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MOTION TO COMMENCE: A Retrospective on Voluntary Trauma

In the Matter of Everyone Who Thought Law School Was a Good Idea

Welcome to the only career path where you pay $200,000 to be ritually humiliated for three years, then celebrate by taking a two-day exam that makes you question every life choice since kindergarten.

This week, we're examining the complete law school-to-practice pipeline. Think of it as a horror movie, but the call is coming from inside your student loan servicer.

Exhibit A: The Statistics Nobody Mentions in Admissions Brochures

• Coffee consumed: Approximately 4,000 cups per degree
• Hours of sleep lost: All of them
• Times you've Googled "is it too late to become a park ranger": More than you'll admit under oath
• Actual usefulness of the Rule Against Perpetuities in practice: [REDACTED]

COUNT I: THE 0L DELUSION

Filed under: "Things That Seemed Like Smart Ideas at the Time."

The Promise: Intellectual rigor, prestige, "thinking like a lawyer."

The Reality: Spending $800 on used casebooks that smell like regret, then learning your professor teaches exclusively from 40-year-old handwritten notes.

Red Flags You Ignored:

• Someone said law school is "like undergrad but harder."
• You thought Suits counted as research.
• You believed "passion for justice" wasn't code for "crushing debt."

Fun fact: That eager 1L who briefs every case? They're now a BigLaw partner who still emails at 3 AM. Consistency is a virtue.

COUNT II: SURVIVAL OF THE MOST CAFFEINATED

1L Year: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Curve

The Socratic Method is hazing in business casual. You're called on after reading 300 pages. You know the case. You even understand it—until the professor asks, "What if the plaintiff was a left-handed penguin in Vermont?"

Your classmates take notes like stenographers at your funeral. Someone's eating a contraband bagel. You question your will to live.

Cold Call Bingo:

• ☑ "Could you repeat the question?" (stall tactic)
• ☑ "I think the dissent raises an interesting point." (you read the wrong thing)
• ☑ Crying (extra credit for composure)

Coffee Math:

• Pre-class: 1 cup (optimism)
• During: 1 cup (survival)
• After: 2 cups (self-reflection)
• Before bed: 4 cups (who are you kidding)

COUNT III: THE GREAT OUTLINE CONSPIRACY

November 1: "I'll start early this year."

December 1: "I'm just going to wing it."

December 10: Downloading strangers' outlines from the shared drive while eating cold pizza and whispering "Rule Against Perpetuities isn't real."

Outlining Stages:

1. Color-coded ambition
2. Moderate panic
3. Copy-paste chaos
4. Acceptance of defeat

Your desktop now has:

• "Torts Outline FINAL"
• "Torts Outline FINAL FINAL"
• "Torts Outline I HATE EVERYTHING"

The one you use? Someone else's from 2019.

COUNT IV: THE BAR EXAM — A CONSTITUTIONAL CRISIS

Part 1: The Decision to Take It

You finished law school. You're educated. The bar exam says, "Cute. Now memorize 47 subjects you'll never use."

Part 2: Bar Prep Summer

Every day:

• 8 AM–12 PM: Lectures about doctrines no one enforces
• 12–6 PM: Practice questions and crying
• 6–11 PM: More practice questions and more crying

Coffee intake: critical. Vitamin D: theoretical.

Part 3: The Exam

Two days of mental gymnastics. Someone's laptop crashes. You accidentally argue that jurisdiction is established by vibes. Blackacre appears again like a recurring trauma.

Post-bar tradition: burn flashcards, drink heavily, lie to future law students with "you'll be fine."

COUNT V: THE FIRST JOB — WHERE DREAMS GO TO BILL

The Interview:

Firm: "Why do you want to work here?"

You: "I'm passionate about… [checks website] excellence."

Translation: I need health insurance.

Offer Letter Decoder:

• "Fast-paced environment" = you'll never sleep again.
• "Like a family" = hostage situation.
• "Unlimited PTO" = you'll die before you use it.

First Day:

Arrive early. Wear your most expensive suit. Forget 47 names.

Get your first "urgent" assignment due "whenever you can" (translation: two hours ago).

COUNT VI: ASSOCIATE YEAR ONE — THE RECKONING

What you expected: courtroom arguments.

What you got: redlining contracts at midnight while explaining Zoom to partners.

The Billable Hour Breakdown:

• Emails: 0.2 hours
• Actual work: 8.7
• Existential panic: unbillable (tragically)

Email Signatures Over Time:

• Year 1: "Jane Smith, J.D., Associate Attorney, LLP…"
• Year 3: "Jane Smith | sent from phone"
• Year 5: "Jane."

MOTION TO REFLECT: THE COFFEE-CAREER CORRELATION

• Law student: 4 cups/day
• Bar prep: 6 cups/day
• Associate: 8 cups/day
• Partner: 12 cups + bourbon

Alternate theory: lawyers aren't people, they're just caffeine in suits.

CONCLUSION: YOU MADE IT (MOSTLY)

You survived cold calls, finals, the bar exam, and your first "quick question" email at midnight. You're still here. That's victory.

The real law school survival kit:

• ☕ Coffee
• 😂 Humor
• 💼 Colleagues who get it
• 💬 Knowing when to say "per my last email"

At least you're not in med school. They have to touch people.

RELIEF REQUESTED

Poll:

• ⚖️ Sustained: You laughed
• ⚖️ Overruled: You cried (but in a cleansing way)

Share this with:

• The law student who looks dead inside
• The associate who forgot what day it is
• Yourself, because you earned this

Sponsored by: Your coffee addiction. It's not a problem, it's a lifestyle.

Walter, Editor-in-Law
Still not disbarred. Therapy bills > student loans.

NON COMMENTUS

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