While I’d done well in law school, I certainly hadn’t “Coifed it.” I had, however, managed to maintain a social life and regularly visited my parents in northern Virginia, unlike the Coifers I knew, who had maintained a studying life and regularly visited only the library. I had a feeling Laura didn’t really want to hear about my friends and family.

“Um, it’s nice to meet you,” I managed, backing away in the hopes of a stealth escape.

“Well, you’re in for such a treat. I can already tell the work here’s going to be beyond stimulating. This is a constitutional claim.” Her eyes ballooned. “To think, my first case and I am going to decide whether this guy gets a second chance or not and it involves”—she lowered her voice and looked around—“an African American defendant and a white police officer. Just like law school exams!” She smiled with an open mouth, bringing her hands together in a silent clap.

“Laura, that’s great, really great for you,” I whispered. “I hope I’m half as, er, lucky as you with my case. Speaking of which, I should probably get started.” I raced back to my cubicle.

I glanced left—staring judge. A quick turn right—carpeted wall. Even the cubicles were carpeted. The plus side was the utter lack of distractions. I opened my packet of materials, which consisted of red, white, and blue legal briefs. The blue one contained the plaintiff’s argument. I dug in. And had a minor stroke. I didn’t understand any of it. From what I could tell, it was a complicated labor dispute, and I had never taken labor law.

The first brief alone was sixty pages and there were half a dozen other briefs. How on earth was I going to read the next three briefs, the zillion cases cited, and write a coherent bench memorandum that the judge would not only read but also rely on during oral arguments?

Oral arguments take place in blocks known as “sittings.” Sittings are the staple of all courts of appeals. Prior to clerking, sitting was something I did when I wasn’t standing or sleeping. While a clerk, sittings are things that ensure you never sleep well. Every active judge on the third circuit had seven sittings per year. Each sitting consisted of a panel of three judges—all randomly assembled by the clerk of the court, the court manager. Judges were given their sitting schedules not months but years in advance. They knew when they were sitting, whom they were sitting with, and where they were sitting—which was almost always one floor up from Judge Friedman’s chambers. This was to ensure that there would never, ever, be any surprises. In the legal profession, the only thing more loathsome than mediocrity is surprise.