still wondering: thoughtful insights & insightful thoughts

For those who are unfamiliar, the Socractic Method is a charming little gem of a teaching techniqe that professors in law schools typally employ during lectures. Under the Socractic Method, the basic idea is that instead of waiting for volunteers to contribute toward class discussion, a professor may at any time call on any student and then proceed to interrogate them until they are satisfied. And by “may” I mean “will.” If a student is unprepared for class, isntead of skipping over them or just letting it slide the professor will often times have the student read and prepare the entire case while the rest of the class waits. Oh, I shit you not.

We’re a solid three weeks into school and I’m, for the most part, always prepared. I do the required readings, I prepare briefs for every case in every class and I even talk about school with anyone who will listen (does blogging count?) Besides all of those things, the Socratic Method itself is a chief motivator. I can’t go to sleep at night if I feel unprepared. In that way, the method seems great. Well, its great in the same way that radiation is great; it seems like it can do so much good, yet as soon as you get up close you immediately start to feel like you’re dying slowly.

Eight o’clock this morning. Criminal Law. For our last class we were assigned a case to read that was unavailable until the eleventh hour, and listed on the syllabus as “to be provided.” Somewhere in between the time that it became available online and the actual class (two days ago) I completely forgot it even existed. It was the *only* case I hadn’t briefed all semester so far. I skipped one case, mainly because it wasn’t there when I needed it to be. Little did I realize, this would be my undoing.

I felt 100% prepared for today’s class. I sat, still kind of sleepy, not at all smug, kind of hoping the professor would call on me. I wanted the class of 80+ students to see that I’m more than just some slacker-type kid with a MacBook who has little regard for things such as socially-constructed conventions of how often one should shave their face. “No,” I thought, “I’m smart, too! Let me prove it. Subject me to the Socratic Method and watch me parry like some sort of olympic-grade fencer who engages in legal dialogue instead of swordplay.”

As soon as the professor walked into the room I went though my typical Tuesday-morning thought process. “What are the chances he’ll call on me? Slim.. I always participate voluntarily, so I’m pretty much in with him. Yeah, I’m in with him and I’m in with the smart kids. He won’t be calling on me today at all. Hmm, this croissant is dry..” Well, I was wrong. And not about the croissant.

The professor mentioned the name of the case, “Commonwealth v. Simone,” and my stomach sank a little. I was thinking “Wtf, I don’t even have that case.. is that the case that was in availability-limbo over the weekend? Why is he bringing this case up?” Then, my worst fear came true as he looked in my direction (directly into my soul, I’d be willing to bet), adressed me by my last name (albeit horribly butchered) and uttered the words that made me shit a proverbial brick (and then later that day an actual brick): “Please tell us about the facts..”

When I made it clear that I was unprepared for this case (and only this case) he told me to “take [my] time,” and then told the rest of the class to “feel free to go grab some coffee, because the case is substantially long and properly preparing for it will take at least 30 minutes. Seriously, go get something to drink because this be be a while.”

Approximately 10 minutes later I was fully prepared and hollered down to the front, “OK, I’m ready.” He looked a little astonished, as if thinking “Yea, okay kid. Let’s see what you come up with..” And so the interrogation began.

I blacked out for the next hour or so. But, from what my classmates told me, I somehow survived.

I approached him during the break in class, half to apologize for wasting his and everyone else’s time and half to get a better assessment of whether or not this man was actually human (still not convinced of the latter. I will start bringing garlic and silver to class to test this further.) The professor did, however, commend me on how I dealt with it all. He told me he appreciated that I came down to tell him how I felt, that he would never hold it against me because things happen and that it was impressive that I was able to get my shit together in a considerably short amount of time. I told him that I was a speed reader as a child and that I would have voiced this when he sent everyone out for coffee, but that I bit my tongue for fear that it would be poor timing and come off utterly pompus. He agreed with me, I went back to my seat and life went on. Later that day I shat a two more proverbial bricks, one actual brick and then layed a faberge egg.