Another of my current obsessions is studying for the LSAT. I've already taken the test once and I got a good, but not great, score. Having exhausted my own will power for studying, I decided to submit myself to the will of a paid instructor in the hope that I will score 6 to 10 points higher than on my first try using his or her stern looks and intimidating logical prowess. Whether this will come to be is seriously murky.

I chose my course because this company's materials impressed me most during my self-study and because the $1200.00, 2-month long course is perceived to be one of the best. I want to repeat that: $1200.00. I am paying a dozen hundreds in order to get better (well, okay, to get perfect) at something I'm already pretty good at. My thinking was, "Hey, these guys are the best. Their instructors have all earned scores in the 99th% of all test-takers. They know this test inside and out and can show me (and my classmates, ugh) how to work the kinks out of the really tricky stuff. 180 here I come". . .or something.

My LSAT class meets in the frozen bowels of a shabby old hotel's shabby old conference rooms. There are moments in class--usually when I am near dead from boredom--that I am convinced I will die of frostbite before the lunacy of class takes me over and takes me out.

Our instructor, Teacher Man, is a very nice, very smart man in his middle thirties, and I'm very torn on him. If we were just hanging out, drinking some Nice Stout and talking about the Cubs, he'd do just fine; I know I could count on him to hold his own. In class, however, I cringe more than I stare into space, and I stare into space a lot.

The problem is that I am a stern judge of teacher character because I just completed two years of TFA in Houston and I can tell when someone's winging it (been there, done that). Maybe he has not been teaching long, or he has not been studying the LSAT recently, or he just does not care to be on top of it. But whatever the cause of his problems, I can't help but give him a C- so far.

In no particular order:
1. He consistently mis-identifies the conclusions and premises of arguments. In one problem, he spent twenty pause-filled minutes diagramming the filler sentences of a stimulus, completely ignoring the business end of the argument. After several kids in class expressed complete confusion at his diagrams, he launched into a dirge on what was soon to be his new favorite topic: "the mystical realm of LSAT land," where Logical Reasoning problems are "pretty tricky." When he was done, the whiteboard looked like a gigantic pre-historic fly was smashed by a gigantic pre-historic fly-swatter on it.

2. He always calls on the same girl (I'm assuming that the test-prep company has instructed their staff that blatant sexism is really embarrassing, if not terribly, terribly wrong. So . . .call on the same girl? Over and over?). Same girl pronounced wilderness as wild-er-ness (where wild sounds like child). He made this poor girl repeat that sentence three times while he tried to figure out how to do the problem.

3. New information. Whenever he can't explain why a particular answer choice is wrong, he says that the answer adds new information not contained in the stimulus, even when the information in the answer choice is not new and is clearly in the stimulus. I counted and he said new information 27 times by way of explaining how logical reasoning is "kinda tough."

4. He insinuated that we might claim a learning disability and request extra time if we are unable to read the the Reading Comp passages in under 4 minutes.

5. He does not assert his alpha-male status. Now normally this would be a good trait in a teacher, but not if "that guy" is in your class. . .

6. That Guy. He's in the line at the store, coupon book in hand, telling the cashier, "Keep looking, I know the one for brats is in there;" he's at the bar, telling a bravado- (and fellatio-) filled story about how he conquered a drunk high school junior during Wisconsin's Christmas break; and every once in a while, he's in your class.

That guy in class takes on many forms: the beret-wearing, lion's mane jacketed self-professed "beat scholar;" the dog collar on wrist, can't stop staring at out-stretched palm of hand while droning on about dialectics / not gay but into queer studies literary critic; and sometimes, he's a version of That Guy known as the interrupter.

During the first class, That Guy walks into the conference room drenched in sweat and throws his workbook down on the table. Teacher Man is explaining the homework, as only five minutes of our four-hour class remained.

"How's it going?"
"Uh, there's five minutes of class left."
"So what are we studying?"
"You'll, uh. . .well, let me catch you up in a minute."

Teacher Man resumes explaining homework, citing the range of pages and the number of the homework hotline when--

"This doesn 't make sense."
"Uh, yeah. You'll have to read the chapters we covered tonight before it will start to make sense."
"No, I mean, what's a contrapositive identification drill?"
"Uh. . .just wait."


Tonight, That Guy walks in to class with about 30 minutes left of the four-hour class. Teacher Man is explaining how things work in the mystical realm of the LSAT, moving from LR to RC and extolling the virtues of "lawyer tone" and skipping the problems with specific references to the text because they can be very time-consuming. This time, That Guy sets the book down on the table, and just when I think he's reformed, that I've got him all wrong, he cuts off TM--

"Page?"

TM shows him the page. After another read-aloud of the answer choices, a classmate answers incorrectly. TM tries to explain why classmate wasn't so off in thinking "D" was a keeper, but That Guy doesn't go for softness.

"Oh, it's alright. You won't be there to punish him on test day anyway. Let's move on."

"Uh, okay. The next problem, number 5. . ."

"Oooh, oooh, pick me. Pick me!"

As he goes down the list of answer choices, That Guy gives each one a personal his sidebar comments: a) I don't need to read the rest of it. I already know it sucks; b) yells the word "incalculable;" c) (directed at TM) Haven't you seen Planet of the Apes? Pay attention! d) I guess so, fine, whatever, you win; e) no response.

Sometimes a man has to put up with tools. Very rarely does a man have to pay $1200.00 to get the whole box.