“James, I really think we’re not a hit here. This is bad. Nobody seems to have any interest in us and they all seem to be friends and maybe the camp was a bad time, but I think we’re totally effed for not having gone. Aren’t you worried at all?” I beckoned for a little camaraderie.

“I’m only worried that Brian may have scored the only cute girl here. Present company excluded of course. And I was really hoping to get some action my first night in town.” He scanned the room. Perspective restored. James wasn’t one to get sucked into the legal caste system. For obvious reasons, caste systems were tougher for us Indians to avoid.

The two of us vowed to make some friends. There was a group of about eight clerks who appeared to be more laid-back than the rest. We approached them. I awkwardly squeezed my way in between a redheaded girl who looked my age and a tall, brown-haired guy.

“Hello. My name is Sheila,” I said and smiled, attempting an air of sophistication while sipping from my straw. He looked confused. “Oh, right. Right. I clerk for Judge Friedman and went to Columbia,” I clarified.

“No j’est pauz blah blah blah franch franch franch.”

Turned out they were Parisian college students on a field trip to Philly. While James practiced his French on a seemingly prepubescent girl (and we wondered why the French hated Americans), I plowed ahead, feeling a bit looser from the vodka.

“Hey guys, are you clerks?” I blanketly asked one group, wincing. My pickup line horrified even me. The Frenchies scorned in my direction. Or in James’s, since he’d meekly slunk next to me after getting hosed by Le Cindy Brady. A guy in a V-neck T-shirt was kind enough to respond.

“Uh. Yes. We’re all law clerks. Why? Are you?” he demanded, wrinkling his mouth in perplexity. I was beginning to feel like I had toilet paper coming out of my pants.

“Yes, my name is Sheila. And this is James. We’re both clerking.” V-neck looked even more confused and gave his posse a knowing look.

“Well, neither of you looks familiar at all.” The posse nodded in agreement.

“We didn’t go to the Clerk Institute,” I ventured.

“Oh. Yale really encourages us to go,” a girl in the group quickly answered and then they all turned their backs to James and me, returning to what must have been a very important conversation.

We were zero for zero. Right as I was about to give up, I spotted a lone ranger in the corner, nursing a scotch. I dragged James over.

“Hey. We’re clerks. Are you?” Jeez.

“Yeah. I am. But don’t ask me where I went to law school, because it sucks and then you won’t want to talk to me.” James and I chuckled.