School's In

The first day of law school came and went. Which is good, because that's how days are supposed to go. If it went without ever coming then we would have a problem. I'm particularly happy about the day leaving. Because it was not the best day that ever happened. Nothing was specifically wrong with it per se, but I am not exactly having the easiest time settling into school, life in DC, not having all my friends here, etc. But that's alright, hopefully it will get better. If it doesn't then I will have to change this blog's title to Will's drop-out Law Blog, which isn't as catchy.

Law school is an awful lot like high school I can't help but notice. There are a bunch of similarities. One is that we have lockers. Luckily the 2L and 3L's aren't at school yet, so they can't shove me into the lockers until someone hears my cries for help. Another reason that probably won't happen is that the lockers could not possibly fit the volume of my body. I am far too big. I think these lockers could barely house a squirrel. Another reason law school is high school is that we have a zillion (read: 5) classes, sometimes half a zillion (read: 4) a day. Who does that? We also have the same people in every class. And homework for every class every night that you pretty much have to do. I feel like I'm regressing. Particularly because it takes me about an hour to do a 15 page homework assignment. But at least that's because it usually requires briefing cases and complex legal ideas, not because I'm an extraordinarily slow reader.

In true high school fashion, I present a math problem that is totally useless:
Law School = High School - (Jocks + Preps + Other Cliques) + (Vocational Training - Shop Class) + [(Paying attention in class) x (Teachers liking you)] - Gym.

Here's a thing that sucks: the school automatically takes an additional $50 from your tuition as a voluntary library fee and you have to specifically request that they not do it. That's not ok. They are relying on my laziness or lack of reading comprehension to take my $50 away from me. A fool and his money are soon parted. But I'm not a fool, at least not about this. This is a ridiculous policy. It's like if I come to your house and take smuggle out a trophy from your youth, like your security blanket, but I leave an unsigned note on your nightstand telling you I've done so and that I'll be happy to give it back to you pending your arrival at my front door. It's more than a little inconvenient to find out who I'm supposed to talk to, where financial aid is, wait in line, and present the letter showing your attempt to rip me off. The things I do for $50. But you would too...if you noticed they took it.