Passing After Passing Out

Welcome! My name is Michael Oldweiler. I sat for the July 2016 bar examination in Missouri. On September 14, 2016, I was notified that I had passed the examination and would be admitted to the Missouri bar. Five days later, I decided that I needed to memorialize what had happened, so I wrote a short story detailing the chaos I encountered during the exam. As I began sharing the ordeal with close friends and family, I realized that my story had some admirable themes: prepare as much as you can, do your absolute best, keep your head up no matter the circumstances, and learn to embrace that life will be full of events out of your control. I have shared this narrative with others here and there over the years, but I wanted to place it in a format that would be more accessible, hoping to inspire a wider audience. Before I share the story, however, I want to say a few more words that I hope empower you regardless of what your future holds:

You cannot anticipate what lies ahead, but you get to choose how you respond. Don’t be paralyzed by fear of the unknown. Forge ahead with swagger and give it all you’ve got.

Passing After Passing Out

Michael C. Oldweiler

"It's a lot quieter on the way down than the journey up. No one wants you around when you've got nothing left. I wanted out so badly, but I couldn't just walk away with nothing."

I would be lying if I said I felt confident about the July 2016 bar exam. Even though I had spent 430 hours studying for it, I still was uneasy. I had completed 100% of my Barbri personal study plan, but I was still anxious. By the end of bar prep, I had tallied 1,950 MBE questions, 133 MEEs, and 13 MPTs. On top of that, I had participated in every SLU Law bar prep workshop. On paper, I had this test smoked. For whatever reason, however, I just felt like I’d be the first person to do all this work and still find a way to fail.

The bar exam is two days of testing. Each day features a 3-hour morning session, an hour lunch break, and a 3-hour afternoon session. For Missouri, the first day is all writing— two Multistate Performance Tests in the morning, which are 20% of the overall score, and six Multistate Essay Examinations in the afternoon worth 30% of the total score. MPTs are packets that feature a fictitious client with a problem and made-up cases/statutes that must be synthesized and organized into a coherent format. MEEs are essay questions which are ordinarily comprised of multiple parts. The second day is the dreaded Multistate Bar Examination which equals 50% of the overall score. This monster is 200 multiple choice questions—100 in the morning and 100 in the afternoon— handcrafted by some of the most sadistic individuals who aren’t currently incarcerated within federal penitentiaries.

Since the first day is entirely written, applicants can thankfully use laptops to draft answers. With the use of laptops comes the necessity of exam software. About three months before the bar exam, the Missouri Board of Law Examiners sent out an e-mail seeking volunteers to test new exam software. The e-mail mentioned that volunteers would save some money on the laptop usage fee as well as enjoy a smaller testing room with around 50 people instead of the usual 600. I immediately responded to the e-mail and was able to secure a spot testing the new software. I eventually received a link to download the new software and instructions on how to submit a practice exam. I followed the steps and went out of my way to thoroughly test the software. I started with basic stress testing and was eventually able to crash the software. I was impressed by the software’s recovery from the crash and submitted my practice exam without hesitation or further thought. I was excited about using the new software and thrilled to be in a smaller testing room. I had even joked with some friends that I could just blame it on testing the new software if I didn't pass.

It was the morning of July 26, 2016— the first day of the bar exam. I had about 97 minutes left in the morning session, and things were going well. I was putting the finishing touches on my first MPT. Word count doesn’t necessarily mean anything one way or another for an MPT, but I’ll never forget my number— 1,703. I wrote 1,703 words for my first MPT. It seemed respectable, and I felt some pride in that number. I closed my first MPT booklet feeling a surge of confidence. I was starting to believe that I could do this. I opened my second MPT booklet with plenty of time and began dissecting the information. After working on my second MPT for quite a bit of time, I was becoming irritated. I could not make a decision. It wasn’t about a case. It wasn’t about the client’s wishes. It wasn’t something in the task memo. It was a formatting decision. I couldn’t decide on the wording for my first heading. I typed it one way and then immediately wanted to change it. About thirty seconds later, I changed it back. After another minute of staring at it, I changed it again. I finally had it the way I wanted it and glanced up at the clock. Thirty minutes remained on the timer, and the head proctor made the standard announcement. For whatever reason, when thirty minutes remain in the bar exam, no one is allowed to leave their seat. There are no exceptions to this rule: no bathroom breaks, no leaving early, etc. Once thirty minutes remain, the doors are locked, and that’s it.

I was in great shape as I came to the final stage of my second MPT. I had sketched an outline and just needed to fill out the details, but, my task was not going to be that easy because my head was about to play games with me again. I was changing another heading when it hit me: the wording in my first heading looked stupid. I had to change it. Since I hadn’t made that many changes in my answer, I started hitting the undo command (ctrl + z) to return to my previous wording. As I kept hitting the command, I realized that I had changed more than I initially thought since that heading. I pressed it again. And again. Again. Irritated, I pressed it two more times in rapid succession. Then, the screen flashed, and the document looked different. I started reading it. This was my first MPT answer. I looked over to the side of the program. Both answers had 1,703 words. I clicked to my first answer. It was intact with all 1,703 words. When I clicked to my second answer, it was identical to the first. Exactly. The. Same. I remember telling myself: “You’re a computer guy. You can figure this out. Just take a second and start troubleshooting.” As I took that second, I watched the following words flash across the bottom of the screen: “All changes have been saved.”

The last thing I remember is thinking: “I need a proctor right now!” Some expletives were probably laced in that thought, but it’s all a bit blurry. I remember a cold aura radiating from my spine. Then, there was nothing. No color. No sound. Nothing. Everything was black. I could hear a distant voice, and there was this ungodly hot feeling on my face. The voice slowly came into focus: “Sir, are you okay? Sir! Sir! Sir, are you alright?” I realized that the searing sensation was a lady’s hand on my face. I remember that her hand felt so hot. Almost scalding. My senses slowly crept back into commission. I felt like someone had hit me in the jaw with a baseball bat. The pain was a deep throbbing agony that radiated along the entire right side of my head. I could taste blood and realized my tongue was cut. I was now sitting on the floor, and another proctor had brought me a glass of water, which is ordinarily forbidden at the testing desks, but I had found a nifty loophole in the system. After some water, I was able to point to my laptop and rasp out something about my situation. I returned to my seat and tried to reshape my glasses, so they were wearable as one of the proctors retrieved the IT specialist from the back of the room. [It’s worth noting that this is the same guy who had to help me find my testing seat because I couldn’t navigate the room with my pre-test nerves.]

Once he reached my desk, I explained what had happened, and he took my computer to the back of the room to work on it. One of the proctors brought me a blue book and told me that if he couldn’t recover my digital answer, I’d have to submit a handwritten answer. By this point, it had started to sink in that there was a possibility I had lost all of my second answer. This overwhelming feeling of dread coupled with the fact that I thought my head might explode resulted in a less than desirable test-taking environment. To make matters worse, I couldn’t catch my breath. No matter how deeply I inhaled, I felt like I wasn’t getting any oxygen. And here’s the worst part—I was sweating buckets. Now, I know people use that phrase all the time, but I was sweating with a passion. It was disgusting. My test booklets and bluebook were saturated with sweat and kept sticking to my arm. I tried to write an answer, but my words looked like hieroglyphics, and those painstakingly carved hieroglyphics were now smudged and smeared into what could only be described as wingdings.

About five minutes later, the IT guy returned, and I caught a glimpse of what looked like my second MPT answer. He asked if this was where I had left off, and I told him it was good enough and thanked him. I spent the next 20 minutes spewing words into my answer. I'm not sure how much of it made sense, but I just knew I needed to finish adding some critical content under my perfectly worded headings. I became an expert in concise reasoning. Unfortunately for me, however, I was not able to clean up everything, and I am reasonably confident that somewhere in my answer, I wrote the following sentence: "Dogs are not children." It made sense based on the problem. I swear.

When the proctor called time, I hit the "End Exam Session" button on my software, stacked my MPT booklets, and started looking around. A lot of people were looking at me. I'm not sure if it was because I had just attacked the carpet with my face or because of the sweating. Let's hope it was the former. Nonetheless, I was becoming a bit self-conscious about the sweat.

Once the proctor released us for lunch, I was mobbed by colleagues and fellow applicants. Everyone wanted to know what happened. Everyone needed a medical history. Everyone was worried. It was a good feeling. There was hope for this profession after all. I explained what happened with my software. When they heard about the glitch, most people said they would've freaked out worse than I had or just left. The guy sitting behind me said I just went down without a word or anything. He told me that I was probably out cold for close to a minute. I asked him if I said anything embarrassing as I was coming to consciousness. He assured me that I hadn't. People in the back of the room said they had heard a thud but didn't know what had happened. I felt terrible for being a distraction, but people assured me that it was fine. After explaining my episode, I sought out the proctors and thanked them for making sure I was okay.

As I made my way to the back of the room, the IT guy wanted to chat. I gladly explained what I could remember. It wasn't his fault, and I am so thankful he was able to recover most of my answer. I don't think anyone plans for someone to spam the life out of the undo command during a bar exam, but hopefully, they will update the software before others sit for this exam. As I made my way into the atrium of the hotel, I was met with more eyes. I think people must've thought I died when I fell.

Since our testing room had only about 70 people, it took the proctors a lot less time to distribute and collect test books, which meant we were able to get out for lunch sooner. As a result, I was back in my hotel room before the larger testing room was released for lunch. Once I got upstairs, I immediately changed my undershirt. I would say that I sweat more than the average person, but this was the first time I could remember being able to wring out an article of clothing. I cranked up the air conditioning and tried to eat some lunch and calm down. Neither task was successful. Thankfully, I was able to keep some water down. I felt like someone was driving a semi-truck across the right side of my face. While I was lying down, I set a timer on my phone and listened to some music while I tried to just relax.

After the short lunch break, I made my way back downstairs for Round 2. I still felt like trash, but this day wasn't over yet. As I entered the atrium, a few people approached me and asked what had happened. I explained the situation quickly and thanked them for their concern. I could tell that several people had heard, but it wasn't global yet. I got some water and prepared for the MEEs. Within 20 minutes of starting the MEEs, I wasn't sure I would make it. I put my head down for a few minutes. I just couldn’t shake the throbbing pain in my face. On top of that, I still felt woozy. I felt like a VIP applicant because there was a proctor within 20 feet of me for the entire MEE portion. I chewed up a pen to distract myself and focused on my breathing. I would type a sentence and take a 15-second break. I knew this pace was insufficient, but I just couldn’t get in the zone.

About halfway through, I was cooked. I had nothing left to give. I was so ashamed because I had worked so hard, but I had to tap out. I wanted to lie down. I wanted to sleep. I wanted out of that room. I closed my booklet and put my hands on the desk to start to sit up. As I shifted my weight off my chair, everything faded out. All I could hear was a high-pitched ringing. Shapes and colors swirled in front of me. Well, so much for trying to leave. I had already passed out once. I didn't want to eat carpet again. Suddenly, a familiar mantra crept into my mind— “It's a lot quieter on the way down than the journey up. No one wants you around when you've got nothing left. I wanted out so badly, but I couldn't just walk away with nothing.”

After another 20 minutes of resting and trying to throw some words at the MEEs, the fog began to lift, and I started to feel human again. Maybe that strange feeling that kept me tethered to my chair was a sign I wasn’t done here: I wasn’t meant to give up. I sat up straight, wiped a trickle of sweat from my brow, and positioned my laptop for battle. It was game time. I began cranking out answers like it was my job, which was great because I needed some type of catalyst to make it through this disaster. Anyone who knows me knows that I type louder than a dump truck driving through a nitroglycerin plant. With my newfound vigor, I'm sure that I was typing even louder than that. It's amazing how such a small laptop keyboard can make so much noise. I felt sorry for my neighbors, but they seemed like smart, resilient people who could handle it, so I (key)pressed on. When the proctor called time, I somehow felt pretty good about what I submitted. I was just so glad to be done. I got the hell out of there, retreated to my room, and contacted my friends to see what the plans were for the evening.

I don't remember much of the rest of the evening. I recall fragments, but I can't distinctly remember the sequence of events. I think there were Buffalo wings involved at some point. I remember telling my friends what happened, and I remember the IT guy offering to buy me a drink for my troubles. I usually remember everything, so it's beyond frustrating to be typing this and not able to recall all the details. Contrary to popular belief, my episode had nothing to do with alcohol. I would later be told that the memory loss, along with my other symptoms from the day, were consistent with suffering a concussion. I had never had a concussion before. Hell, I had never passed out before, so it was quite an exciting day of firsts for me. Another thing I remember, however, was calling my parents to tell them how the first day went. That was hilarious.

I remember waking up with a headache the second day, and I recall pieces of the multiple-choice questions. I also distinctly remember the rumor mill being in full effect following yesterday's events.

“I heard that a guy died taking the bar.”

“I heard that a guy had a heart attack and refused medical attention.”

“I heard that a guy passed out for thirty minutes.”

These are just some funny variations of what had actually happened. I didn't correct people. It was more fun that way. Thankfully, the second day was less eventful than the first. After it was all said and done, I met with friends for dinner and just took it easy. I had made it. Somehow. Someway. I had survived the bar.

Fast forward a few weeks, and I received a notification that I had passed. Finally, it was all over. I think it's safe to say that I was a little nervous about my chances considering I took an impromptu nap during the exam, but it turns out all the worrying was for nothing. I made it! Not only that, but I had one killer story to share for the rest of eternity: how I passed after passing out.