August has flown by, and the summer associates have all set sail on cruiseships returning them to the sunny isle of Academia. Those of us still junior enough to remember the veritable Shangri-La that is student life pressed our noses against our glass office windows, gazing wistfully as the young escapees sipped umbrella concoctions and waved goodbye from the Ledo deck. But while it’s easy for us to idealize our law school falls of yore, the reality is that returning to school in August was, more often than not, hardly a blissful utopia; first year we were terrified lemmings ready to vault off any cliff or chug any Kool Aid suggested by the new Demigod of our existence, manifested as a Torts professor.

And, of course, second year we returned to campus sporting pressed and hemmed designer suits, Gordon Gecko haircuts, sleek leather folders holding piles of updated transcripts and resumes, and dozens of those little pantyhose eggs, all in preparation for full prostration at the feet of Firm Recruiting. For any second year law students choosing to sell out at the first opportunity (which includes 99% of most student bodies), the fall semester signifies a frantic burrow into the gaping maw that is On Campus Recruiting. For law firms themselves, recruiting is an annual ritual where hiring committees select their choicest alums from each school (or simply whomever they can guilt into making the nonbillable trip) and send them to the river with instructions to spear and bag the quickest salmon from the throngs flopping and thrashing their way upstream, all with 3.3 GPAs or higher. Every day multiple firms visit campus to conduct rapid fire interviews with a list of law students, meticulously selected from 2-inch stacks of resumes using a precisely calculated method often involving some chick in HR sorting through and picking all the guys with hot-sounding names. Predictably, the Law Review sect will show up on every list, but often scoring an interview slot with X or Y firm is as random as the next card at the Borgata no-limit Blackjack table.

The day of each interview arrives, bringing with it the full gamut of human emotion. After excessive primping and pondering the important questions (Hair down or up? Regis solid tie and shirt, or Tucker Carlson bowtie to demonstrate my unmatched nonpareil personality? Contacts or glasses, to appear more cerebral?) each student rushes to the actual interview, which I reverentially refer to as the 20-Minute Gong Show. Instructional pamphlets containing the following steps should be distributed to all conductors of this white collar circus (maybe they are, for all I know):

Step 1: Prime each interviewee’s anxiety levels by requiring him or her to wait outside the tiny interview room for a minimum of 11 minutes, permitting plenty of time to strain and catch snippets of your conversation with the current candidate (while you can’t see it, their thoughts will be deliciously printed on their faces – “Did they just laugh really loud in there? Shit, that bastard must have used his speeding ticket story again, I hate it when he gets the time slot right before me”). Then escort the current candidate from the cramped interview chamber, making sure to smile broadly and engage in a public back patting and arm pumping Goodbye, all to maximize feelings of inadequacy for the incoming stooge.

Step 2: Greet the next victim abruptly, usher them to their tiny, uncomfortable chair, and permit them a moment to fully behold you, a Real Live Lawyer, in all your besplendent six figure glory. Judge them by their handshake – is it sturdy and unyielding, indicating a solid lawyerly demeanor? How good is their “practiced eye contact” during the initial greeting? Whip out a folder containing their resume and transcript (naturally any grades below the B+ mean are highlighted in pink). Proceed to then ask as many pointless, idiotic questions as time permits, such as:

“So, why X firm?”

“What happened in Con Law last year? Looks like you bombed the exam.”

“You’re doing research for a professor right now? How much are they paying you? When I was here, that job was on a volunteer basis.”

“I see you listed ‘emu farming’ as an interest on your resume. Do you feel that your skills in this area will better prepare you for life as an associate?”

“You state that you are fluent in German and Italian. Can you say the firm’s name in either language?”

Be sure to make copious notes during each response, such as “candidate’s use of the word ’solitary’ and lack of constant eye contact may negatively affect his/her ability to interact with clients in future deal-making scenarios – may not be a ‘team player.’” If you’re feeling punchy, feel free to tiptoe the line of appropriateness with questions – the candidates are all too terrified of losing their chance at an offer to report anything you say as offensive.

“Where are you from originally? My guess would be Scarsdale, or maybe Great Neck. I used to date girls from there, they’re all the same.”

“So how did you end up at X law school? The only one you got into?”

‘Why do you feel that you’re any different from the 30 other obsequious peons I’m meeting with over the course of this pointless exercise?”

Be sure to check your cell phone and Blackberry frequently as they sweat through each question, demonstrating your supreme importance and inability to waste valuable time with trivialities such as actually listening to the human being in front of you. Don’t forget to ask, “So what questions do you have?” Later in the interview process, they’ll have learned to come up with imaginative obscure questions that no one in the firm could guess. Never admit that you don’t have any clue about the international opportunities in litigation because you do nothing but stare at an Excel spreadsheet for 14 hours a day and rarely interact with a single other member of the firm, but rather make up an answer involving the emerging markets in Uganda and Oman. They’ll never dare contradict you.

The irony for students is that after 15 or so of these 20-minute psych experiments, you will know within the first 3.7 minutes of the interview whether you have a snowball’s chance at a callback. Occasionally, you’ll sit down across from some master of your fate, and the instant mutual loathing will be intense enough to actually ignite the walls. Once, at an interview near the end of First Round recruiting, I knew within the first 20 seconds that my name would be slashed with a Sharpie as soon as I left the room. I had been shocked to find myself on the list in the first place, the firm was a white shoe corporate temple known for recruiting a certain profile that I hardly fit. My interviewer was a comically typical bigfirm lawyer – short, trim, balding, expensively suited, with his faithful Blackberry strapped to his side. He shot me a look of scorn the moment my pantyhosed ass hit the chair.

“So why this firm?”

“Well I was initially drawn by the firm’s stellar reputation regarding X and Y, plus I’ve been following the media coverage regarding X case….

After another 10 seconds, I stopped speaking. My interviewer was glaring at me with enough apathy and contempt to singe my eyebrows. Fuck it, this is stupid, why not save us both the trouble. “Let’s be frank, I’m not going to get called back to this firm am I.”

He looked me straight in the eye, and for a split second we had a beautiful meeting of minds, a moment of pure mental fusion. “No, not a chance.”

I smiled at the momentary honesty. “Ok thanks, I’m going to just head out then, no need to waste your time.” I gathered my sleek leather folder, smiled a quick goodbye, and exited the room.

Hey, truth saves time – if I hurry I can get the hell out of this goddamn suit and still catch the end of Law & Order.