passion against the law

Have you ever wondered what you would have done if you hadn’t taken the law school and practice law route? There are many of us who wonder what else he could have done. Personally, if I could do it again, maybe I would do something related to French and France. In those days, despite the ooh la la flavor of le francais, the pull of the Law replaced those gutturals, those absent s’s, and of course those slick relationships. My God! What attraction?

When I considered pursuing a degree in French instead of law, it seemed like there was no competition. What would I become with a degree in French, a teacher, a translator/interpreter, a UN employee, a hospitality employee? None of those occupations seemed attractive at the time. The allure of the Law was overwhelming. It involved the rigorous study of impressive books, dramatic exchanges with our peers, flowery expressions in a language even older and more mysterious than French, discussions with real-life lawyers and judges in moot courts, attendance at real courts in togas and wigs, legal pretext. at the legal aid clinic, dreams of success, money and status and, of course, witty repartee.

Convinced that we wanted to make the world a better place and get rich doing it, we kept the program going, working case after case with the development of customary law. The judges were our friends, Diplock and Denning, to name a few. We learned to examine our drink in light of the negligence in Donoghue v Stevenson, to rejoice in the help that equity gives to the Law, to distinguish between domicile and residence and of course service contract and service contract. The Law gave birth to some true cartoonists, delighted to use words like save and except e, among other things, while demonstrating their understanding of the ejusdem generis rule. Oh how excited and nervous we were at the mock trial as we dressed in our one and only dark suit with matching heels. Friends became adversaries looking to score points as was the defense of the stars, the litigants to come. Appropriately somber, when we made our way to court, we gesticulated and got lyrical quoting dead judges, quoting sections and paragraphs, and sometimes even injecting a sardonic jab or two.

No way could French compare, regardless of its supposedly romantic charm. It’s just another language I thought of and I might even become fluent one day. But Law, that couldn’t be delayed, there was work to be done, money to be earned and more dark suits to be worn. That was then. Now, after pools of adversarial blood, countless deals, disagreements, and compromises, sardonic wit has given way to cynical insight and a walk down the Champs-Elysees, UN corridors, or even a high school classroom, gesturing as only you would. the French do. It doesn’t sound too bad at all. I hope I can cite other dead men, Jean Paul Sartre and Saint Exupéry, to name a few; sucking on snails and frogs legs with relish and without a hint of negligence, performing with ease and ease, applying the rules of le bon usage, and spicing up dull dark suits with that nonchalant flavor of French chic: colorful scarves and heeled boots.

So now classes at Alliance Francaise evoke the same excitement as law school. Well go! At least I know there are alternatives, so one day maybe I’ll exercise the option and find a way to leave the bar. So those of you who had secret passions that you wish you had pursued, don’t be discouraged. Follow your dream.