The Eleven stepped out of from the administrative/hibernation den this morning and was smacked in the face with 92% humidity. That kind of number would certainly qualify for Dean’s List…what’s that figure to? an A? The transition from a do-ably moderate cave to the swamp presents issues for those, like me, that just love the heat. Additional baggage was included in our march to the Metro, more to come on that little story.
The trip out west was uneventful in the main but full of trivial questions that fill my head. As an example: on my flight home from Reno I was on Southwest via Las Vegas and on to Chicago Midway. The plane out of Reno was full and as we pulled to the gate at McCarran to disgorge all but 48 passengers carrying through to the Windy City, the Southwest flight attendant gives the following announcement:
“As we arrive at the gate please remain in your seats if you are continuing to Chicago in order to allow the Las Vegas passengers to de-board. Once all the Vegas passengers have exited, please remain in your seats until we have counted onward passengers and given the correct count to the gate attendant. After we finish the count we’ll make an announcement so you can move to another seat if you wish.”
Pretty straightforward, right? My lifetime of training (and listening with my ears) has told me that Southwest does the counting and moving this way for a reason. Thousands of flights and an efficient arrival/departure record certainly vouch for their procedures. My theory, important as this is, is that the attendants don’t want to be attempting a count while the following are ongoing: idiots moving all over the cabin or, idiots moving slowly all over the cabin. Sit in your damn seat and let them count so they can begin boarding passengers and get me to Chicago! This is a ‘greater plan’ than Don and Betty from Des Moines can possibly understand. And speaking of Don and Betty…they were in the window and center seats of my aisle on the flight to Las Vegas. Don’s hell-bent for leather to move from his window seat to another window seat in some other aisle after we land. The Vegas passengers aren’t yet off the jet before Don’s up-and-at ’em trying to pitch Betty’s train case over the seats in front of us so he can evacuate our row, immediately! I, of course, sit tight awaiting the last of the Vegas exits and the promised announcement. Trust me, I want to move to the window seat in the front row so I’ll have more legroom…this isn’t me just being difficult, not really. Don’s got his big head on a swivel, snapping back and forth, eyeing the back of the jet, while nudging Betty and telling her to get up and move, “that’s the last passenger…go go go” he says to the bewildered Betty (she can see that I’m clearly not moving). Don reminds me of those paratrooper jumpmasters in WWII movies, the guys at the plane exit screaming “MOVE MOVE MOVE!” Don is a real mental giant. After the Vegas gamblers do manage to actually finish the exodus (by the way, Don was wrong…they weren’t done) the attendant announces, “Please remain in your seats as we will count passengers from the rear of the jet.” This is too much for Donbo, he screams in a nearly crushed whisper, “Goddamnit Betty! What does it matter if two of us are on one side of the plane or the other side of the plane…get up! Two is two.” He’s right there, I think, two is two. Betty starts to half-rise while pitching a glance at the aisle dam that is I. In a very gentle tone I say, “Oh, are you getting off here in Vegas?” Betty is flummoxed, “No, we want to move seats” she says. “Oh,” I say “I think they want us to stay in our seats until they finish the count.” She sits back down and looks at the exasperated Don with a face that conveys the fact that I must be someone who not only listens with my ears…but actually follows directions. Mere moments later the attendant passes our row, counting people, on her way to the front of the jet where she announces that the count is complete and we are free to move seats. I almost take an extra few seconds unbuckling my seatbelt just to see if I can get Don’s head to explode…I don’t. I amble up to the front row while Don and Betty run like rats on a covert death mission to another row nowhere near me. I didn’t see Don and Betty in Chicago but I’ll guess that Don was in a Weaver stance over the baggage claim screaming about incoming baggage…INCOMING BAGGAGE! “Betty, get the fucking bag…the bag! Get the suitcase!”
X is applying for judicial clerkships next month. All of her application packages were due at the G’town Law Center this morning. Remember the manila envelopes? That’s just the beginning. Here’s the ten-step process to completing judicial clerkship packages on a peaceful Sunday:
1. X gets her journal assignment / soon-to-be writing sample in order. There’s cursing from the couch as her octogenarian laptop signals power issues…like not staying on. We use our four eyes and four hands to stare into space and push various buttons, repeatedly, like this: push button, computer doesn’t work. Push button, computer doesn’t work. Push button, computer doesn’t work. “Clearly we’ll need to get out to a store quickly and drop a hundred dollars on a new cord and battery,” we say, “clearly.” We eventually jiggle the cord, find it loose, and try to ignore our impeccable troubleshooting technique.
2. While X types away I get her list of 96 judges who’ll be graced with the perfect, summertime, manila envelopes. 96! I’m off to surf the G’town Web site to confirm what each judge wants: transcripts, writing samples, letter(s) of recommendation, references, daisies, a new lot in life, a better secretary, blah blah blah. Each judge, with names either hyphenated or full of initials and middle names, is compiled on a legal pad (what are the odds?). Checkmarks are made for each item. Checks tallied and retallied. All the numbers appear good. Transferred to Excel spreadsheet for sorting (that’s me!).
3. Copies made of law school and undergraduate transcripts. Why does a judge need an undergraduate transcript? I would think that Dean’s List at G’town Law would pretty much cover the academic stuff. I would think that admission to G’town Law covers the undergraduate stuff. Does Judge Roy Bean think he knows more about admissions? Sure he does. “Did she take any courses in Psychology or Sociology in college? She did? As an undergraduate? I’ll have her!”
4. Writing sample is ready to print. X asks me how many judges want writing samples. I reply, while giggling…89. Hmmm…math….11 pages to 89 judges; that’s a lot, or something like 1000 pages. Our printer isn’t quite ready for that so we send the file (and $100) to Kinko’s for printing and collating; seven pm pickup. Onward!
5. Oh baby, 96 cover letters to manage. If you’ve never done a mail merge using MicroSoft Office you don’t know what you’re missing; it’s a bitch to sort but great in the end…like marriage, but backwards. Each letter needs to be checked to make sure the enclosed material list is correct (they don’t all want the same stuff), the “I’d love to work in New England” is added to the appropriate judges, and they all need to be printed on nice resume paper to match the resumes. P.S. make sure to include that you’re a third-year law student on your cover letter…the printer won’t catch that. P.P.S. we need to get more resume paper.
6. 10 x 13 manila envelopes can’t be printed at our house or on the industrial-strength printers at Kinko’s. They do this just to piss us off.
7. Off to Kinko’s to pick up 1,000 pages of writing sample. It’s 6pm and they haven’t even started because they can’t work ‘the computer’. Don’t even ask. They finally get started on the sample, one guy tries to figure out how to print the envelopes or some labels, and we head off to Staples for resume paper, labels (in case he can’t figure it out), and any other spare bits we might need. Staples closes at 6pm. Office Depot closes at 6pm. We go to Target. Mission accomplished. Back to Kinko’s. Printing done. No luck on the envelopes.
8. Pick up pizza and beer.
9. Reprint cover letters, X is now a third-year law student. Another mail merge to get the labels printed for envelopes. She types more stuff, prints more stuff, whilst I put all the labels on envelopes. Cover letters and envelopes alphabetized. Stacks laid out, people and beer at table.
10. Envelopes stuffed and number of recommendations handwritten on back (the law center adds those). 96 packages stuffed into a perfectly sized tote for the morning transport. It’s 10:30 pm and the mission is complete: two people, 12 hours.
I volunteered to carry the tote to the train this morning…I’m like that. Remember the 92% humidity? I do.
More later.
T
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