What's your name...where'd you go to school? and other questions I never want to answer again.

Being "oriented" to new surroundings is always uncomfortable. People come in with very different expectations of what the orienting experience will be like, and some have clearly done more homework than others - in this case, learning all about the various offerings of the University and the city around us. Some just stepped off a plane from Zambia or South Africa or the Amazon...literally. In our case, a Budget rental truck carried our meager (and not-so-meager, weight-wise) possessions to our new home, and we were summarily exhausted. Still, a nametag draped around one's neck is always an open invitation (a command, really!) to introduce oneself, dozens of times over again in a period seemingly too short to catch your breath. As soon as the words wash over you, they're gone in a flurry: there are five Katies and four Michaels.

And so it was on the first day of law school orientation. The 189 of us (plus or minus a dozen or so transfer students, their group actually singled out and identified for us when they were given scarlet-colored folders in contrast with various other groups' array of colors) sat in the Harry Potter-esque dining hall and exchanged pleasantries with those we had met during the admitted students weekend, gave a nod of acknowledgment to those who we recognized from the Class of 2011 Facebook group, and strained our neck to get a glimpse at those who we hadn't yet met - in real life or virtually. Then we were herded into the auditorium, where we were welcomed by the administrators and told how special we are: "Twenty other people were standing behind each of you...wanting your seat here." It's almost as if they wanted us to think, Maybe we *are* special, if even in some small way...after all, most of us weren't the Emmy-winning, radio show-hosting, yo-yo champion hip hop dancers that had been acknowledged and lauded as making our incoming class particularly noteworthy. Some sat up a little straighter in their chairs; others looked around to try to identify the NCAA football Hall of Fame inductee.

Then, "You haven't earned your spot here. Nobody does. But by the time you leave here, you will have earned your place inside these walls." There definitely was a lot of pomp in this place; enough that the granite or limestone or marble or whatever stone it is that the Ivy loves was bursting at the seams. Nobody got up and left in the middle of the Dean's welcome, of course, but the chatter was undeniable at lunch - somehow, we had gotten ourselves admitted into a secret club [a friend of mine, at my pre-law school job, had said to me one day: We never knew anyone who actually went there...we heard those people existed, but I never met one.], and our clothes hadn't even been unpacked yet. Now, how do we avoid screwing up?