s the name of you blog?

Me: It’s called Fight the Hypo.Com. Some friends of mine from school started it to talk about the issues facing evening law students.

Her: Oh, I’ve heard of that.

Me: Really?

Her: Yeah, I work for a law firm and the paralegals in my office are always looking around the web for sites that have useful information, and I know I’ve heard that information.

Me: That’s great. Thanks.

Meanwhile, in my head, I was trying to keep from dancing around and running outside to call the Sherpa. To all of our loyal readers, we thank you for your continued support and look forward to you continuing along with us on our long, strange trip. 

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I think this is because far more than day students, evening students have a diverse set of experiences outside of law school that affect how the process goes. Someone have no job, so have soft jobs that let them study at their desks, and some have complete soul-crushing jobs that cause you to show up late to your exams. Problems with your spouse or your children don’t go away because you’re in school. Hell, they might get worse. People will still get sick, have babies, loved ones may pass away. In short, life does not stop just because you chose to go to law school.

And maybe that’s the lesson. Maybe the most important piece of advice I can give is that all the talk of the transformative power of law school, of teaching you to “think like a lawyer” doesn’t mean that you have to change who you are. And that is not a bad thing.

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Here’s mine:

You red clad devil.

Your page limit frustrates me.

Can’t wait to burn you.*

* after I submit you, get a grade, and get you back, of course. you don’t get off that easy.

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So, we’re taking a vacation to the Outer Banks this summer with some friends. Like many, we found a property online and booked it. Last night – about a week later – I received the rental agreement in the mail. I read every. single. word. of it. It all looked pretty straight forward, but I got a kick out of this sentence: “Most homes are served by septic systems.” (emphasis added) Visions of Mrs. Rush and her port-o-john trap door danced in my head. It’s even got the Hadley Rule covered: “… in no event shall Owner be held liable for any consequential or secondary damages.”

And then… I looked up the statute it references (the Vacation Rental Act, N.C.G.S.A. § 42(a) (West 2008)) and read every. single. word. of it. It also looked rather straight forward. The statute was enacted, partly, in response to a court decision finding that the protections for renters in the state’s Residential Rental Agreements Act did not apply to vacation property renters. Since these tenants were not renting their primary residence, there could be no duty – imposed by common law or the then-current statutory regime- imposed by vacation renters on landlords to provide habitable premises. The case involved the collapse of a deck that injured the family who was standing on it at the time.

I’m at the point where the indemnity and merger clauses kind of scare me because I know what they mean. But I’m also thinking of the typical exceptions to these clauses and the parol evidence rule and unconscionability and unequal bargaining power and adhesion contracts…. etc.

I was also particularly interested in the trip insurance provision – providing for a refund of money spent under certain circumstances, i.e. when a hurricane causes you to evacuate or the house burns down, etc. When I was in 8th grade, my family was evacuated from the Outer Banks by Hurricane Emily. I remember sleeping at a rest stop and spending a night in a school gym in Wilson, NC. So… we got the insurance.

Of course there are infinite procedural and substantive issues which I know little or nothing about. I have no knowledge of local rules either. My cursory glance at the law only helps me define some issues. Still, even though my vacations will never be the same again (at least until after the bar) it continues to strike me how differently I view these things now.

Plus, we’re likely to have an uneventful trip – so long as Mrs. Sherpa behaves herself.

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