philfiles

As a reflection of the profession we vied to enter, the New York bar exam was plagued with an elaborate set of rules that were at once both trivial and REQUIRED. Tickets must be printed in advance. IDs must be government-issued. Snacks and supplies must be contained in a transparent ziploc bag no larger than one gallon. Hats and hoods cannot be worn. Snacks must be quiet.

Like our futures, the location of the exam itself sat on a precipice. The convention center crouched at the edge of Manhattan, past an unlucky strip of warehouses, mail depots, and haphazard construction projects. The examiners must have intended to not only test us on every tort action, but to have us walk through them as well.

For two days I traversed this detoured web of cones and cranes, mindful that acceptance into my profession depended on the opacity of my lunch-bag. Nails and hobos littered the sidewalks. Clusters of construction workers watched as a steady ant trail of unkempt, grim test-takers scurried toward their unknown destiny.

The Jacob K. Javits center itself occupied an entire city block. It’s namesake served as a not-so-subtle reminder that, if we passed, we too might be named after a bland black behemoth at the edge of the Hudson. Inside, it teemed with nerves, desperation, and finality.

The rooms themselves were marked with repetitive severity. Hundreds (thousands?) of gray tables, punctuated with gray chairs, spread towards four gray walls. In the middle, a speaker droned about gallon-sized transparency. A few hundred sewing machines and a few blocks east, it could have been the 19th century.

But instead of buttons and hems, we massaged the fabric of our own memories, shuffling through two months of mental flashcards. We searched through cards like “causes for divorce” and “negotiable instruments,” trying to pull ace that was (hopefully) hiding in there somewhere. Most of the time, we didn’t produce it: we sewed over pockets, forgot seams, left threads askew.

In the midst of such mixed metaphors, some became lawyers. And in an unexpected lack of transparency, we won’t know who did until November. ugh.

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