The Firm Reception

Starting yesterday, law firms out to make names for themselves began holding receptions at area bars, trying to lure 1Ls in to a den of waiting lawyers. Their motives are fairly straightforward - they want to make a good impression on us so that our best and brightest will leap at the chance to bill long hours for them come graduation. They have no hope of remembering which perky young students seemed promising in a loud, dark, booze-soaked hotel lounge, but there's an outside chance some of us will remember what a bithcin' party they threw. Or something. Student motives are more varied.

The most direct are angling for positions. They'll chat up whatever unfortunate attorney crosses their path, all smiles and false laughs. Business cards collected translate into names dropped in future cover letters. Bill from the Portland office probably won't remember you two years down the line, but for the ruthless, every little bit helps.

Some are there to test the waters. I saw a pair who will spend this summer in US Attorney's offices casting furtive sidelong glances at the roving pack of recruiters, trying to obliquely size up what private sector life would be like. Others nudge and prod for inter-firm gossip and snark, trying to get a handle on who's hot and who's not this legal season. Still others treat it as a training exercise, where they can fine-tune the art of massaging bloated egos.

But most students' agenda is much simpler. They just want to get drunk. You'll see them hop from huddle to huddle, carefully avoiding eye contact with the firm staff. They're the ones who will widen their eyes and silently mouth "keep him talking" as you solicit an intrusive partner's opinion on that Kozinski opinion that's really just great. You'll find them huddled around the bar, positioned by the most heavily trafficked appetizer routes, talking to each other in loud voices. A few brave firm types will interject themselves on brief but heroic sorties, while their less charismatic or bold coworkers pick off stragglers like hunters on the Savannah. Meanwhile 1Ls gulp down colorful liquids from artful stemware, trying to kick the ol' BAC into double digits before last call. In all fairness, it's this latter group of students who seem to have the most fun.

Tonight's gig was at a bar called Noir. I made a horrible mistake and ordered a drink called the LA Confidential - one of my favorite movies, but a wretched libation. Still got to feel like Sam Spade as a beautiful blonde walked me home and told me the inside skinny on all the tough-guy firms in San Diego - a city that knows how to keep its secrets.