Ray isn't the movie to watch before you take the biggest test of your life. Jamie Foxx is a hell of an actor, but damn, Ray was sleazy, man. As I sat on the couch, starting to get a case of the nerves, it reminded me of stretches before a game; you have the butterflies, you can see the crowd coming in, and you are second guessing yourself like a nervous middle-schooler trying to touch your first boob (will she let me? will she hate me?). Then, something happens to break the mood; My something was Dave Chapelle...Killing them Softly...at 12am. Like the first hit, butterflies disapeared. And what a good thing that was, because 9:30 came on like a hustling linebacker to a G105 soundtrack (I've always held the opinion that the worse the music, the faster you get up). After frosted miniwheats, an apple, and the obligatory 3 cigarettes, I was ready to roll. Unfortunately, it was 10:30; that's 2 hours too early. So here I am, calling Karmen, eating an apple, brushing the teeth, sitting on the picnic table with the iPod, utilizing the magic of Sublime. After an uneventful trip past the biscuitvilles and seafood places of downtown Durham, we roll up, park in a handicapped space (Karmen has a placard, haha) and walked up. Turns out, you don't even get to go in the DOOR till 12:30...and it was 93 fucking degrees outside. Yall know how I love heat and humidity. Wonderfully, if you have a name after O, you get to wait longer(fucking P names, phipps be damned). So I'm cooking in the sun, making smalltalk to defuse the recurring nerves, and wondering why in god's holy name I am standing on a brick patio in the middle of the day. As they take my THUMBPRINT, I realize it might be a while till I get out of here. Thats an understatement of epic proportions. And then Ms. Lewis walked into my life. An older black lady with her hair in a bun and glasses with one of those old lady chains around them (I guess people do wear those), and a voice that reminded me of my old bus driver telling us all to sit down and shut the hell up. Proctoring the LSAT was to her the highlight of the summer, evidently. BUT, that meant taking forever on every reading section she had to do out of the book (always adding some local color, obviously) and making the test last an amazingly long SIX HOURS!!! How does it make it that long, you ask? Well, first off, Norman Miller was our assistant proctor, and evidently, he had never before graced the halls of LSAT administration. He was not at all gifted in the art of assistance, and we suffered immensely. But once the exam began, it was like a special kind of zone, one that included a terribly designed yellow desk chair, that swiveled, rotated, and pivoted, none of which I desired during the actual test administration. After I dealt with the backpain that the wonderful yellow chairs induced, it was automatic. Not bragging; I probably owe a few people some drinks right now (made a few wagers on the outcome) but after you take a few, it gets to the point where you don't really care, you just fill in the ovals. Then, you realize your hand is cramping up...and what the hell do you do about that?? Well, you stretch it out, pray to god that it doesn't keep you from finishing (turns out quite a few people threw up prayers for me, thanks yall) and basically just turn into a robot. But the best part is the end. Of course, they have to count the total exams, check your ID's again, and generally make it difficult to leave the exam room. But once you walk out, the air is sweeter, the sun is brighter, the air is warmer (well no shit, it was cold as hell in the test room), and basically any other rip off of Fight Club you can think of. Truly, if you would like to appreicate your humanity, take an exam of the type that will decide your life; you definitely won't have a problem getting drunk afterwards...
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