An Argument for Fire Alarms
Something (and probably something inadvertent) triggered the fire alarm today at around 12:20, and after my eardrums settled a bit, the whole experience reminded me: I love Boalt Hall.
I love Boalt Hall for the way its hokey, flakeyness creates eddies and pockets of social interaction. Fire alarms are a pain in the ass, but what better way to meet someone than standing outside a cement building and waiting for the shrieking to stop? That's the sort of experience that creates bonds (or therapy) for life.
I love Boalt Hall for each and every one of the savvy 2L's and 3L's who knew to position themselves right next to the entrances by the lecture halls while waiting for today's alarm, and for the 1L's who followed their lead. Why did they stage themselves there? Because that's the best tactical position for a stealth run at the BTLJ lunch food before the attendance nazis return.
I love Boalt Hall for the way word went through the crowd: "Cheeseboard pizza in room 115 . . . but it's for a BHWA lunch talk with Professor Swift, so you'll have to get in there and snag it before the Boalt Hall Women get back. You'll be fine if you run, dude. Just run."
I love Boalt Hall for the "alumni," one of whom (dressed in blaze orange button-down shirt, sporting three fanny packs and a blackberry) explained loudly, fervently, and passionately, to anyone willing to listen or unable to escape about all the ways Boalt has changed: "We used to do everything by hand around here," he emphasized, wringing his hands for emphasis. When the alarm silenced he was the first in the door, yelling, "See you in the courtroom," and sprinting to the BJLT lunch table, where without breaking stride he grabbed a sandwich and dashed toward the library. "And whatever you do," he hollered wildly over his shoulder, "stay out of municipal court! Stay in federal court! Federal court!"
And I love Boalt Hall for the students' casual and utterly flagrant disregard for rules. The Director of Student Services frustrated pleas to not renter the building even though the alarms had stopped had as much effect as the "no food or drink" signs in the library. This is a law school, for chrissakes. But really, who are we kidding?
This place, which is some delightful combination of candyland and Lord of the Flies, is great. Just. Plain. Great.
I love Boalt Hall for the way its hokey, flakeyness creates eddies and pockets of social interaction. Fire alarms are a pain in the ass, but what better way to meet someone than standing outside a cement building and waiting for the shrieking to stop? That's the sort of experience that creates bonds (or therapy) for life.
I love Boalt Hall for each and every one of the savvy 2L's and 3L's who knew to position themselves right next to the entrances by the lecture halls while waiting for today's alarm, and for the 1L's who followed their lead. Why did they stage themselves there? Because that's the best tactical position for a stealth run at the BTLJ lunch food before the attendance nazis return.
I love Boalt Hall for the way word went through the crowd: "Cheeseboard pizza in room 115 . . . but it's for a BHWA lunch talk with Professor Swift, so you'll have to get in there and snag it before the Boalt Hall Women get back. You'll be fine if you run, dude. Just run."
I love Boalt Hall for the "alumni," one of whom (dressed in blaze orange button-down shirt, sporting three fanny packs and a blackberry) explained loudly, fervently, and passionately, to anyone willing to listen or unable to escape about all the ways Boalt has changed: "We used to do everything by hand around here," he emphasized, wringing his hands for emphasis. When the alarm silenced he was the first in the door, yelling, "See you in the courtroom," and sprinting to the BJLT lunch table, where without breaking stride he grabbed a sandwich and dashed toward the library. "And whatever you do," he hollered wildly over his shoulder, "stay out of municipal court! Stay in federal court! Federal court!"
And I love Boalt Hall for the students' casual and utterly flagrant disregard for rules. The Director of Student Services frustrated pleas to not renter the building even though the alarms had stopped had as much effect as the "no food or drink" signs in the library. This is a law school, for chrissakes. But really, who are we kidding?
This place, which is some delightful combination of candyland and Lord of the Flies, is great. Just. Plain. Great.
posted by Patrick Bageant at 1:15 PM
7 Comments:
You guys ate our pizza? Bastards! :)
You guys ate our pizza? Bastards! :)
what a blowhard
What a misleading title - I thought this would be about fire safety!
it was also nice to see everyone hanging out on the stairs and sitting on the grass, almost like it used to be when we had a courtyard.
It was actually the clinical program orientation lunch that was being raided. They were rather bummed about that...
I find this argument much less compelling after another fire alarm this morning. I'm sure the admitted students were really impressed.
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