I’m friendly with a particular paralegal at my firm. She’s a bright, charming girl, and we’ve enjoyed a “convivial rapport” while working together on a couple of projects (translation: we shoot the shit and crack each other up by making fun of various partners). The other day she stopped me in the hallway and asked if she could come by my office later to “talk about some issues.” My curiosity was piqued, I figured it couldn’t be anything too important since she is well aware that my rank as a junior associate slots me slightly above “slave laborer” in the Great Firm Pyramid. A few hours later, she knocked on my half-open door (a closed office door is frowned upon, partners like to pass by frequently and peer inside to ensure that you’re superglued to your desk sweating panicked buckets as you steamroll through billable assignments). I invited her in and asked what was on her mind.

Paralegal: Hey, what’s up. Sorry if I was vague before, I wanted to come by because I’ve decided to apply to law school in the fall, and I’m getting a headstart on my applications.

Me: (thinking, “Christ, this girl is starting her apps in July? She’s the perfect law school candidate - anal as hell.”) That’s great, good for you.

P: Yeah I’m trying to avoid being too stressed out in a few months, especially since I’m taking the October LSAT. The reason I wanted to talk to you is that I know that you went to X Law School, and right now it’s my top choice.

Me: Uh, really? That’s cool. Why?

P: I’ve done lots of research and it seems like the best fit for me as far as location, size, that sort of thing. Anyway I’ve read all the stats as far as the grades and LSATs you need to get in, and I know my numbers are a little low. So I was wondering if you had any tips as far as preparing my application, like is there an angle that I can take in the personal essay or something that would impress the admissions people, and maybe get them to pay less attention to just my college grades?

I stare at her with an expression that I hope looks like deep contemplation. But secretly I’m envisioning a flounder with a wounded fin swimming directly into a Great White feeding frenzy. I genuinely want to help her, but I don’t want to tell her the pungent vinegary truth: no essays or recommendations or any of that crap matter in the slightest to the majority of law school admissions officers. When you apply to law school, your existence on this planet is reduced to a mathematical equation calculated using your college GPA and LSAT score. If the resulting number is well above a certain minimum, congrats, you’re in the club, get psyched for 3 years of obsessive competition, massive debt, intellectual insecurity and endless toil resulting in a thankless high-paying job that inevitably results in eventual career disappointment. If not, some old white man in a bowtie will scoffingly toss your application into a raging bonfire outside the window of his brocade-lined office. Character? Personality? They don’t matter in the slightest. You could be a straight-jacketed Charles Manson disciple who ritualistically slaughters kittens and jerks off each morning to a copy of “Mein Kampf,” but if you have a 3.7 GPA at a “highly reputable” college and a 171 or above on the LSATs, you will get into at least one “top 15″ law school.

In fact, admissions offices rarely even pretend that your background, resume, personal statement or postgraduate experience make that much of a difference. They may blow some smoke up the collective prospective-student ass about “creating a diverse group of students with extensively varying interests and backgrounds,” which is a nice fantasy but ultimately a crock. The vast majority of your entering class will consist of spoiled displaced Ivy Leaguers who were funnelled into the law schools because corporate recruiting was too dull and they figured they’d prolong the student experience for another 3 years and please Mommy & Daddy while setting themselves up for a cushy six-figure job at the finish line (myself included).

Plus law school admissions deans don’t give a rat’s ass about the true honor and integrity of applicants. Sure, if you have a public urination arrest (damn those campus police) or a cheating suspension from that Organic Chem final on your record, you’ll get a potential black mark on your application file. But it’s lip service - as long as your nonsensical mathematical rank is high enough to compensate for your lack of actual principles, you’re in the gang. I knew so many complete unadulterated jerkoffs who had no trouble whatsoever getting into law school, it was almost comic. Lifted half your senior thesis from the internet? Sabotaged your rival’s final Sociology project the night before it was due? Banged your best friend’s fiancee? No problem, as long as you were smart enough not to get caught and still graduate cum laude.

As for her research and efforts to “choose the right law school?” I want to tell her, “Forget that crap. You go to the highest ranked school you get into, period. Or, you go to the school that offers you the most money. If you can swing a top school that also offers money, you may even avoid the eventual Golden Handcuffs of future crippling loans. But forget any bullshit about choosing the ‘right fit’ for you as an individual. This is law school, not summer camp.”

So I’m sitting here at my desk, mouth slightly agape, wondering, do I tell her all this? Do I go off on a 15 minute rant about the pointlessness of it all, but preface it all with a warning that she should take all my advice with a heaping trashcan of salt since there’s a miniscule chance I may be completely full of shit? (which, shockingly enough, has been known to happen). She’s starting to raise her eyebrows at my extended silence. Just then, the phone rings - a partner down the hall, likely wanting to know why his assignment wasn’t finished an hour ago despite the fact that his original set due date was tomorrow afternoon.

Me: Uh, I’m so sorry P, I have to take this. Can we talk about all this later? How bout we have lunch this week or something.

P: Sure, no problem. Let me know your schedule, I’ll send you an e-mail.

She walks away and I have a moment of deja vu, I was in her exact position several years ago, an overeager paralegal asking an associate for advice on applications (though the timing was more like 3 weeks before they were due). Would I have bothered if someone had sat me down and laid all this out back then? In truth, the answer is probably yes.