Case Dismissed!

Last year, I decided to take the California Bar Exam. I had no idea that I was about to ruin my life for months to come. I asked the Brussels Bar to send me my admission certificate and a few weeks later, the Admissions Office in LA decided that I was fit to take the Cal Bar. I studied for months while commuting to work on that famous bus that I talked to you about earlier. I felt like I was living the American dream. As opposed to Europe, here, it’s not important what your parents do, it’s important what you do and who you are. Fabulous idea! Soon, I would be able to brag to my friends that I put myself through the Bar Exam, just like other people put themselves through college while taking care of their three little baby sisters and working two shifts at Wendy’s, walking to school on their bare feet through the snowy hills of Colorado. Of course, reading my books and writing my essays while everyone else was having fun, can be put in that same category, there’s no doubt about that. I crammed until I knew everything about your Miranda rights, the First Amendment, intentional infliction of emotional distress and secret trusts.

In February, I was all set for the big challenge that was about to take place in a convention hall where they normally organize fairs for Barbie collectors and home and garden shows. Hundreds of anxious, stressed-out people were getting ready for three nerve-wrecking days. I booked two rooms at the Marriott in San Matteo, fifteen miles south of San Francisco. The first room was for me. The second room was my lucky charm. I wouldn’t use it, but it was part of my master plan and I was convinced that I would fail if I booked only one room. Yes, you don’t want bad feng shui to bite you in the butt when you are taking a bar exam. The receptionist clearly didn’t get that. He called me after my first exhausting examination day at the big convention hall. I was too embarrassed to tell him about the feng shui affair. Without blinking, I told him I always booked two rooms when I travelled and that I liked having two rooms for myself and that no way, they were not allowed to give it to some other guest.

For three days, I sat on a chair and typed away. My colleague – the best colleague you could wish for – sent me updates in the mornings. On the first day, he urged me not to leave the examination room, except if my health or well-being would be in immediate danger. His advice was: “No helping others, no going out for earthquakes unless the firemen drag you out of the room, because you will need every minute of your time.”

And for three agonizing days, I wrote essays about a slip and fall accident caused by a dog that jumped off a truck driven by a drunk driver on a frolic, about scissors left in the stomach of a patient by a pot-smoking nurse; I filled out multiple choice questions about search warrants, equal protection and free speech; and I wrote performance tests about tribal courts and disclaimers for helicopters in ski resorts. I nearly cried when I called Annelien on the third morning. My back hurt, my head was spinning and my brain was ready for a meltdown. But I survived and I will tell you what happened after that next time.