safe.
“So, Grant,” Drew said, “Lisa tells me you’re a history major. What do you plan to do with that?” He didn’t say it like a put-down; he was genuinely curious.
“I plan on going to law school,” Grant announced with pride. The Taylor’s eyes perked up. Lisa hadn’t told them that; she wanted to surprise them with the good news in person.
Going to law school was the right answer. “I am interested in being a judge, perhaps,” Grant said. He never used the word “perhaps” except in fancy settings like this.
Law school? Maybe a judge? That was music to the Taylors’ ears. The night went well. The Taylors were nice and they seemed to think Grant was OK. No one asked about Forks.
Grant took the law school entrance test and did very well. He got into the University of Washington and didn’t even use the Indian thing.
Lisa got into the UW Medical School the same year. They were set.
Now it was time to get married. It wasn’t even a “decision”; they both knew it was going to happen. Grant proposed to Lisa by getting on his knee. She said “Of course, Mr. Pickle Lover.” They were ecstatic.
Next came the first year of law school and med school. This was the year of homework; crazy amounts of homework. Both were doing well in school. Lisa really liked medical school, and she was thinking about being an emergency room doctor. She was competitive and loved the challenge of making life and death decisions.
Grant loved the law, which wasn’t a surprise, but he really disliked most of the people in law school. They were mostly arrogant. Grant wasn’t sure why they were that way, because he was as smart as or smarter than they were. They were so impractical. These future lawyers couldn’t do anything other than spout off theories. They were like an exotic flower grown in perfect greenhouse conditions; these impractical idiots couldn’t survive a day out in the countryside. None of them had ever worked a day in their lives. Most were spoiled little brats. What happened in class one day illustrated it all.
Grant was in Trial Advocacy class, which is where students learn how to do a trial. It included examining witnesses, opening and closing arguments, that kind of thing. They used a made up case for their trial. Grant was assigned to defend an alleged gunman who held up a liquor store. The evidence showed that the defendant held a semiautomatic pistol in his left hand, clicked off the safety, and shot the victim. Grant knew something was wrong. He asked the witness (played by someone in his class) if she was absolutely sure that the gunman did this with his left hand. She was; it was definitely his left hand. She was left handed herself and recognized a fellow lefty.
“Handing you what’s been marked Exhibit 23,” Grant said in the mock trial to the witness, “can you identify this?”
“It’s a drawing of the gun,” the witness said. It was a lowbudget mock trial so instead of a real gun for an exhibit, they just had a drawing of it.
“Can you look at the drawing of the right side of the gun?” he asked.
“Yes,” the witness said.
“Now please look at the left side,” Grant said to the witness.
“Do you see anything that looks like a little lever?”
“Yes,” the witness said.
“In the picture, do you see that little lever on the right side of the gun?” Grant asked.
“No,” the witness said. “It’s only on the left side.”
“Thank you,” Grant said with a grin. “No further questions.”
Everyone looked surprised. Was that the end of the questions?
He hadn’t proven anything.
Grant then said to the “judge” (played by the professor), “Your honor, I move to dismiss the charges because I can prove the defendant is innocent.”
“Please do,” said the judge, with disbelief in her eyes. Grant was enjoying this. “Your honor, the safety is a little lever,” he explained since this professor had probably never touched a gun in her life.
“It is on
“So, Grant,” Drew said, “Lisa tells me you’re a history major. What do you plan to do with that?” He didn’t say it like a put-down; he was genuinely curious.
“I plan on going to law school,” Grant announced with pride. The Taylor’s eyes perked up. Lisa hadn’t told them that; she wanted to surprise them with the good news in person.
Going to law school was the right answer. “I am interested in being a judge, perhaps,” Grant said. He never used the word “perhaps” except in fancy settings like this.
Law school? Maybe a judge? That was music to the Taylors’ ears. The night went well. The Taylors were nice and they seemed to think Grant was OK. No one asked about Forks.
Grant took the law school entrance test and did very well. He got into the University of Washington and didn’t even use the Indian thing.
Lisa got into the UW Medical School the same year. They were set.
Now it was time to get married. It wasn’t even a “decision”; they both knew it was going to happen. Grant proposed to Lisa by getting on his knee. She said “Of course, Mr. Pickle Lover.” They were ecstatic.
Next came the first year of law school and med school. This was the year of homework; crazy amounts of homework. Both were doing well in school. Lisa really liked medical school, and she was thinking about being an emergency room doctor. She was competitive and loved the challenge of making life and death decisions.
Grant loved the law, which wasn’t a surprise, but he really disliked most of the people in law school. They were mostly arrogant. Grant wasn’t sure why they were that way, because he was as smart as or smarter than they were. They were so impractical. These future lawyers couldn’t do anything other than spout off theories. They were like an exotic flower grown in perfect greenhouse conditions; these impractical idiots couldn’t survive a day out in the countryside. None of them had ever worked a day in their lives. Most were spoiled little brats. What happened in class one day illustrated it all.
Grant was in Trial Advocacy class, which is where students learn how to do a trial. It included examining witnesses, opening and closing arguments, that kind of thing. They used a made up case for their trial. Grant was assigned to defend an alleged gunman who held up a liquor store. The evidence showed that the defendant held a semiautomatic pistol in his left hand, clicked off the safety, and shot the victim. Grant knew something was wrong. He asked the witness (played by someone in his class) if she was absolutely sure that the gunman did this with his left hand. She was; it was definitely his left hand. She was left handed herself and recognized a fellow lefty.
“Handing you what’s been marked Exhibit 23,” Grant said in the mock trial to the witness, “can you identify this?”
“It’s a drawing of the gun,” the witness said. It was a lowbudget mock trial so instead of a real gun for an exhibit, they just had a drawing of it.
“Can you look at the drawing of the right side of the gun?” he asked.
“Yes,” the witness said.
“Now please look at the left side,” Grant said to the witness.
“Do you see anything that looks like a little lever?”
“Yes,” the witness said.
“In the picture, do you see that little lever on the right side of the gun?” Grant asked.
“No,” the witness said. “It’s only on the left side.”
“Thank you,” Grant said with a grin. “No further questions.”
Everyone looked surprised. Was that the end of the questions?
He hadn’t proven anything.
Grant then said to the “judge” (played by the professor), “Your honor, I move to dismiss the charges because I can prove the defendant is innocent.”
“Please do,” said the judge, with disbelief in her eyes. Grant was enjoying this. “Your honor, the safety is a little lever,” he explained since this professor had probably never touched a gun in her life.
“It is on
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