The Registrar hands down a stiff reality cheque

One month ago I finished my first semester of law school at what we'll refer to forthwith as "Southeastern Law Place." Four months ago I ignored the advice of several 3L and attorney buddies who insisted that I would have NO idea whatsoever of how I fared on my exams until I received the grades in January. I brashly ignored these sensible pleas.

Never again.

After taking the Torts final, I was sure I had basically crushed it. After Criminal, I thought I may not have done as well--maybe, GASP--even as low as the class average. Then came Contracts. Ooohhhhh, baby, I strutted out of the room like a southside pimp with a leopard skin cape after roasting that little slice of nothing. DEFINITE A there. Property didn't go so well, but hey--I was already on Law Review with the way I killed everything else, so why sweat it?

I didn't so much drive home for the holidays as much as I rode there atop a veritable wave of unsubstantiated delusions of success and future six-figure legendary lawyering, and promptly informed my parents that the worst scenario was that I would land in the top 50% (as IF), and the best-case scenario, I was looking at the top 10-15%. I mean, I'm just so fuckin smart, I aced these piddly little exams. What was the big deal? I couldn't see why anyone would ever work him or herself into a neurotic frenzy over such an easily surmountable obstacle as law school finals. But then again, most people aren't blessed with my unprecedented intellect and ability.

Enter Lady Registrar.

"Professor Gonzo's Torts Grades have been posted to the portal," the email read. Finally--confirmation of my own greatness! My head dizzied as I typed in my password, scrolled down and...

Wait, this isn't right. MUST be a typo. Does Gonzo not double check his entries? This CAN'T be right...

I had gotten a C.

Shaken, distraught, and speechless with disbelief, I zombied through the remainder of the evening. Surely this is the worst of it. An aberration--Gonzo was clearly exhausted when he graded my exam--or just mad--or graded mine first without being able to compare it to the inferior exams of my classmates. I couldn't sleep.

The next day, another email. "Professor Zork's Contracts grades have been posted to the portal." Once bitten, now shy, I slowly moved the cursor like an apprehensive stray dog approaching a well-meaning stranger weilding a hunk of top sirloin.

My Contracts grade, what I had prematurely proclaimed to be the crowning achievement of my first law school efforts: a B-.

I saturated my brain with all sorts of legal knowledge over the past five months, but this is shaping up to be the most crucial lesson I've learned yet. Stay tuned.