Demean Yourself, Part 3

Sometimes I feel, oh yes, I could do
Almost everything I wanted
And it makes me cry – Tomoko Tane, “Flying Teapot”

I [state your name] do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will at all times demean myself fairly and honorably as an attorney and practitioner at law; that I will bear true allegiance to the State of Maryland, and support the laws and Constitution thereof, and that I will bear true allegiance to the United States, and that I will support, protect and defend the Constitution, laws and government thereof as the supreme law of the land; any law or ordinance of this or any State to the contrary notwithstanding. – Oath of Attorney at Law

How many oaths have I sworn in my life? Millions, every one inconsequential. How many promises lay broken, by the wayside, because I did not take them seriously? More than I can count, more than I will admit to myself. Why is this one, an oath that I still can’t believe I took, one that may impact my life only peripherally, now the world upon my shoulders?

There was nothing special about that Wednesday morning; there never is on special days. It’s weather, nothing more. Rain? Cleared up later. My parents were convinced it was because I was going to be admitted to the bar, but what about the earlier ceremonies that day? Are they less worthy than me?

I met up with them and we drove down to Annapolis. We got lost on the way to the Court of Appeals (Maryland’s highest court), but after a few minutes, we still made it there in time. Only forty-five minutes to spare. I lost the instructions on where to park. Based on the directions we received, we parked at the Calvary church across from the court house, as opposed to the actual pay lot ten minutes away. Outside, I met M.R., one of my classmates. She had just been admitted, and was absolutely paranoid about anyone touching her certificate. Not even her mother was allowed to touch it. At this point, she informed me that one of our classmates, J.H., died the week before. I did not know him well, but whenever we saw each other, we would talk a little and joke around. He had a wife and two kids (at the time, I only knew of one). J.H. was a good guy. He seemed set, and now this. What a cruel joke life is.

Soon thereafter, a red car from the eighties (boxy corners) jumped the curb, then slammed back down onto the street, right in front of us. I wanted to say something along the lines of, “Wow, what an idiot, there’s no one else anywhere on the road.” Thankfully, I did not, because a second later, I saw it was M.R.’s father.

A little later, I saw V.S., nee V.B. Just married, her biggest worry was that when we announced our names, she would announce her maiden name. No doubt this would not disqualify her from admission, but you have to understand our collective mindset. To suffer everything we have, only to be stopped for misstating your name, would be the height of absurdity, and legal mitigation for manslaughter. (No, I am not advocating manslaughter or mocking legal justification, just saying.)

Since we arrived so early, we had time to wait. The Court of Appeals building has a wonderful lobby, circular, two-tiered, centering about a bronzed plaque of a woman. I did not have time to inspect it closely, but it appeared that she was topless. Now, this could just be me seeing what I wanted to, and it probably was. I’m not sure why I mentioned that, but the quavering in my legs (not my loins) started, and I guess my mind was wandering.

Finally, we were told to go up to the fourth floor, tender our twenty dollars to sign in, and receive our preassigned numbers. Before the ceremony, we were to line up in the hallway in numerical order, beneath the numbers they posted along the wall. I got thirty-nine. A good, strong number, full of character and heart. On the way back down, I met C.S. He was in the elevator with a very cute girl that we’d seen in our professionalism course. We both commented on this later. She got forty, he got thirty-two. Both also strong numbers. And, what’s that, she’s right behind me?

Back downstairs, I met C.S.’s mom and he met my parents. His mom and my mom hit it off like gangbusters. My dad, on the other hand, was nodding off in a leather-upholstered chair. I don’t blame him, I would have taken a nap if I was sitting around with nothing to do.

As C.S. and I were talking about what was about to happen, the unnamed one came up to us. No, he’s not a leper. I have had several classes with him, he’s a good guy, it just happens that we do not know each others’ names. Further, I believe that we both know we do not know each others’ names, and that it is embarrassing after three and a half years, we do not know each others’ names. Neither of us knows how to break that awkwardness, so we always refer to each other without names. In lieu of introducing him to everyone (which several people commented on later), I merely slid my body between him and everyone else. Passed him my Nintendo DS to play, so as to help with that awkwardness. Tetris DS is as good a name as any, so from here on out, he is Tetris.

Finally, we leave our loved ones and ascend to the fourth floor. Line up in the cattle call assembly line, stripped of every identifier but our “unique” numbers, repeated only thirteen other times during the past two days. We learn that due to the numbers of admittees, they have this ceremony fourteen times over the past couple of days. We are session thirteen of fourteen. If not for the work we put in, it would almost seem like a diploma mill.

I talk a bit with the cute girl, but really do not know what to say. In addition to the normal awkwardness associated with talking to complete strangers and pretty women, I also have that additional fear that she’ll ask me where I’m working. Already, I told the professionalism course small group that I was James Chang, and I worked in entertainment, but was interested in admiralty. Not that she would have remembered, but how many more lies would I have to tell? How many more lies will I tell?