As soon as I had glanced over at my iPhone and noticed the illuminated glass screen to display an 818 number, my heart started clomping with the force of a Spartan army. I was in disbelief that someone had actually replied to my letter. The chances of an adolescent securing a position such as the one I coveted were aberrant and anomalous. With a trembling hand I picked up the mechanical cellular device that would soon open the doors to what I would call my internship.
An amicable voice picked up on the other end of the phone. After what seemed like eons of me trying to make sure I did not compromise my chances of this position during the conversation, a meeting had been set for that Friday at 10:00 am.
To say I was happy would be lying. I was in a state of disbelief. I felt as if I had won the lottery jackpot, and then some. I had an incalculable amount of thoughts wreaking havoc within the confines of my 15-year-old cerebrum. I was on an intellectual inquisition to figure out everything I could within the 48 hours I was allotted until my bankruptcy law-oriented symposium was to occur.
I utilized the internet to no end to assimilate all of the information that my bankruptcy law-bereft brain could retain. All of these esoteric and convoluted terms proved to be painstaking in understanding their meanings, but I had to. There was no way that I was going to arrive on Friday morning knowing only what the word “asset” meant. To no avail, Friday came, and I hardly knew the difference between a Chapter 7 and a Chapter 13.
When I pulled up to the monolithic glass building that forenoon, a substantial amount of trepidation came upon me. I walked cautiously to the front of this prodigious edifice and opened the door. I had passed the threshold of the point of no return. There was no going back or rescinding the offer I had been. I should had been obliged that morning to the man who had given me this opportunity. Instead I was a nervous wreck.
As soon as I approached the elevator I was faced with the daunting endeavor of trying to figure where the office was located. Suite 400, that should be on the fourth floor. To my fortune, I had guessed correctly. Any sane person would have known that it was going to be on that floor, but that day, I was anything but.
A deep breath and I ambulated slowly into the office. I was met with a bonhomous countenance and a wave of reassurance.
“I’m here to see David—,” I spoke as the man himself walked right into the waiting room.
A firm handshake and we were already on the peregrination to his office. I sat down in a snug leather chair and my internship had set sail.
A stipulation of our mutual agreement was that I was to assist David in his internet marketing strategy, and in exchange he would place me under his tutelage. I was awarded three tomes of bankruptcy-law oriented compositions. I made my way over to the all glass and sumptuous conference room. I spent the rest of that afternoon construing bankruptcy legalese and obscure statutes, and reveling in every last bit of them. Although bankruptcy law is not the subsection of law that I wished to venture into, I could not wait to unearth all of the other parts of bankruptcy I had yet to learn.
The following Monday I showed up for my official first day of work, per se. David took me out to lunch that day, where we mooted over my internet marketing stratagem that I had prepared.
When we returned back to the firm, I was given my first assignment, which was to do a write up on eminent people who had filed for bankruptcy. The next day, I had come in with 26 prominent persons and their stories of financial demise.
My other projects included but were not limited to: finding cloistered businesses and people who had money in the firm’s trust account, elucidating the difference between a SLAPP and malicious prosecution suit, researching if SLAPPs could be prosecuted under a certain statute, and a disquisition pertaining to payday and car title loans.
There was a small hiatus in my orders of duty as David figured out what else I could do. I had taken everything he had thrown at me, so far.
He decided that I should partake in some clerical work, as that would be part of the aggregate of legal work. I was enlisted in scanning preceding client documents, a mind-numbing but imperative task. In theory, it seems like a facile task, but it turned out to be the antithesis of one. This blue-ribbon machine had the affinity for crashing every five minutes, with the added dividend of having to restart your entire file. After one miraculously finishes a file, the next step is to put it into the computer. It is incumbent on the person doing the scanning to make sure all of the files are in the computer, only to find that they are upside down. If everything goes fluidly, they then get to mosey over to the file room to cull another file for scanning. To provide perspective, it took over two days to scan 10 files.
One day while in the enchanting copy room, David approached me with the thought of going to court. In all veracity, I had yet to entertain the notion of me watching actual cases being adjudicated in a courtroom.
I researched some tentative rulings at the court, which fortunately was less than a mile away from the office. I managed to find a trial that started two weeks from that day. Sadly, there were not any tasks that I was to fulfill in the time period, so I took those two weeks off. On the day of the trial, I stopped by the office to, for lack of a better phrase, “hang out” until I was to walk over to the courthouse.
Let me say, that walking in a full suit in the torrid heat of California was nothing short of sadism to the human anatomy. Once I ultimately found the bankruptcy court after becoming lost a multitudinous number of times, I was greeted with the predicament of having to go through security. Courthouse security is tantamount to airport security, which is universally abhorred by everyone. The fact that I was sweating and suffering from quasi-heat stroke did not assuage the quandary I was in. After conversing with the security guards for what seemed like an eternity, I finally made my way into the arid and stodgy elevator. I made it to the third floor without a hitch and made my way to the bench outside of courtroom 301. A man who I presumed to be an attorney sat at the other side of the bench, occasionally perusing me as if I was that morning’s issue of the LA Times.
Over the next week I came in every day that the trial occurred and finally made known to everyone that I was an intern, not a secret witness or any of the other proposed conjectures.
While reposing at the beach one day, I received a call from David, who informed me about another trial at the court. It sounded genuinely tantalizing, and I agreed to watch it, as I was truthfully becoming uninterested from my current trial. Let’s just say that all chances of me going into trial advocacy were obliterated by the first trial.
David performed the generous favor of having his secretary emailing me the briefs for the new trial, so that I would be erudite in the matters being dispute.
Needless to say, the trial did not cease to stupefy me, as it was a trial that induced a new perspective on the judicial system in my mind.
The law is one of the most magisterial forces in our society, and it is an entity that I would like to be able to wield. Although lawyers are exhibited as spineless, ostentatious, and callous human beings with no regard for anything but things with pecuniary value, they are necessary. Everyone has a right to rectify a problem, and lawyers facilitate that process.
With my internship, I was given the chance to shine a new light on the profession that I wish to make my foray into. I cannot express the quantum of gratitude that I have towards David, and I feel that I will forever be indebted to him. So, I thank you, David Hagen, for starting me on the perilous journey that is known as, the law.

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