If you’re lucky, the path you’re meant to take in life is clear. When it’s not, sometimes the process of elimination can help. The process of elimination was how I decided on attending law school. Not ready to settle on a profession, I decided that continuing my education after college would be my best option before entering the real world.
After ruling out medical school (no thanks, stitches or blood!), graduate school (what would I study?), and business school (too “businessy”), I stumbled upon law school. In my mind, law school sounded like it would give me a great “all-purpose” degree. I didn’t know much about law school, other than there was something called a bar exam at the end. (Did that mean drinks on the house? No? Not that kind of bar?)
While I had pretty good grades in college—I graduated cum laude, ehem—I figured it wouldn’t be all that hard to get into law school. Turns out, I was wrong. Which brings me to this blog’s very simple life lesson: persistence, when done tactfully, can help tip the balance in your favor. In my case, I had to take the proverbial “law into my own hands” to gain acceptance into law school.
Here’s my story…
Going the extra mile
Before you can attend law school, you must first prove you’re a suitable candidate. That’s what the LSATs (Law School Admissions Test) are for. I decided that the summer before my senior year of college would be the optimal time for me to study for the LSATs. Unfortunately for me, Poughkeepsie didn’t have a law school exam preparation center. There was no way I could study for this exam on my own. Since this was the pre-Internet era, I learned I’d have to drive to the closest place with a test prep location. This turned out to be White Plains, about an hour away.
Normally, I would view an hour’s car ride as a wonderful adventure. But I was juggling a part-time job, borrowing my mom’s car, and using up my precious summer vacation for studying. Given these extenuating circumstances, I couldn’t drive to White Plains more than a couple of times a week. So, when the time came for me to take the LSATs, I’d say I was “mostly prepared.” Although I wasn’t a great standardized test taker to begin with, I secretly hoped I’d miraculously ace the LSATs.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. I got a good-but-not-great LSAT score. Rationalizing that I’d never get into a top-tier law school even with a modest improvement in my score, I decided it didn’t make sense to retake the LSATs. I’d hoped that between my college grades, extracurriculars, and “OK” LSAT score, I’d get into a decent law school. I’d already set my sights on a list of solid second-tier law schools.
I didn’t yet realize I might have to take the law into my own hands if I wanted admission into a respectable law school.
Wait(list) and see
Given my writing background, I was confident the essay portion would be my ticket to wowing law school admission departments. Of the seven schools that I’d applied to, I felt confident that I’d have at least a handful of good options to choose from.
Well, my two reach schools swiftly rejected me. Shaking off the sting of rejection, I settled on a different top-choice school in the New York area. Until they also rejected me. That meant I was down to four schools.
It was now time to reassess my remaining options. Of the two law schools I’d been accepted to, I didn’t want to attend my “safety” school unless I absolutely had to. The other school—one with a Division I basketball program—only accepted me into their night program. The thought of early bird me attending classes at night seemed like the wrong fit. Plus, night classes probably meant I couldn’t even go to the basketball games.
I shifted my focus onto the two schools where I’d been waitlisted. Both were based in the New York City area. One glitch: Picky me didn’t want to be in New York City. (Yes, I know I live there now.) Brooklyn Law School, however, was located in downtown Brooklyn Heights. That was not New York City. Technically. The more I thought about it, the more I was convinced that Brooklyn Law School was the place for me.
But how could I make Brooklyn Law School move me from the waitlist to their acceptance list? Well, I’d have to take the law into my own hands.
Like clockwork
I thought about how I could let Brooklyn Law School know I was interested in them. Stopping by the Admissions Office was out of the question. Brooklyn Heights was over three hours away from Binghamton. And I had no car. Perhaps there was another way I could show my interest in the school? Surely if they got to know me, they’d realize that I was a hard worker who was serious about her future legal studies. Aha! That’s it. I would call them!
And so, I tracked down the number for the Admissions Office. I decided I’d call the office at exactly nine-thirty the next morning. A kindly administrative assistant whom I’ll call Gloria picked up the phone. She had a thick Noo Yawk accent and sounded like she had a pack-a-day cigarette habit. I politely inquired with Gloria about the status of my application. I explained that I had been waitlisted but was eager to attend Brooklyn Law School. Gloria pleasantly advised me that the admissions team would review my application soon. Not wanting to get on Gloria’s bad side, I thanked her for her time and bid her a good day.
I bet Gloria didn’t expect to hear from me again exactly seven days later, at precisely nine-thirty.
As luck would have it, Gloria answered when I called. I made some pleasant small talk with Gloria, making sure to mention that my father was from Brooklyn. For added effect, I rattled off some of his favorite places from forty years ago. Maybe that would give me an edge? Then I asked, once more, about the status of my application.
“No news yet, hon,” Gloria said. I imagined Gloria getting ready to go outside and smoke a cigarette after she hung up with me. I, again, thanked her for her time. Before I said goodbye, I brightly told Gloria that I’d call back the following week. Just to check.
“I’m not trying to be a pain. It’s only that I really want to attend Brooklyn Law School. This school is my top choice, so you can understand why I’d love to move off the waitlist.” I hoped Gloria could hear the genuineness in my voice. Not desperation.
“I understand, sweetie,” she said. Whatever power that Gloria had in real life, I didn’t care. I decided she would be the key to my acceptance. I’d take the law into my own hands by befriending Gloria.
Watching the clock
And so, the following week, once again at precisely nine-thirty, I called the Admissions Office. Just like the prior weeks, Gloria answered. Thank goodness she never seemed to take a day off. I pleasantly inquired about the status of my application. I heard the rifling of papers.
After a short pause, Gloria said, “Tell you what, hon. I’m gonna move your file up to the top of the pile. Why don’t you call back at the end of the week? I’ll make sure they take a look at it by then.” I thanked Gloria profusely but tried not to babble on more than necessary. I didn’t want her to get annoyed at me in case she was actually heading out for another cigarette break. (For the record, I don’t condone smoking. While Gloria’s raspy voice could’ve been genetic, implying that she may have been a lifelong smoker is purely for dramatic effect.)
The next few days were torturous. I counted the hours until I could call back at precisely nine-thirty that Friday. In my view, taking the law into your own hands meant you ought to be consistent.
At nine-twenty-nine, I positioned myself in front of the phone. By now, I’d memorized the number to the Admissions Office. My finger traced “seven-one-eight,” Brooklyn’s area code.
As the clock finally ticked nine-thirty, I took a deep breath and began to dial. I prayed that taking the law into my own hands had worked.
You’ve got mail
I whispered “please, please, please accept me” as I waited for the phone to be picked up.
“Law School Admissions,” Gloria said in her usual raspy Noo Yawk accent.
“Hi Gloria, it’s—” before I could say my name, Gloria recognized my voice.
“Hi, hon. I knew it was gonna be you,” she laughed. I held my breath, waiting to hear what my fate would be. “Well, I’ve got good news for you, dear. You’ve been accepted! They’ll send you a letter in the mail, so you’ve got to wait for that. It’ll have all the information you need.”
“Oh my gosh, Gloria. Thank you so much. I appreciate everything you’ve done. I’m going to come visit you in the fall to thank you in person.”
“Aww, sweetie, you don’t need to do that. But I’ll miss hearing from you every week.” Gloria laughed again in her throaty voice.
I’ll never know if my weekly calls to Gloria helped tip the scales on my acceptance. Who knows? Maybe I would’ve eventually been admitted to Brooklyn Law School if I’d just been more patient. But I will always be grateful to a kindly Noo Yawkah who saw my determination and made sure I got to the top of the pile.
In this instance, taking the law into my own hands worked in my favor. Thank goodness pleasant persistence isn’t a crime. (Unpleasant persistence, on the other hand, is called “harassment,” which is a crime.) See? I might not have known that if I hadn’t been in Brooklyn Law School’s class of 1999.
Do you recall any childhood memories that had a strong impact on you later in life? Please share your stories with me in the comments section.
