I swear on my life, I submitted this as my personal statement in my law school applications. And they wonder why I acted like such an a-hole when I got there:
I’ll never forget the day I decided that I wanted to go to law school.
It was a bitterly cold March day in Chicago, the kind that freezes the mucous all the way up in your sinus cavity. It was finals week, and myself and three friends were studying in the University of Chicago D'Angelo Law library. We would often go there to study because the tunnel connecting the two buildings would allow us to avoid going out in the cold. I was a freshman at the time, and was nearing the end of my first college semester. Calling that semester 'eventful' would be like saying Bob Marley is into marijuana.
Winter in Chicago is depressing. The sun disappears around mid-December, and doesn’t reappear until May. The average day is so cold and windy that Chilly Willy would get frostbite. On top of the great weather, I had nothing go right for me that quarter. My winter highlights included being blown down by wind several times (that season saw gusts up to 60mph); falling down in the bathroom and getting a concussion because someone had left the window open and water on the floor had conveniently turned to ice; getting my first collegiate C because I was literally snowed in my dorm one morning and got to the midterm late; and spraining my ankle so bad I couldn't play basketball for two months.
Kurt, Colin, Mohan and myself were sitting in the law library, trying to learn Cicero or whoever it was when all of the sudden, Kurt looked up with a gleam in his eye that would have made Jack Nicholson proud, and said in his thick Wisconsin accent, “Hey guys…let’s get naked.”
It is probably not in my best interest to repeat verbatim my first response to that statement, but let’s just say I expressed confusion and indignation.
Kurt explained, “No you idiot; let’s streak the law school.”
Streak the law school. That was an idea.
Before I knew it, my three friends and I were standing in the bathroom on the sixth floor, butt-naked, planning our strategy (although, due to the cold floor, we did all have our shoes on. That was quite a site; four guys, completely naked, except for their socks and sneakers). We were going to run down the stairs until we got to the second floor, which was the main student study room. That night there were probably up to two hundred students on the floor. Once there, we would circle the room once, and then take the main staircase down to the first floor, where we would sprint through the Green Lounge, into the tunnel that connected our dorm to the law library and back to our rooms.
It was a great plan. I was confident, naked, and ready to expose myself.
Yet, as I prepared to open the door of the bathroom and lay myself bare to everyone in the law school, I didn’t realize I had a fifth member of my group. An uninvited, unwelcome guest, who would follow me throughout my disrobed escapade. Murphy, of Murphy’s Law fame, was along for the ride, and would make himself known very soon.
I had been chosen to go first (I wonder why?). I steadied myself, took a deep breath, and heaved the bathroom door open to find Mr. Murphy waiting for me. There was, I’m not kidding, a group of female professors standing and chatting in the hallway. It was that exact moment when I realized that not only was I naked, but people were going to see me naked, and not just people, but older women. Had my friends not pushed me from behind, I probably would have just stood there for about a week. It didn’t help that one of the professors started giggling.
Once we were in the stairwell, things got better. You might be surprised what lengths people will go to get out of the way of naked college undergraduates. Someone would later describe it as, “like being in a Francis Bacon painting.” I’m still not exactly sure how to take that. Yet, once we hit the second floor, Murphy made his presence known, in an excruciatingly painful manner.
As I opened the door from the stairwell to the second floor, I ran full speed into a girl trying to come in the door that I was exiting. The next second and half are still somewhat fuzzy to me, but I remember her falling down, me falling on her, and her water-bottle somehow being shoved directly into my solar plexus.
Somehow I stumbled up, praying that she wouldn’t find out my name and charge me with sexual assault, and began sprinting around the room. I looked like Cramer on amphetamines. I had just had an Evian bottle rammed into one of my nerve centers, was disoriented, short of breath, and pulsing with adrenaline, not to mention naked, in front of a lot of people.
As we made it around the room, a surprisingly warm reaction followed. Whistles, clapping, laughter, cat calls, and cheers rang out. Someone actually even complimented our, uh...personages. My ex-girlfriend thinks they were being facetious.
With things now running somewhat smoothly, we exited the second floor, leaving the stressed-out law students with something to laugh about, and headed down the main stairway to the first floor. Coming down the stairs, the order had gotten mixed, and Mohan was now in front, with me second and the other two pulling up the, uh, rear. At the bottom of the main stairway, one can turn right to go out the front door, or turn left to go through the Green lounge and into the tunnel that leads to our dorm. Next to the front door sits the night security guard, who does nothing other than check bags and ID’s.
When we came within sight of the night security guard, I honestly thought he was going to combust. His eyes got the size of softballs and popped out of their sockets, every vein on his head bulged to the point of hemorrhage, he shot up out of his chair like a pound of C-4 was detonated beneath him, and screamed as if his toupee was ablaze. Mohan stalled at the bottom of the staircase, not understanding why he would be so upset. Running naked through the law school may not be administration endorsed, but it definitely is not a reason to risk aneurysm.
Mohan and I turned to go into the Green lounge, found Mr. Murphy hanging out in there, and immediately realized why the security guard was so upset.
Of all the nights we could have picked to streak the law school, we had chosen a night that there was a reception for about a hundred people. We later found out that it was a cocktail party for assorted dignitaries from several different law schools, and was considered a very important function.
At this point, there was to be no turning back, literally. With the security guard and his arthritic knees chasing us through the thirty-yard long Green lounge, the four of us did our best head-down-in-a-dead-sprint to the door at the other end. By the time we made it to the doors, you could have heard a mouse fart in that room. EVERYONE had stopped what they were doing and watched this almost tragic comedy unfold. Four naked boys were running through the reception, with a decrepit guard limping after them as if they had stolen the Queen’s jewels.
Now, right now you might be asking, why would this possibly make someone want to go to law school? I was pretty sure I wanted to go to law school before that incident. Actually, I’m not really sure why that sealed it for me. My ex-girlfriend thinks that I just can’t wait to go back to a place where people would applaud me naked. In all probability, I just thought I could recycle this story to make some more law school people laugh, while at the same time helping my chances of admission to [insert law school here].