My first week in law school, I thought everyone was exceptionally smart. There was a certain confidence in the way they presented themselves. They used big words, and half the time I didn't know what they were talking about.

By the end of the first month, however, this impression of mine evaporated. They're not everyday morons, these law students, mostly because of their upper middle class private schooling, but they're retards nonetheless. I realized that neither they nor anyone else understood what they were talking about. The professors were either polite, or, more likely, pretending along with everyone else that something intelligent was said. Law students and the blood sucking parasites they become upon passing the bar exam are all insecure by nature,* which might explain the pretense. When the emperor has no clothing it takes someone with no vested interest to announce it, and no one in a law classroom fits the part.

Ben Waterman is one of those stupid people who uses just enough jargon and latinate words to appear competent. Part of each of my work days is devoted to fixing his mistakes. Attempts to file unsigned affidavits, incorrect captions, figures that don't add up, etc. If you're ever a client and your lawyer calls you everyday because he has a new document for you to sign on the same matter that you thought was going to be done last week, you better start wondering about where your legal fees are going. Fortunately for Ben, his clients, with one or two exceptions, don't wonder.

None of the clients wonder why Ben calls the court so much. He's been working in the same area of law for over 30 years, and he still calls the court clerks to ask them what to do. He's not dealing with novel issues either; I'm talking about standard petitions that people can do without lawyers just by showing up to the courthouse.

The worst thing is when Ben has me call. I dread these conversations. Ben watches me, so I feel I must do it. I'm uncomfortable saying no. If Ben's not watching, I pretend that I called, and make something up about what the clerk said, usually just quoting from the appropriate statute.

When I call, the clerk starts out sounding eager to help. Several calls later, I can hear them rolling their eyes. It usually goes something like this:


Ben: I'm working on the Ramierez estate (I know nothing about this matter). Find out what is needed to file a petition for temporary letters of administration.

Me: The petition, for which we have a form, the death certificate, paid funeral bill, possibly an heirship affidavit, and a reason for needing temporary letters.

Ben: Call the court to make sure.

Me: O...K....

Call court.

Me: Good morning, I work at the Law Offices of Ben Waterman. I have a question about what is required to apply for temporary letters of administration.

Clerk: Why do you need temporary letters?

Me: Hold on. Ben, why do we need temporary letters?

Ben: There are assets in the estate that need immediate administering.

Me: There are assets in the estate that need immediate administering.

Clerk: Um, I'm not sure what you mean, but ok. You need the petition, paid funeral bill, death certifate, and maybe an heirship affidavit.

Me: Thanks. Have a great day.

Clerk: You too.

Me: Ben, we need a petition, the death certificate, paid funeral bill, possibly an heirship affidavit, and a reason for needing temporary letters.

Ben: Hmm. Ask them if we can file for regular and temporary letters at the same time.

Me: Sure, we can just check the form in the appropriate places.

Ben: Call them.

Call court.

Me: Hi again, I'm calling from the Law Offices of Ben Waterman. I have another question.

Clerk: Ok.

Me: Can we apply for both temporary and regular letters of administration using the same form?

Clerk: Yes. Just check the appropriate boxes.

Me: Thanks, have a great day.

Clerk: Hmm mmm.

Me: Ben, we just check the appropriate boxes.

Ben: Ask them if we can get the public administrator to be issued the temporary letters.

Me: Yes we can.

Ben: Call them.

Call court.

Me: Hi again. I have an additional question.

Clerk: Yeah?

Me: Can the public administrator be granted temporary letters?

Clerk: Yes

Me: Thank--

Clerk hangs up.

Me: Ben, the public administrator can get the temporary letters.

Ben: Is the public administrator an attorney?

Me: Let me check. [Google.] Yes.

Ben: Make sure, call the court.

Me: Are you sure? The clerk sounded upset.

Ben: call.

Call court.

Me: Hi. Sorry to trouble you again, but I have another question. Is the public administrator an attorney?

Clerk: Why don't you go ask your attorney. I'm not doing all your work for you!

Me: I understand, but the thing is my boss asked me to call.

Clerk: Pffft. Yes, the public administrator is an attorney.

Me: Thank you, have a great day.

Clerk: hmmm

Me: Yeah, Ben, the public admin is a lawyer.

Ben: Ok, thanks.

I go back to my desk. Behind me, in his office, Ben calls the court and proceeds to ask them the same questions he had me ask.

I took a look at Ben's retainer agreement with the Ramierezes. He capped his fees at 20% of the estate. The estate was worth very little. Before Ben finished talking with all the clerks, never mind actually starting to draft anything, he maxed out his fees.

The next day:

Ben: This is a complicated case. There's little money coming into the estate. We're going to hold off on it for now.

What a moron.

Most of the generic poloshirt wearers in law school are just this way. They love the sound of their own voice, and get high marks for class participation. But nothing gets done and no one learns anything.

I'm a moron too, I suppose--for not dropping out.


*More on this in later posts