My second day at uni was somewhat better than my first. I’d read over the study guide and had a vague idea of what the unit was about, which was a nice bonus. The only constant was the 17-year-olds’ incessant focus on the final exam. For someone with a laissez-faire attitude to life it was beyond comprehension. The only reason I was in law school to begin with was because Laura had told me when to enrol and sat down with me with me to show me which buttons to click to complete the process.
It had arrived – my final day as a full time employee. I was so busy packing up my desk, I didn’t realise I’d had an epiphany until I’d already blurted it out loud.
‘Oh no! I have to be a professional lawyer from now on. That means I won’t be able to say the F word anymore!’
I’m a bit of a swearer. As far as I’m concerned the word sh!t isn’t even a swear word, it’s common vernacular for a crappy situation. Lucky to work in an office where swearing was the norm, I hadn’t considered Life After Rampant Profanity (or LARP, as it shall be known from hereon in).
My colleague laughed.
‘True. You’ll have to use the L word from now on.’
‘The L word?’
‘Oh, good point.’
And it was. I could tell someone to f*ck off. Or I could tell them I was going to litigate. Either way, they’d be sure to leave me alone. Law school may have its perks after all.