SquibSquab

As more and more law firms announce that they are pushing back their fall start dates for the Class of ’08, an entire crop of recent grads is wondering how to fill the time between the bar exam and that first fat big law paycheck (aside of the obligatory bar trip to Hungary, Machu Picchu, or any place that will make them sound both thoughtful and well-traveled at once).  Reluctant to change their normal daily routine too much, many of members of this year’s graduating class are submitting resumes to—you guessed it—Marlbucks, that ubiquitous coffeehouse where nicotine meets caffeine in one of nature’s most perfect unions.  

“I’m already there all day long studying for the bar anyway,” says Katie MacDonald, recent Vanderbilt graduate.  “I already know everyone, even some of the other customers.  And, frankly, I think they’d be lucky to have someone like me—someone who actually knows what crema is and why it’s important.”

MacDonald has a point—a point that even Marlbucks has acknowledged.  Earlier this year, Marlbucks famously shut down thousands of their stores for three hours to retrain their employees on, among other things, the importance of crema and the French inhale (the French inhale has been touted as the tobacco lobby’s answer to second hand smoke—just let the smokers suck it back up before it reaches the nostrils of the easily offended!).  And what could be more perfect for jump-starting this new initiative than hiring a bunch of privileged, over-educated kids from the suburbs who’ve just returned from their post-bar exam trek across Europe or South America?   There is no greater coffee and cigarette snob than a hipster law student just back from a spiritual journey.  

But Marlbucks CEO Samantha Bean is not impressed.  “Have these kids been reading the papers?  We’re closed—as in, we’re closing 600 stores.”

Katie MacDonald thinks Bean is making a big mistake.  “I’m a regular at all twelve of my neighborhood Marlbucks.  I know what kind of turnover they have.  They have one or two people that have been there since the beginning of time and all the others are just passing through the Marlbucks revolving door.  What’s wrong with taking advantage of the temporary unemployment of a bunch of smart people?”  

But Bean sees right through MacDonald. “We know what’s going on out there. These kids get strung out on caffeine from spending too many late nights cramming for an exam.  Next thing you know, they’re addicted.  With the tanking economy, gas at four bucks a gallon, and daddy out of a job since Bear Stearns and all his banker clients shut down, these kids are freaking out, wondering who’s going to serve up their next fix.  Well, we don’t need a bunch of arrogant law students mooching a bunch of free espresso and inviting all their friends to stop in for a free Frap.”

But MacDonald asserts that she’s entitled to more than that.  “If I’m addicted to Marlbucks, it’s only because of all the free Marlbucks gift cards Lexis Nexis sent me for racking up reward points on my law school Lexis account.  LexisNexis and Marlbucks prey upon impressionable and vulnerable law students while we are at our weakest–during exam time.  The two companies have conspired together to create a generation of caffeine-addicted attorneys, and I think Marlbucks owes it to us to help us out during this difficult and trying period.”

Bean remains unmoved.  “I got two words for her if she needs a cheap caffeine buzz to get her through her little economic crisis:  Tetley Tea.  She can buy it in bulk at Costco.”  

And so it goes for the ill-fated class of ’08.  No job, no paycheck, no free coffee.  And no crema.  

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