Turn left, turn right, see both!

Diary Entry: November 22, 2024 

So, today was the grand finale of the JSD Seminar: the final presentation. The one I'd been pouring my lifeblood into for what feels like a geological epoch. It was billed as a fantastic opportunity to "hone our academic presentation skills," which is academic-speak for "be judged in a small, stuffy room." The faculty loves these little spectacles, often inviting scholars from other hallowed halls to present their draft papers and receive "helpful comments." A gladiatorial arena for the tweed-jacket set, if you will. 

My chosen weapon of discourse? The illustrious "Creditors’ Bargain Theory" from one Robert Jackson. It's a charming little theory that posits bankruptcy is all about the creditors, darling, not the poor sods who've actually lost their shirts. A perfect example of scholarly tunnel vision. To make the whole thing work, you have to ignore the debtor entirely, turning a blind eye to one half of the equation. It’s a masterclass in seeing only what you want to see. You're meant to turn one way and pretend the other direction doesn't exist. But to get the full picture, you have to turn left, turn right, and see both. Naturally, I chose this wildly popular theory specifically to dismantle it from the inside out. And if I do say so myself, the performance was pretty solid. 

The ritual was scheduled for the morning. Upon arriving, I made a beeline for the Faculty Lounge — that hallowed ground for Very Important Meetings. It was an intimate affair: just four of us students and the professor, arranged on sofas in what I can only describe as a therapeutic circle facing the sacrificial podium. The seating chart was... interesting. I was on one side, and my three colleagues were cozied up on the other. The professor placed herself in the middle, but with a subtle, almost imperceptible lean. A lean that had her ever-so-slightly turned away from me, and ever-so-slightly facing them. A little touch of stage-blocking paranoia to start the day. 

And for the grand finale? A vote. After we had all presented, the professor announced we would vote for the best presentation. We all dutifully cast our ballots. But when it came time to announce the results, she simply gathered the slips of paper, smiled vaguely, and said, "This doesn't do me any good," before tucking them away. No winner, no runner-up, just a completely pointless exercise in democracy. A fascinating conclusion. With the results safely hidden, I suppose everyone could be seen as a winner. Or no one. It all depends on which way you choose to look — or, perhaps more importantly, which way you choose not to.