Oh, you mean THAT kind of buddy....

Well that was unexpected.

It’s the third day of law school orientation. The first two were filled with BBQs, a 5K, and faculty who repeated how lucky we were to be there. As we students discussed over the years, that worked both ways in many cases

A woman approaches me in the school’s courtyard where much of the orientation takes place. We exchange pleasantries. It’s obvious she doesn’t care what I have to say, and I’m caught off guard when she jukes in another direction. In basketball terms, she is about to break my ankle, and this won’t be a fast recovery.

“So . . . do you want a f— buddy?” she asks.

I don’t have the first clue what that is. 

No formal education has prepared me for this moment. Then I remember two newly introduced classmates who wasted no time on our first night in the dorm the moment the NASCAR flag man dropped green. 

Green flag! Green flag! Green! Green! Green!, as TV announcers scream.

Now I get it. 

That kind of buddy. So we could sit next to each other in class and then go back to the dorm and, well, you know. Heck, we have a class together every morning, no less.   

What do I say? This is insane.

“I think I’m going to focus on my studies,” I reply. Classes haven’t even started.

I say exactly that. I’m flailing.

It’s the only grappling hook I can conjure to climb out of this.

I don’t remember her reaction, but over the course of the next three years, we rarely crossed paths. 

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