The thirty of us were sitting in a private dining room at Friday’s Riverside, emptying flutes of Moet et Chandon and licking our plates clean of medium-rare Wagyu steak jus. Floor-to-ceiling glass doors led out to a tiled balcony and mini-bar that overlooked the Brisbane river. It was an early afternoon at the end of semester, a very large tab was poised ready to open at 5:00pm, and we had reached the awards part of the party.
After fluffing around in an Arts degree in 2012, I finally abandoned the foolhardy idea that an English major will somehow make me employable, hung up my harem pants, tamed my dreadlocks (jkz that shit’s rank) and decided to buckle down and enrol in Law. However, little did I know that signing up for this course would earn me a one-way ticket to Judgement City, mostly centred around the premise that after five and a half years in a Law degree I will have sold my soul to Beelzebub and have my moral compass confiscated in the first year.