On Finding Myself in the Bar Exam


The moment that it finally set in, the moment that I realized I was taking the bar exam, was in the middle of the morning of the second day. The morning task was 100 questions on a variety of legal topics. After a long day of essays the day before, I was surprised that the "rush" had carried into the second day. I was answering the questions like a well-oiled, bubble-filling machine. Then it happened, a hair from my head landed on my testing booklet right on top of question 62. I was in a room with 1177 other test takers, and I wasn't sure how many thousands of other people were shedding into their testing booklets all across America. How much total hair, I wondered, would be collected in the July administration of the test? I bet they just throw it away when hair actually has significant potential to help clean up oil spills or reducing the need for herbicides. After these thoughts, I realized, for the first time really, that I was in the middle of a difficult exam. Time was of the essence, and I was sitting there thinking about human shedding.

As promised in our last post, I'm writing today to tell you today about my trip to Columbus. I rode with my buddy Dan up to the Hyatt in downtown Columbus so we could walk to the testing center. Our thoughts were along the same path: "because the test has so many unknowns, control the elements that you are capable of controlling." We took a huge cooler that Anna had packed so we were sure that we'd have food. The night before the test, we timed ourselves to see how long it would take to get to the testing center. We even got to go inside the building and peek into the hall to get a feel for how it was going to go down. We went back, grabbed some food, and then we reviewed some notecards while watching a National Geographic special on Charles Lindbergh--who actually led a disturbing life.
The test was in the North Hall of Veteran's Memorial. Imagine a Sam's Club warehouse with all of the merchandise removed and filled with 600 or so tables for the 1177 applicants. That's what this place was, the perfect venue for a gun show or a baseball card show.

Upon entering the hall, you are quickly branded with a label: computer or handwriter. Handwriters went to the right, computers to the left. I figured that I would never see my computer friends again, but a lot of them broke through the social hierarchical construction and ate with us handwriters at lunch. It was like West Side Story without the lame snapping ("get cooly cool, boy") or the comical dancing/fighting routines.


When I arrived at my seat--Seat 186 (see diagram)--I discovered a long table with a metal folding chair at each end, facing the opposite wall. You see, you share a table with someone - - - unless you're me. The guy that was supposed to sit next to me must have backed out, and I had a table to myself for the entire three days. I'm not opposed to sharing, and I don't think anyone had a terrible seating partner, but I was grateful that I had my own domain and could stretch out a little more.

At the head of the room was the director of admissions for the Ohio Bar Association. She maintained control of the scene, which could have been crazy. I was really surprised by how easily the test was administered, and the organization was great. While you were writing on one set of essays, the next set would be there waiting for you when you finally craned your neck up to see what was going on. The best feeling came when I finished my last essay on Thursday. Before I looked up, I had the wonderful thought that there wasn't going to be another set of essays waiting to be completed. When I finally unlocked my neck from the down position, I found a Hershey's Kiss. It seems like a simple gesture, but, after three days of testing and stress, it was the best.

All in all, the test was tough but fair. I got a lot of strength from knowing that, even in this very North Hall of Veteran's Memorial, so many had gone before me to do great, great things:

2 comments:

Julie Tiemann said...

It must not have been a gray hair, or that would have taken you down a whole other line of thinking. Like, I can't believe I'm getting old, or is it gray or grey, or will Anna still love me when I'm old?

Wendy Eilers said...

The answer is yes... Anna will love Austin when he's old, because she's a little brainwashed that way.