Speaking of young’uns and the stupid things they do:  it’s intern season in my office again, which is always good times.  This summer we have an intern who just finished his first year at the law school I attended.  On his first day in the office I was trying to make small talk with him, talking about professors we’d had in common, recommendations for classes next year, that sort of thing.  We chatted for a while, identified a few professors we’d both really liked, and then he said, enthusiastically, “I’m externing for Professor X this summer!”

Now, usually I can muster a half-decent poker face, but in the case of Professor X, it’s just impossible.  I haaaaaate Professor X.  Beyond all reason, really, but the man makes me INSANE.  He is petty and mean and smug and like every other negative character trait I can think of mashed up into one person.  So poor little extern is telling me about his exciting research project for Professor X and I’m looking at him like I just ate a rancid pork chop.

“Uh, do you not like Professor X?” he finally asked.

“Um,” I said “he’s not my favorite.  To be fair, I don’t think he likes me much, either.” (This is true.  The man could have been the president of the “Down with Pseudo” fan club.)

“Oh, he said.”

And then we stared at each other awkwardly for a minute, and he left.

The next day, intern came back into my office.  “I told Professor X that I’ll be working with you this summer!”  he said.

“Um,” I said.

“And you’re right!” he said.  “He didn’t really seem to remember you very fondly.  But he said you should email him!”

Huh?  I should email him?  WHY?  What would I say? “Hey, Professor X, remember me?  We had a three-year-long period of mutual loathing?  How’s it hangin’?”

But because I am a faithful follower of instructions, and the kind of person who wants people to liiiiiike meeeeee, I somehow feel like I am now obligated to email the man.  I’m not, right?  Or am I?  And if so, what should I say?

Anyway, ATL used to be largely a place where lawyer-on-lawyer weddings were reported, and where law firm sex scandals first broke, or where you could hear the best stories about summer associates getting wasted and doing stupid things.   These days, though, ATL is widely-read by people looking for news of the latest round of lawyer layoffs. While there are doubtless many people who take some pleasure in watching pompous BigLaw associates tumble, I derive no joy from this news.  These are my friends (some of them), and losing your job sucks no matter what your industry.

But it’s not just layoffs.  Many firms are delaying start dates for their incoming class of associates, and this has led to some interesting new developments.  As this story and others explain, many firms are offering their incoming associates substantial sums of money – $5000 a month from some firms, others $75,000 a year – to go work for a non-profit. It’s not quite the $160,000 they’d have made as first year BigLaw associates, but it’s nothing to scoff at.

On the one hand, I think this is great.  Non-profit legal agencies are chronically underfunded, and in times like these the need for their services is even greater.  Programs like this essentially give these agencies much-needed help for free.  Win-win.

On the other hand, and I don’t want to be a total grouch about this, I feel a little miffed.  Getting a non-profit legal job out of law school in ordinary times is hard, often way harder than getting a firm job.  In tough economic times its even harder.  I worked my ass off to get my job, and I know several excellent public service-minded lawyers who struggled even harder than I did in the job market.  It’s hard not to feel a little grumpy that these BigLaw associates, some of whom initially turned up their noses at doing poverty work, are now getting paid (literally) twice as much as I am to do it while they wait for their firm position to open up.

But that’s not the point of this post.  The point of this post is to provide a very few quick tips for any laid-off or deferred law firm associate types who may suddenly find themselves on the public interest job market.  I’ve seen a couple of these resumes already, I will doubtless see more, and I can already identify some mistakes that I’ve seen multiple people make.

Pseudo’s hot tips for lawyers who suddenly find themselves on the non-profit job market:

1. You should probably be able to say why you want to work here beyond “my firm is paying me if I can find some non-profit work.”  We like free labor, we do, but we’d like to see some indication that you are actually at least kinda sorta interested in the work we do.  You don’t need to have lots of experience in public interest (though that’s a huge plus), but you do need to show that you’re interested in learning and doing a good job with the kind of work we do.  If you aren’t, it’s not really worth it for us to bring you on board, free or not.

2. Don’t tell us the name of the fancypants designer who made your suit.  And probably leave the Tiffany cufflinks at home.

3.   Actually, there is no 3.

Really, that’s it!  Seriously!  Not many tips, but you’d be amazed how many people blow it on #1. Please think about the story you want to tell us before you send us your stuff!  Find a way to explain how the corporate for-profit work you’ve done has given you skills that will help us and our clients.  Please don’t just assume that we’ll be grateful to have such a stellar former BigLaw candidate as yourself offering to help out.  Non-profits are often small, people skills matter, and we want to believe you’re not going to be a total pain in the ass to work with.

Good luck out there.

This helpful tip brought to you by the “No Shit, Sherlock” department of Lawyer & Counsel, LLP.

Because there were so many of us, they convened the court in a huge basketball arena to get all of us done at once.  If you have never been in full business dress in a basketball arena, you’re really missing out.  The slightly sticky floor of the concession area feels really awesome in heels.

During the ceremony, there were speeches.  They were predictably awful.  One man from a bar association misquoted Robert Frost and then commended us for taking “the road less traveled.”  (Perhaps he missed the earlier speaker who announcing the record number of people getting sworn in that day.)  Another speaker told us that good lawyers are like ducks- smooth on the surface, but paddling like hell underneath.  (Polite laughter.)  A third pointed out someone who had overcome a major disability to become a lawyer. Didn’t tell any of her story, really, just said “look! this person with a disability became a lawyer!” (Polite applause.)  Then we all stood up, raised our right hands, and repeated the oath after the judge (mumbled, really- the sound system wasn’t great and I couldn’t actually hear all the words I was being asked to repeat.)

Then we filed out, scattered to find the table where our last name was in the alphabetical listings, and collected our certificates.  And we are lawyers.  So if you need legal advice, you can, technically, come to me.

I actually found out on Monday, sort of.  But that was just an online list of the seat numbers of people who passed, so it didn’t quite feel real yet.

Then, on Wednesday, I got the letter in the mail saying I had passed.  Except the letter also said that I had not passed the character and fitness evaluation yet, so I was not yet cleared for admission and maybe I should call this number to sort that out?  So it didn’t quite feel real yet.

Finally, yesterday, a letter came in the mail informing me that I had cleared character and fitness and I had now officially satisfied all requirements for admission to the bar.

And yet somehow, it doesn’t quite feel real.  Maybe because my boss, when I said “hey! I’m a lawyer now!” said to me “you graduated law school and passed the bar, but that doesn’t make you a lawyer.  You’re not a lawyer.  Talk to me in ten years.  Maybe then you’ll have the experience to be called a lawyer.”

I say eff that.  From now on, I respectfully request that you address all correspondence to Pseudostoops, Esq.

-revocable

-foreseeable

-unenforceable

-rescission

-duress

-bankruptcy

Words that Word’s auto-correct function actually auto-screws up, because only lawyers think they are real words:

- indorsement

- obligee

- pro quod

-factum

(Am I the only 12 year old in the room who giggles a little whenever someone says “factum”?  It just *sounds* naughty, doesn’t it?)

“Cool!” I thought.

“Pay us twenty-five dollars for membership!” said school.

“Pbthffffft to that,” I thought.

“Come on!  You never get invited to do stuff like this!  It’s an honor! Do it!” said John.

“Come on!  It’s an honor!  I’m your mother! I never see you get honored.  Do it for me!”  said Mom.

“Did we mention that for your $25 you get a premium membership certificate and a lovely booklet describing the academic society’s history and purpose, which makes a lovely souvenir?” said school.

“Fine,” I said, “here is my twenty-five dollars.”

My “premium membership certificate” and “lovely booklet” arrived in the mail today.  For twenty-five dollars, I am now the proud owner of a cheap paper printout with my name spelled incorrectly and a tri-fold pamphlet printed on card stock printed in font so small it is impossible to read.

I want my twenty-five dollars back.

Bite Me.

Sincerely,

pseudo

Really the only saving grace about BarBri is that I get to regularly see my friends. We sit next to each other, pass notes, and chat during breaks. Makes the whole thing less horrible.

Except I have this one friend? Who I actually like quite a bit? Who is driving me SO BATSHIT CRAZY that I don’t know what to do. He is making me so nuts that I am tempted to sacrifice the anonymity of this blog just to call him out for all the internets to see.

But I won’t. Instead, I will call him Guido. “Guido” is punishment enough.

Guido is incapable of whispering. Seriously. He is also apparently incapable of writing notes. Most of us, when we want to make a snarky comment about something the lecturer is saying, write said snarky comment in the margins of our BarBri review books. Guido? Just says it out loud. Not in a whisper. It causes people sitting around him to shoot him looks of such disdain you would think he would take the hint. People in BarBri are very high strung, and they do not like interruptions. Guido refuses to take the hint. These people really hate Guido and, by association, his friends. I feel very awkward about being associated with snotty people who refuse to conform to social norms. I am a people pleaser. While I don’t always pay perfect attention in BarBri, I try to be courteous enough to not make it harder for other people to pay attention. Do the crossword! Do sudoku! Write notes in the margins! Text message, for all I care! But the talking? Has to stop.

Today, I sat next to Guido. He kept trying to talk to me. I kept shooting him Teacher Death Stare (being a former teacher has its advantages.) At the break, I called him out. “Seriously, Guido,” I said, “I know you think I’m being prissy, but it’s annoying as hell, and it’s rude. Stop talking. Please.”

Guido looked a little wounded. I didn’t care. It was worth it if it made the talking stop.

When we came back from break, however, I realized I had not been specific enough about the need for silence generally, rather than focusing on the talking. Why? Guido had returned from the snack shop with a half-pound sized bag of wasabi peas. In loud crinkly cellophane.

crinklecrinklecrinkle…..crunch! one pea down the hatch.

crinklecrinklecrinkle….crunch! pea two.

For an hour, people. One freaking pea at a time. Loud, open-mouthed crunching. I thought the girl sitting in front of us was going to lose her mind. She actually left class early, after shooting Guido a look of death. Guido drove her out. With PEAS.

Is there a way to nicely tell a friend that you will never, under any circumstances, sit next to them in BarBri ever again?