Tuesday, July 26, 2005

Oops, I did it again!

The law firm where I am working this summer is not the kind of place where one usually has to watch one's step. There are some hierarchies, sure, and some egos to contend with, but for the most part, it's pretty laid back. This afternoon, however, I made a rather large faux pas.

Earlier this morning, I was informed by a conscientious demanding partner that he would not be giving my final draft of a brief any further attention before filing it. (I am pretty sure that's a non-delegable duty, but it's none of my business if he gets disbarred.) I was thus doing my very best not to fuck up and spent the entire damn day proofreading, blue booking, and otherwise attempting to make it as perfect as possible. At 6:30, I was sensing the end of the torture, flexing my facial muscles in preparation for my first smile in hours when a name partner sidled up to me, ignoring the fact that I was on the phone, and sang out, "How'd you like to do a little research for me?" I was faced with a conundrum. How ever should I reply? Do I:

A) Tell the truth - "No, you fucking cocksucker, I would not like to do a little research for you. I've been blue booking for nine hours and I am extremely dangerous right now, and moreover, I should suggest that you back away slowly and pretend this little incident never happened."
B) Totally lie, instantly hanging up the phone without so much as a goodbye - "Sure! Sounds great!"
C) Somewhere in between - ask my boyfriend to hold, and ask the name partner if I can start it tomorrow before accepting the assignment.

Well, obviously, I did not go with choice A since I'm not suicidal. Nor did I have it in me to go with B. So I went with C. I let my big, honest mouth run free and of course it got me in trouble. I asked "Can I start it tomorrow or do I need to do it tonight?" He visibly recoiled. In his entire career as a partner, he's probably never had some uppity summer look at him and hedge when he tries to give an assignment. I knew I had fucked up. I tried to cover by hanging up on my boyfriend and following him meekly to his office with my legal pad, trying to muster up some enthusiasm. The enthusiasm seemed contrived though, and after writing down the assignment, he banished me from his office with a disdainful hand wave.

Here's the thing: I just don't care. These bastards are not giving me a job next year. I have known that since I interviewed. It's not personal; it's just a smaller firm that doesn't have the capacity. It's possible that they won't even hire me part-time during next semester. So seriously - fuck it. I have two and a half weeks left there, and at that point, I think I may just spend my sweet, sweet free time volunteering at a pet shelter or a hospital holding babies and otherwise reclaiming my soul from the evil law industry. So HA!

Friday, July 22, 2005

If you're feeling sad and lonely, or, Unhappy hour

The other night, I was on the verge of a meltdown at work. It had been a long day, an intern was driving me crazy with his sheer stupidity, and so when a partner stopped by and said that "we" were going for drinks, I couldn't have been happier. Not only did I get to leave (since a command from a partner to go to a bar is still a command from a partner that must be obeyed, right) but someone else was going to pay for the alcohol I would doubtless be imbibing that night. Perfect! The only problem was that the partner in question was the Partner Who Hits on Me (hereinafter "PWHM"), none of the other summers wanted to go, and the other partner whose company was requested promised with a glint in his eye that he'd meet us at the bar. (Sure enough, he did not show.) I had already committed to going, pretty much as a reflex, when I found out it was just us. It was definitely too late to suddenly remember a prior commitment, so I just steeled myself and went for it.

The first thing that PWHM decided to do was notify me that he had just been dumped by his girlfriend. "I didn't even know you had a girlfriend," I said sympathetically.

"No, I guess I don't usually talk about my personal life," he sighed. (Wrong: you do. You just never mentioned her to me. And how else would I have known, considering you are constantly putting me in potentially compromising positions?) "She's a really great person. She just has a lot of trouble getting close to people." (I'd have a lot of trouble getting close to you, too.)

At this point we ordered drinks. I've bragged about liking scotch before so I knew that I had to put my money where my mouth is and order it. I also knew that I couldn't gulp it but would have to sip it appreciatively, with the air of a connoisseur rather than a high school freshman who just found the key to the liquor cabinet. I got a little nervous at that point because I remembered that I had skipped lunch due to a time-pressured assignment.

I sincerely hoped that we could discuss subjects interesting to me (read: safe), such as: how did you decide that you wanted to practice our highly specialized area of law? What made you attend Law School X? Have you seen any good movies lately? What do you think about that whole Tom Cruise thing? But no. He wanted to talk about his love life, and since that was apparently nonexistent, he wanted to talk about mine.

One thing I have never understood is why older guys at law firms make me talk about my boyfriend in detail. If they are trying to kick it to me, capitalizing on my joblessness and obvious desperation to get my career started on a positive note, why hear about how happy I am in my relationship? But I was starting to feel the scotch, and I decided my boyfriend was a relatively safe topic because, in theory at least, it notified him that I was not going home with him. My babbling about how great my boyfriend is, however, led him to my Least Favorite Topic: why I am not married yet. The better question here was definitely why he is not married yet, considering he's got at least 20 years on me. But somehow, in the past six months, all anybody I meet wants to know about me is why I'm not married. I have to say that this is a fundamentally unfair question to be asking a girl, considering it's not really up to me, but even if it were, there are plenty of good reasons why I am not married yet and at my age, I really don't see why I have to explain them to anybody.

Then it hit me. He just wanted me to confide my probable discomfort with my unmarried status to him so that he could feel slightly better about being middle aged and unable to sustain a relationship, despite being rich, not bad looking, and very well dressed. I mean, all girls must be terrified of reaching 25 and not being married, right? Ha. I considered giving him the satisfaction and decided against it. Instead, I smiled and told him that I'm just too young and there's no reason to rush anything.

Then he said the saddest thing to me. "But if it works, and you're happy, take it from me: you should just get married and get it over with, because that doesn't happen very often."

Wow. I thought my existence was kind of miserable, but this drunken, misguided advice set me straight. Yeah, my job situation sucks. I don't have one for after law school, I have more debt than I care to discuss (or think about), no one takes me seriously as a professional ("you like law? that's so cute!"), but at least I can say that I don't feel compelled to rush into marriage just because I'm in a relationship that doesn't make me want to kill myself. I thought that was pretty standard, but I guess I'm luckier than I thought.

Monday, July 18, 2005

A pound of cure: $30. Not getting a job through OCI anyway: priceless.

Our OCI bids were due today. For the laypeople among my readers, this means that I had to pick which firms who deign to interview 3Ls I would like to have interview me. The odds that any of them actually will are pretty slim, but with my usual strength and fortitude I decided to give it a shot anyway. However, highly cognizant of last year's experiences, I didn't spend much time or energy preparing the materials and effectively decided to wing it. It's like the pessimist's mantra: expect the worst, and then if anything else happens, it's just a nice surprise!

One problem: my laid-back approach somehow did not include reading the instructions. Which said, pretty specifically, that for firms who required more than just a resume, transcript, and writing sample, those materials had to be dropped off at school by 12 pm today. I realized this problem around 10:30 this morning. With just an hour on the clock before I had to jump in a cab and get to school, I had to put together a second writing sample, two cover letters, and a current reference sheet. Somehow, I got it all together, redacted party names (X Corp. and Y Corp. again saving the day) and hightailed it off to school in a cab. The documents made it to their applicable destinations (I hope) and I was feeling pretty smug about the whole thing as I stopped by my delirious studying boyfriend (bar countdown: 6 days) and tried to chat him up and make him smile. Then I ran for a cab again and made it back to work, less than 45 minutes after I had left. Not bad!

And then I checked my email. A girl I rarely speak to, A, had emailed me with the subject "Cell phone found." I smiled to myself, thinking about how maybe some friend of hers had left it at her apartment recently or something and how she must be sending a mass email to all her friends. Nope! It was addressed solely to me. Without even realizing it, my phone and I had somehow become estranged during the cab ride back to work and now some cabbie had to go through my numbers to reach someone to figure out who I am. That's great. Even better was the fact that he had just gone off shift and was down by the Williamsburg bridge (nowhere near my place of employment). And then he called back to tell me he was having car trouble and it might take him awhile to get up to my office building. And then he called back again to tell me that his car had just died and it would have to be dropped off with me tomorrow. That's just great.

In sum, I spent $11 on taxis this morning and will have to tip this guy for being so accommodating and returning my dearly departed cell phone to me.

I should have read those damn instructions.

Saturday, July 16, 2005

Fruit of the poisonous bush

I work within spitting distance of a prominent financial institution. Every day, I see its legions of bankers in business casual flood and then abandon the neighborhood. They represent a carefully calibrated mix of ethnicities and nationalities, yet they all dress exactly alike, to the point where you have to wonder if Brooks Brothers had that damn shirt on special and they all went shopping the same weekend. Even the women are all wearing identical dress shirts and pants, apparently skirts are not business casual enough for this fine place of business. (Although I do remember hearing that for interviews in business, skirt suits are verboten because they don't want to be accused of hiring you for your legs. In law, however, we were told to wear skirt suits to interviews because they are, I guess, totally open to hiring you for your legs - uh, so where's my job, guys? - but that's perhaps another story entirely.)

Besides the varying shades of blue and grey biz casual, the other two things these young whippersnappers have in common are a) their attitudes, and b) their Blackberries. These two are often encountered simultaneously. Yesterday as I was walking to my boyfriend's apartment from work, I saw a smug banker chick looking self-importantly at her Blackberry as she crossed the street. In her total absorption, she narrowly missed getting hit by a bus. I was awfully tempted not to yell, "Look out!" but I did anyway because I'm just nice like that.

I've been able to discern two distinct types of Blackberry users. First, there are people like my friend R. He works for another (more prominent) financial institution and regards his Blackberry with a mixture of annoyance and wariness. He does not take it out while walking down the street and smirking. Rather, when it goes off, he apologizes before taking it out and examining what his greedy bosses want and whether he can blow it off or not. Second, there are people like the bankers next door. They walk down the street in packs, all consulting the Blackberry as though it were an oracle telling them that they were about to inherit $5 million from an uncle they had never heard of. They smile at it, they finger it lovingly while it is clipped to their belts, and they probably kiss it goodnight. They don't seem to understand that, while it is a status symbol telling the public, "I am indispensable and practically saving lives here," it is also just another leash and that there are hordes of other slaves just waiting in the wings for them to fuck up so they can take their Blackberry from them at a lower salary. A second reason it's dumb to be so excited about it is that it just encourages your juvenile friends to send you inappropriate personal e-mails, since you can be reached at all times, and it's easy to forget that someone, somewhere is reading your e-mail and laughing at you, not with you.

Luckily, given my prospective unemployment, Blackberries are the last thing I need to worry about. Unless, of course, I end up becoming a migrant worker.

Wednesday, July 13, 2005

Help the aged

I just went to the gym (yes, yes, hold the applause) and I remembered something I've been meaning to discuss for awhile.

Why, but why, are there so many naked middle-aged women just hanging out in the locker room???

What purpose does this serve? Not to be a prude, but I just don't want to see it.

Incidental nudity is one thing. Yes, you just showered, and must put your street clothes back on. Change away! But after the shower, when you are standing by the lockers - possibly even directly blocking my locker - and you are rearranging your gym bag, checking your cell phone, or even just standing there doing nothing at all, why must you remain in the nude?

We're all there to either lose weight or maintain - so perhaps you have lost lots of weight lately and are feeling proud of your new, slimmer body. Congratulations! I'd much rather admire you with your skirt on than with it off. I'm all for aging gracefully, but must it be done so . . . publicly???

Time for me to go shower. In private.

Tuesday, July 12, 2005

Brooklyn zoo

This weekend I was showing a couple friends around my adoptive borough, Brooklyn. Whenever I have out-of-town guests, I have a certain tour I do: around Brooklyn Heights, on the Promenade, up to Old Fulton Street, where there is a beautiful dock for the water taxis, as well as Grimaldi's Pizza (yum) and the Ice Cream Factory (double yum). This is the site where wedding photos are taken, presumably of those couples who fell in love on the quintessential Brooklyn date: pizza, ice cream, and a walk over the bridge (not suitable for the lactose intolerant). Waiting in line for ice cream, my friends and I were discussing how horribly irritating it is to run into people from our less-than-beloved undergraduate institution, when - lo and behold! - just one such person walked past us.

This was someone I have seen around a few times, but was never introduced to. I hoped he would keep walking, but unfortunately one of the people I was with knew him and called out to him. Damn, I thought, here we go. Time to play Jewish geography and the name game. Sure enough, we knew a few people in common and originally hail from the same neighborhood! Huh! How could that be? "I'm with my girlfriend over there," said the Alumnus, "come say hi after you get your ice cream. If you live in Brooklyn, you can direct us around - we need some advice about where we should go shopping." Oh, goody. The only thing worse than the frat guys from my school are the girls who love them. Anyone who would date one of these overprivileged doofuses simply can't be worth talking to, especially if she's got her boyfriend trained to request a place where she can shop.

Sure enough, the Alumnus' Girlfriend confirmed my worst suspicions. She had never been to Brooklyn before, but had heard that it was cool. I guess I should give her credit for taking the train all the way out here, but while I was busy trying to make a tick mark under the credits column, she brought up shopping again and I had to start debiting immediately.

"So where do you go shopping around here?" she asked, snapping her gum.

"Um, well, there's Montague Street," I tried.

"Yeah, I saw that. Where's the real shopping?"

"Real . . . shopping? I guess you could go to Park Slope, but you'd have to take the train there."

"You mean there's no real shopping in this neighborhood?" she asked, totally horrified.

"Well, I think people usually come out here to walk around and eat dinner, since there are a ton of great restaurants in Carroll Gardens and Cobble Hill, and a couple in the Heights," I offered.

"So why does everyone think Brooklyn is so great if there's no shopping around?" At this, her boyfriend had the good sense to look slightly embarrassed, giving me a look that said, "I'm sorry. It's not my fault that the only girls who will date me are dumb as bricks, on top of being fattish and totally unattractive, both in terms of appearance and personality."

I just plain didn't know how to respond. What could I possibly say to that? By that time, I had totally lost interest in defending my chosen borough to her, and I just wanted her to get on a water taxi and get the hell out. Luckily, my prayers were answered and it started to rain, so they ran for the water taxi, back to Manhattan, where she can shop in peace. If this is why more people don't renounce their ties to that overcrowded, overpriced and generally overrated island, I say, you can have it!

Monday, July 11, 2005

Letting the terrorist win

Today I had a run-in with a partner at my firm. I know that it was bound to happen, and that everyone has their moments, especially with this freak of nature, but nevertheless, it really upset me. I won't bore you with the details, but suffice it to say that the problem resulted from his shitty and incomplete directions. This particular guy, we'll call him Oliver Lambert for fun's sake, is famous for his inability to communicate properly. Speaking to him leads me to want to grab him by the ear and scream, like Samuel L. Jackson in Pulp Fiction , "ENGLISH, MOTHERFUCKER! DO YOU SPEAK IT?" When he comes in to give my officemate assignments, I react in the same way I do when raving lunatics enter subway cars: I keep my head down, avoid eye contact, and pray that he won't notice me and start blabbering nonsense at me. Perhaps recognizing this "I'm way too busy to make small talk" approach, he has started drive-by assignment bombing me - just leaving crap on my desk while I'm not there with no directions besides a scrawled note in what looks like hieroglyphics.

One such assignment showed up on my desk last week and today, I knew I finally had to address it. The directions he gave me were not only illegible but also totally incomprehensible, especially since they asked me to do something I have never done before. I did my best, and of course it wasn't good enough. Okay, fair enough - I'm happy to redraft it. However, the manner in which I was taken to task really was unnecessarily cruel and condescending. I mean, seriously - obviously I don't know what I'm doing, so is standing over me and trying to use the Socratic method really going to help any of us? It'll just waste the client's money, my time, his time, and send me to the bathroom in tears of rage. Being asked mockingly if I've ever taken a certain class - the only class I've ever gotten an A in - was definitely a nice touch. It just reinforced my belief that law school grades have no link whatsoever to workplace performance. But we all knew that already, didn't we?

The funny thing is that I really think that deep down, he was trying to teach me. His methods were definitely questionable, but for him, just telling me what he wanted wasn't the point. He wanted me to somehow read his mind (since it sure as hell wasn't in the fucking file or the "instructions") and magically pull out exactly what should be on the piece of paper. That's what this stupid profession does to you: even when you have (or used to have) good intentions, when you're placed in a position of power, it all goes to shit. I still think that he is generally a nice person - crazy, but a nice person. But now that he's a partner at some random firm, he has been granted a golden ticket to be a dickhead and drive summer associates totally crazy. And I'm the dickhead for letting him do it.

Sunday, July 10, 2005

Choose your own misadventure

Course listings for next fall just came out. Given my total animosity towards school, you would think that the bulletin would be met with a mere eyeroll, or a cursory glance followed by some actual cursing. But I can't help myself: this will be my fifth semester of law school, and I should know better by now, but I am still totally excited every time I get the listings. "Trusts and Estates, wow, that sounds interesting!" I think, or "Entertainment and Media Law sounds like a class I'd really like!" Yeah, sure, I'd love it. Given that on an interestingess scale of one to ten, one being watching congressional debates on C-SPAN and ten being sex, I find law about a three, it's amazing to me that I still get so into the idea of my new classes.

Does it mean that I am really an optimist at heart? That all my grumbling is just a cover for fact that I have always been just a giant nerd? Maybe. The truth is probably that I am the biggest sucker in the world, because even though I truly am excited now, I know that come October I will be frustrated and bored in my classes, and that after grades are released and I get more B's, I'll be sniveling, eating ice cream, and playing "Stronger" by Britney Spears on repeat just to keep myself off the ledge again. As our esteemed president summed it up, "Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, uh, well . . . you ain't never gonna fool me again!"

Friday, July 08, 2005

Reflections on drinking alone

After a long, hard day, most people enjoy meeting each other for drinks and discussing their long, hard days. I myself used to regularly partake in this ritual, deriving some small amount of comfort from the knowledge that my friends also had unfulfilling jobs, deadbeat boyfriends, and families that seemed determined to derail any measure of success they might attain. After awhile, the burden seemed to get lighter until it was almost just funny. Lately, however, all this commisseration has begun to depress me, and in the face of talking about it with my friends, I sort of just want to go home and drink scotch in my bathtub and literally wallow in my problems, drinking until I no longer remember my name, much less my day. But drinking alone is stigmatized, the "first sign of alcoholism," something only losers do. So for awhile it remained a deep, dark fantasy of mine.

Until last night.

Yesterday, my boyfriend, who is possessed by bar examiners, was fighting with me. Rather than manifesting his possession in a cool way, like having his head spin around, speaking in tongues, or vomiting pure green bile Exorcist-style, it just makes him ornery and mean. Not only was I unhappy because of the fighting, I had had a long day at work and some bullshit to do at school after work. I was too tired to go out with friends, but definitely needed to take the edge off. So I did what any reasonable person would do: I put on a hat, quickly ducked into a liquor store, and grabbed a bottle of Black Label. I truly felt like I was breaking the law, like everyone in the store was staring at me, knowing what I was going to do with it and that they thought I was a huge loser. I stashed the bag in my purse and made my way to school with shame.

I got home at about 10:30 and immediately ran myself a bubble bath. I put some ice in a glass and estimated that when I go out drinking, I usually have about four drinks, so I should only have one for it to be a socially acceptable "nightcap." Apparently, bars use quite a lot more ice than I did. As I stepped out of the bath twenty minutes later and nearly fell flat on my face, I realized that I was really quite shitfaced and that I should probably get in bed and turn the phone off. I made it to bed, but when I woke up this morning (fresh as a daisy, I might add) and checked the phone, I realized that I had not turned it off, as was evidenced by the record of a phone call at 12:51 A.M. from my boyfriend to me that lasted one minute, eleven seconds. I spent most of the day today wondering what transpired during that one minute, eleven seconds. Turns out I just whimpered, "I'm so hammered" until he told me he'd call me back the next day.

Moral of the story: I do understand why people stigmatize drinking alone, but it worked out pretty well for me last night. Sometimes, it's better not to talk about your problems, and there's nothing like a little "nightcap" to put the demons to sleep.

Wednesday, July 06, 2005

Sometimes truth is more vomit-inducing than fiction

I talk a lot of shit about law students and how lame they are. I realize that, at times, it may sound like I am embellishing or even outright lying to prove a point. Well, here's some cold hard evidence that I am not. I received the following email this morning from some douchebag 1L wanting to know where his fucking invitation to my journal is. Why have we not hand-delivered an engraved invitation on good, heavy card stock? WHERE IS IT??? I mean, so what if no 1Ls have been notified yet? Boy, has our esteemed executive board been remiss. (I would like to point out at this juncture that I am not on the executive board, which is responsible for making membership decisions, so why he sent it to me to begin with is a mystery. Especially in light of the fact that you'd have to have been illiterate to miss the signs the board put up advertising their glorious election - which remained posted by each and every staircase and elevator for a full month.) Read it and weep:

I am not sure if you are the right people to contact, but I got your names off the masthead. I am a 1L and have not yet received notice about [your journal]. I am well within the top 15% [GPA redacted to protect the guilty]. Additionally, I received an "A" on my oral argument, an "A" in legal writing for the year, and I will be a legal writing TA starting this fall. These all were listed in the competition memo as qualifying criteria.

I must know soon so I can update my resume for OCI. If I have not made [your journal], please respond with an explanation for the misunderstanding.

Thank you very much for your help in resolving this matter.

Very truly yours,

[redacted]

Cell: [redacted]

ps- If you are not the appropriate parties to whom I should be directing my inquiry, please respond to this email with the correct contacts.


I couldn't have made it up if I tried.

I would also like to point out that this tool will have more interviews than I did, and despite his toolishness, still has a better shot at getting a good job than I do. And I went to law school because I cared about justice!

Sunday, July 03, 2005

I get knocked down, but I get up again

The best way for me to characterize my relationship with my law school is that it is my own personal Ike Turner. The minute I think we are getting along and doing well, and that we have begun to accept the commitments we have made to one another, it slaps me silly and I walk around dazed and reeling for a few days. This time, it got me with the one-two punch of releasing class rankings and our on-campus interview schedule and requirements within the same week. Just in time to ruin my Fourth of July weekend, too!

Unbelievably, my ranking didn't go up from first year, although my overall GPA did (by quite a serious margin, too). I felt so cheated when I saw the breakdown. All that hard work for nothing. I knew that once the fall recruitment stuff was released, I would be again left out in the cold, relying solely upon ass-kissing and attempted nepotism. Then when the materials were released, not only did I feel as though Ike had cheated on me, but had also then come home, crawled back into bed, and spit on me. I mean, really. How come the only places my school can rachet up to interview 3Ls are the firms that will only interview people in the top 10% or who have engineering backgrounds? Those people already have jobs. They don't need to be interviewed again.

But I know that as bitter as I feel about school now, something will happen to make me trust it again. Ike will buy me flowers, tell me I'm beautiful, and again I'll remember why we got into this mess in the first place and forget all about the abuse. Until the next time. For now, amuse yourselves with the actual e-mail sent out by Career Services and my interpretations thereof:

Dear []:

I hope your summer is going well.
Bad news coming, better start on a positive note. It's hard to believe, but it is already time to gear up for the Fall Recruitment Program! And by gear up, I mean stock up on Xanax to numb yourself from the imminent depression associated with seeing your douchebag classmates in suits while you're wearing sweatpants cause you have no interviews. As you prepare for Fall 2005 Recruitment, there are several things that I would like you to keep in mind.

First, there are many opportunities available to you and finding the right "fit" can be a challenge.
There are no opportunities available to you through Fall Recruitment.
It is a time to begin thinking of how you ultimately would like to use your law degree to contribute meaningfully to the work of the legal community. Face it, you came here to make money and now is the time to accept that it's not going to happen, so maybe you should work at Legal Aid and actually help people. It is easy to get caught up in the rush of the On-Campus Interview ("OCI") process and the often self-generated pressures of "the job search." You probably have rich parents who will pay off your loans, so who cares about "the job search" anyway? I would suggest that you keep "OCI" in perspective. It looks really bad when our students cry in public. Although the OCI phase of the Fall Recruitment program has been extremely successful for a great number of students, it is only one of a number of recruitment initiatives here at [redacted]. As an office, we exist only to help people who could just as easily help themselves. Typically, the employers who choose to interview on campus in the fall are large firms that can more readily anticipate their hiring needs for the following year. Are you in the top 10%? No? Why are you still reading this? Most of those firms have demanding hiring criteria and select from among some of the best students across the country. Shoulda studied harder for the LSATs! While we are encouraged by the fact that these firms appear willing to look more deeply into the class than they have in the past, the reality is that these are highly competitive positions that represent only a small fraction of the legal job market. Sometimes they hire the top 11%. But that's still not you, so fuck off. In fact, it is reported that more than 80% of lawyers in private practice are in small firms. Isn't acceptance one of the 12 steps?
This year, we are making a particularly concentrated effort to attract a larger and more diverse variety of potential employers to [redacted], including not only firms of all sizes, but also government agencies, public interest organizations and corporations. You will notice that the list below includes large firms only, and you also may remember that last spring's initiative contained only solo practitioners paying $10 an hour. I'm only paid to talk the talk. Although a good number of these employers may recruit during the upcoming fall season, many likely will wait until later in the school year to evaluate their hiring needs. You will not be employed until the absolute last minute, if at all. We intend to continue to build upon the Spring Recruitment Program that and other new recruitment-related programs, including our newly expanded alumni outreach program. While this sentence is not grammatically correct, basically it means that you're going to have to do this on your own. Remember, we're not paid to get you jobs!
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