FENNO WAITED. THE BLANDNESS of the Hauser basement suffocated him, but after the boredom of the MPRE review this was like a trip to Disney World. The man behind the desk continued to murmur into the phone. Eventually he hung up and turned to Fenno.
“I’m sorry, Fenno, it’s simply not possible to change your e-mail address,” he said.
“If you people would use decent filtering software I wouldn’t be so aggravated, but I’m really tired of getting all that spam. Even the ‘Farmgirls Gone Wild’ messages are getting old. How hard can it be to change my address?” replied Fenno.
“We just can’t do it,” lied the tech. Fenno knew he was lying because HLS’s big man on campus, the capo di tutti capi of law school students, had gone from being the bawdy fackerma@ to the far more respectable ackerman@.
Fenno knew he would lose this argument – he did not have the fearsome clout of LSC to back up his demands. Fenno had places to be, so with a last icy stare at the tech guy he headed into the tunnels.
Fenno took a detour on his way to Griswold to admire the new Coke machine beneath Pound. The sliding tray mechanism was strangely hypnotic, soothing Fenno’s frazzled nerves, and he pumped in change and watched the machine in action for almost forty-five minutes before he went to pick up his third year paper form. His trip was further interrupted by a trip to the bathroom, as thirteen bottles of Sunkist Orange overwhelmed his bladder.
Blue paper in hand, Fenno had to find a paper advisor. A paper topic would probably help, too, but that was not a pressing issue. Fenno was already $25 down to the deadline, and did not want to give any more money than necessary to HLS.
There were not a whole lot of options as far as advisors went. Professor Warren was out; Fenno heard she was still trying to call on him despite his two-month absence from class. Tribe remained astounded by Fenno’s stupidity, and while he might, out of some perverse curiosity, sign on as advisor, Fenno wanted someone a little less work-intensive. That guy from Food & Drug Law would be perfect. Unfortunately his wait-list was miles long.
Crazy Charlie’s five-year vendetta and attempted litigation against Fenno rendered him unsuitable. Martha Field nursed a bloodthirsty grudge after their last encounter. Murray would regale him with stories of Maine; Fenno couldn’t handle that. The only real choice was Dean Kagan.
Marshaling his courage, Fenno headed up to the Dean’s office. Fenno was invited into the inner sanctum after promising to buy a new helipad for the law school. Dean Kagan grimaced when she saw who the big new donor actually was.
“No, Fenno,” said the Dean as Fenno prepared his pitch.
“Will you be my third year paper advisor?” asked Fenno.
“No, Fenno,” said the Dean. Fenno paused briefly. Then inspiration struck: perhaps if he had an idea for his paper, the Dean would fall prey to his wily charms.
“I have a great idea – I’m going to write a series of short essays taking a satirical view of law school life over the years. It will be an invaluable contribution to HLS culture.”
“I see. And will these short essays perhaps be submitted in the form of newspaper clippings?”
“Dean Kagan, I’m shocked that you view my choice of medium with such derision. Besides, if ‘A History of HLCentral’ qualified as a third year paper, especially when HLCentral was a mere two years old, my brilliant insights deserve some credit,” replied Fenno, hoping she bought it.
“Fenno, you might be funny once in awhile, but don’t think we don’t all notice how often you phone it in. At least I hope you do; if those are serious attempts at humor, I need to have a word with the Admissions Committee. Anyway, I’ll think about it. Now get out of my office.” Dean Kagan dismissed Fenno with a gesture and returned to work.
Over at the Hark, 2Ls were huddled together preparing for flyout week. Fenno made his own preparations: a case of Jack Daniels sat in his apartment, the Indiana Jones DVD set was waiting for him at Tower, and the 1L women were about to lose their 2L interference. Fenno grinned evilly at that last thought; half the competition means twice the nookie.
Buoyed by naughty visions and satisfied after a productive day, Fenno headed home to begin his hard-earned vacation.
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