A Story That Starts With a Midget . . .

So, I've been doing a lot of thinking as of late. Mostly about my future, but also about my past. It's strange to me, sometimes, to see where I've ended up. Some people have master plans for their lives that they've been working towards since they were 4 years old. I had a plan like that, too, but mine had a fatal flaw: I'm not from the planet Krypton, and the yellow sun of Earth doesn't give me superpowers. I'm also not down with The Force.

Since my plan pretty much went to shit, I've sorta been making due with what I've got. Even worse, though, is the fact that I haven't known where I've wanted to end up. Even now, my only real aspiration is to be a "lawyer," and that profession is a lot broader than I originally thought it might be.

All of this got me thinking about a question that every law student gets: "So, why did you come to law school?" In my experience, there are maybe 4 standard responses:

1. "I want to make a difference." I really think that people who say this really want to make a difference. How many of them will, I don't know. How many of them will eventually get caught up in the law school mindset and take the high-paying, not-making-too-much-of-a-difference-at-all jobs, I also don't know.
2. "I want to make money." That's an honest answer, alright. And it's not really one I can blame anyone for giving.
3. "I've wanted to be a lawyer my whole life!" Anyone that gives this response is crazy. Seriously.
4. "I don't know, what else was I gonna do?" This one may be the most common.

Whenever someone asks me the question, I usually give the fourth response. But that's just a broad generalization. The real story, like many important, life changing events, starts with a midget . . .

(Frank, I know they like to be called "little people," but that doesn't have nearly the same comedic effect.)

It was really fucking early in the morning. I was unemployed. I was at Denny's by myself. Nevermind the inherent sadness. It's just what I was doing that summer. This guy I knew, a huge douchebag, and I had been going to Denny's every night because we didn't have anything else to do. All my friends were gone for the summer, and I was the only person left in Flagstaff. Anyway, on this particular night, my douchebag acquaintance wasn't around, but I was hungry, so I went to the Denny's myself.

I was sitting there enjoying my Superbird when I did something completely out of character: I talked to a male stranger. This guy and I started up a conversation about . . . well, I honestly don't even remember. His name, I think, was Larry. And he was short. Probably the shortest non-actual dwarf/little person I've ever met. Anyway, while we were talking, I brought up my current lack of gainful employment, and he mentioned that he worked at a TV station where there was an opening, and he suggested that he might be able to put in a good word for me and get me the job. "A TV station," I thought, "I don't know anything about TV, news, TV news, or pretty much anything having to do with small-market network-affiliated television." Larry waived off the objection: apparently, the only qualification was that you not be an idiot.

So, Larry and I established a bit of a friendship. And I applied for the job at the TV station. Eventually, I got the job, and Larry put in his two weeks' notice at the TV station such that our schedules there only overlapped a day or two. When I started, I was introduced as the guy Larry recommended, which apparently was a bad thing; everyone despised Larry with a passion. Apparently he was mean-spirited, rude and pretty much an all-around asshole. So, my new job got off on the exact right foot.

Now, I came to gain the acceptance of my coworkers. And I learned that being a non-idiot was a fluid requirement. I could devote entire posts to the idiots I met at the TV station, chief amongst them Timmy, Dave, and Cowboy Bob. Eventually, I was a pretty well-respected and competent member of the production team. I had a bunch of duties centering on the daily production of two half-hour-long news broadcasts per day. And at times it was awesome. The rest of the time it was just cool. The fact that I had grown up watching TV and was now an active part of producing it was a real thrill for me. And I never quite got over the excitement of being "behind the scenes."

I've never had any job for as long as I had the TV job. I worked there for 2 1/2 years. I changed my major in school to Electronic Media Production. I really thought that TV would be my future. I don't know why. I guess I just didn't know there were other options. My professors at school wanted me to do something else, and one of them strongly suggested that I consider law school. But I brushed off those suggestions because I knew what I wanted to do: I wanted to work in television.

But then something happened. It was a Sunday. My friends and I were in Phoenix, two hours away from Flagstaff, for some reason - I can't remember. I had to be at work at 7 that night to prepare for the 10 o'clock news show. Really, though, I had to be there at, like, 3. But I didn't want to be there at 3. My friends and I were having too much fun. And there was a girl there that I was pretty much in love with at the time (again - that'll have to wait for another post. Any of you who have heard me speak of She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named will know who I'm talking about). So I called up the TV station and made up some bogus story about eating salmon that had gone bad or something. This is after I asked someone to clock in for me.

Bottom line, I got ratted out and fired. I deserved it. Completely. It was a stupid and irresponsible thing to do. At the time, I was devastated. I thought my entire future was gone. I had finally decided what I wanted to do with my life, and then I blew my entire future because I was hanging out with my friends at a miniature golf place. I was pretty fucking sad.

But, somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew what my next step was. I was going to law school. It made sense now. It clicked, even as I walked into a room full of my friends and announced the loss of my job. Even then, I knew my next move. Still, losing that job hurt, and I swore I'd never fuck up that badly again.

So I changed my major in school. I had already changed it to be a double major with philosophy ad electronic media. But then I dropped the EM major and concentrated on philosophy. I studied for the LSAT. A little. And I started working on ways to explain away my lackluster grades. Eventually, I sent out a few applications. Only 4 or 5. I got into some third tier schools, but my first choice remained Wisconsin. Then, one night, my mom handed me a small envelope. She knew I had been waiting to hear from UW. Given its size, I knew it was a rejection. But I opened it and, holy fucking shit, I was going to Wisconsin.

And now here I am, two years later. I guess I've done ok in law school. Not as good as some, better than others. I haven't made a fool of myself (academically, anyway) and that's what counts. But none of it would have happened if it hadn't been for Larry, a person otherwise so insignificant in my life that I don't remember his last name or even what he looked like, really. I just remember that he started a sequence of events that lead to my coming to law school. It's cliche, and so I apologize, but it's really, really strange how the things in peoples' lives go. You can never map out your life nor should you try to too much, in my opinion.

Anyway, that's the story of how I ended up in law school. Next time someone asks me that question, I'll just say "Let me tell you a story that starts with a midget . . ."