“Listen here, asshole,” and other ways to win class debates.

For those of you that have been reading from the beginning, I used to be in law school. For those of you that haven’t been paying attention, go catch up with the rest of us. We’ll wait.

Ready to go? Perfect.

So while in law school, we periodically had class debates. Especially in my criminal law class, because the professor was just as lazy as the rest of us and enjoying pitting us against each other to see what would happen.

One such debate was about whether a non-biological adult had a legal responsibility to a child they spent a lot of time with. Like if mom and dad split, and then mom had a live-in boyfriend, would the boyfriend have a legal responsibility to the kids. Not in a step-parent sense, because then there is a legal responsibility. The specific scenario was that a baby was injured and mom’s boyfriend knew mom was abusing the baby but did nothing, and then the baby died as a result of the injuries. We were debating whether or not the boyfriend should be criminally charged. This doesn’t matter right now.

Whatever we started debating, somehow the debate between me and this guy in the class (let’s call him Lt. D. Bag.) turned into an argument about reproductive rights. He was very conservative, and seemed to agree with Rep. Todd Akin’s theory of legitimate rape. When I pointed something out that completely derailed his argument, he came back at me with this gem:

“Of course you’re biased…you’re a woman.

You’re honor, this is the part where I leaped across the room and ripped out his throat and strangled him. No I didn’t.

His poor debate partner, a very sweet Southern gentleman from Georgia who was very good friends with me, threw up his hands and sat down, jumping ship. My debate partner, a wise cracking 80’s punk rocker wannabe, glanced over at me. I paused, raised an eyebrow (in that way that makes Indian boys who know what’s what dive for cover), and very carefully asked Lt. D. Bag if that’s the route he wanted to go on. Unfortunately for him, he was adamant to insist that women are too close to the issue to present unbiased and accurate opinions on reproductive rights.

I took another second, and looked at my professor, who gave me an amused nod to continue.

By that very same logic, I argued, wouldn’t men be too far removed from the issue to present unbiased and accurate opinions on reproductive rights? Wouldn’t the lack of a uterus and the ability to get pregnant detract from how carefully they evaluate reproduction? If erectile dysfunction is covered under insurance, shouldn’t birth control be as well? If birth control is unnatural, shouldn’t a chemical enhanced erection be as well?

 I ended my diatribe with “Just because you have a dick doesn’t mean you can act like one.”

My professor lost it, laughing his ass off as he awarded me the win. Lt. D. Bag looked over in frustration, and pointed out that I had been giving him a series of “mean looks” during his time to speak, effectively distracting him. My professor, his voice dripping with sarcasm and derision looked him in the eye and said,

“Son, if you, a large, tough, military man, can be so utterly terrified by a little girl raising her eyebrow, I suggest you rethink your legal career.”

And that’s how a bitch face won me extra credit.




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