immune to embarrassment.

in the seconds before before class starts, as professor l. is already ogling the clock above the door, the half-empty room quiet with scared anticipation

[above everyone's heads, beamed unto the wall, are stats proclaiming that of 135 people who took the exam 3 weeks ago, 35.56% have failed, and 36.30% have the minimum passing grade]

a grossly overweight guy with an expressionless face, which is strangely pig-like and red with the alcohol consumption of years in a fraternity, dressed head to toe in ralph lauren garments stretched to the max, an 0.5l bottle of rothaus in front of him, very loudly, and without warning, screams into his mobile:

"narri! narro!"

once.

"narri! narro!"

twice.

"narri! narro!"

a third time.

collectively, heads turn away in an embarrassment and disgust he seems to be immune to.

the bell rings.

45 minutes of trying to rediscover in professor l.'s elaborate discussion of the case what i banned on paper during three hours of frantic writing three weeks ago follow.

then: "miss b.?"
i get my exam back, the front page typed, in a nice small sans-serif font, too, the lined pages of the actual exam scribbled in a handwriting i barely recognise as mine. i need to practise writing by hand.

i've passed. and not just barely.

more proof that you get through law school on way too little these days.

now bring on the vodka.