I graduated top of my class from a public liberal arts college with a perfectly useless double major in Spanish and sociology. I then spent a year and a half as a customer service agent for a health insurance company, talking to 100 ignorant and angry callers a day while longing for the sweet icy embrace of death.
After realizing that the real world was no place for me, I decided to look into going back to school. I considered going to study creative writing or theater. Of course, since I wanted to live indoors and not eat from dumpsters, I figured an MFA wasn’t the best use of my time. So I found a masters program in mass communications at the top in-state university. I figured that a masters in public relations and advertising would have enough emphasis on writing and theatrical flair to keep me happy, all while still being a bit more practical than an MFA.
I announced my intentions to my father who immediately discovered that the mass communications program offered a dual degree with the university’s law school—the same law school that he, my mother, and my older brother all attended.
Let me be clear: I have never wanted to be a lawyer. I lived with lawyers my whole life. They don’t seem like happy people. Besides that, I am a “sensitive” and “artsy” type, which—as I understand it—are qualities not well appreciated in the legal world.
Dad said that he would pay if I were to get into both programs. But if I only did the mass communications program, I was on my own. He also had a list of very persuasive reasons why to study law (e.g. it opens so many doors, you can do so much with a law degree, it’s a fallback option, another tool for your tool belt, etc.).
So I figured I’d apply. And once I got in with a nice little merit scholarship, it seemed wasteful not to go.
In August, I was optimistic. By September, I was spending every evening curled up in the fetal position weeping. October was spent in a walking coma, as I realized life was nothing but a slow, meaningless slog to the grave. Now here we are in early December, and thanks to a hefty dose of anti-depressants, I am lucid again. I may even manage to pass my classes, if I get my ass in gear.
But I still don’t like law school, and I still don’t know if this is for me. I spend most of my time surfing the Internet and working on concepts for musical comedies or TV shows. I have no interest in joining any legal student organizations. I signed up for improv instead of moot court. I’ve started reading tarot cards, but not property. And come Wednesday night, belly dancing classes always seem more important than my civil procedure assignment. At this point, the only thing pushing me through the semester is the promise I made to my parents—and the possibility that legal/litigation public relations might be a good fit for me (though I am not certain you need a law degree for that).
My questions are thus:
I’ll take it from the top:
So you're thinking about going to law school, huh?
The symbols and icons that span the life of a student loan
Why am I writing you this open letter? Simply put, you are a disgrace to the litigating community.
Our search for the biggest civil damage claims ever made in the U.S. came up with some doozies.