We're all asked what we want to be when we grow up, but it's hard to answer that question if we don't know exactly what our career aspirations entail. What does it take to be a financial guru? How do organizers organize? What does it really mean to be a political aide? To give you some insight into the ways your idols and peers get the job done, our series, The Hustle, will take you behind the scenes of different careers to give you an idea of what it's actually like to have your dream job.
Allison Riggs isn't intimidated by much. As the head of the voting rights program at the Southern Coalition for Social Justice, she has argued cases in federal courthouses throughout the southern United States — and even before the Supreme Court. Riggs' heavy workload requires her to criss-cross the country, fielding calls from reporters and listening to oral-argument recordings as she hops between hotels and airport waiting rooms. This hectic schedule can be draining and keeps her apart from her puppy, but she's motivated by the fight to stop voter suppression and fix our "broken" government. Here, Riggs shows us what a day as a voting rights attorney is really like.
On Wednesday, August 7, I argued a voting rights case in the Fifth Circuit Court of Appeals. The argument had initially been scheduled to be held in New Orleans on July 12, but was canceled because of a hurricane. The argument was rescheduled for Houston on a day I was supposed to be on vacation — in Europe! Needless to say, I had to rearrange my vacation schedule, changing my flights to move up the vacation by a few days to accommodate the new argument date.
4:30 a.m.: Wake up! I always get up early the morning of argument to review cases I might be asked about, refine my argument notes, and practice pithy answers to expected questions. This early start is a little easier since I’m still on Greece time (48 hours ago, I was in Athens — beam me back, Scotty!). I got back to Raleigh-Durham, where I’m based, at 8 p.m. on Monday, and left for Houston at 7 a.m. on Tuesday.
5:00 a.m.: Hotel room coffee-maker fail. I ripped the bag with the coffee and broke the prepackaged filter holding the coffee. I’m down in the lobby prowling for complimentary coffee (gotta love nonprofit life!). The receptionist is very kind, and probably feels sorry for me, so she hooks me up.
7:00 a.m. : I’ve been on planes a lot in the last few days, so I head to the very small hotel gym. I listen to audio from a moot I did last month (moots are practice arguments — they help you anticipate questions and crystallize good answers to expected questions). I always record moots on my phone so I can listen to them later. If I listen to myself, I can think about how to tighten up answers or avoid tics in speech patterns. Plus, I have to multitask to stay sane. I’ve argued two United States Supreme Court cases in the last year or so, and I’ve probably listened to hundreds of oral-argument recordings on an elliptical.
9:30 a.m.: My colleague Jaci comes to my hotel room to go over a few unsettled questions. It’s amazing sometimes how hard it can be to decide on the right answer to an expected question, but I’m frequently arguing about unsettled questions of law, so there’s not always an easy answer. We talk for about an hour, and I’m about as ready as I’ll ever be!
11:30 a.m.: I head down to the lobby to check out, stash my bags behind the desk, and get one last caffeine fix. The same kind receptionist tells me I look nice; I tell her this is my boring courtroom look — navy skirt suit, cream shell, conservative heels, and pantyhose. I have suits every color of the rainbow, and I love wearing bright colors to speaking events. But I’m a young-ish looking woman in a field dominated by old white men. If I wear any color in a courtroom, I get snide comments about lacking gravitas (I swear — this has happened!). Also, pantyhose are an invention of the devil!
12:15 p.m.: Jaci and I are at the federal courthouse now. I like to be very early for arguments, as being rushed throws me off. We’re the second argument of the afternoon, and the first argument doesn’t start until 1 p.m. I’ll be arguing that all voters in Texas should each have an equally powerful vote; right now, voters in rural areas have in excess of 20 times the voting strength of voters in urban San Antonio.
1:30 p.m.: The first argument is wrapping up. The three-appeals court panel has been asking a lot of questions. I don’t get nervous before appearing in court, but I do feel the enormity of the faith my clients have placed in me, and how important it is that they be afforded a fair and equal say in elections.
2:30 p.m.: Argument is done. It’s always a rush to argue before esteemed federal judges, particularly appellate judges. I may not always agree with their ideologies (and this is the Fifth Circuit, a notoriously conservative circuit, so it’s safe to say there’s a lot of ideological space between us), but this is the kind of stuff that law students dream of doing. So I’m always awed by the process and formality, and grateful for the opportunity to make arguments that I believe in. Now off to the airport.
3:45 p.m.: I’m hunting around the airport for something healthy to eat. I ate a KIND bar at around 6 a.m., but nothing since. I don’t like to give my stomach an opportunity to get upset when I have a big argument. I find a turkey sandwich that seems passable, if extremely overpriced. I’ve changed out of my suit into comfy travel clothes: leggings, running shoes, and a sweatshirt. I’m always cold on airplanes.
4:30 p.m.: Surprise! My 5 p.m. flight is already delayed. I spend half my life dealing with delayed flights. When I first started practicing, and was asked to travel across the South for work, I thought it was so glamorous. That lasted about six months. I still like practicing all across the region, but I’d be happier if someone could perfect teleportation or something like that. I’m really not a Star Trek junkie, I swear.
6:00 p.m.: My flight finally leaves Houston. I’m connecting through Miami, and it’s going to be tight. But luckily my departure gate is only a few gates down.
6:30 p.m.: GAH! No such luck. Using the plane WiFi, I check the status of my flight from Miami to Raleigh-Durham. I notice they’ve changed our arrival gate to a terminal that’s about as far away as from my departure gate as possible. Guess I’m going to get a little more exercise trying to make a run for it. I try to distract myself with a trashy magazine I bought at the airport in Houston, digging into a story about Prince George’s sixth birthday party (I’m a sucker for British royals).
9:00 p.m.: I just landed in Miami. My flight leaves in 30 minutes. I’m going to have to haul ass!
9:15 p.m.: I made it! I am regretting the choice to wear a sweatshirt, though, as I’m pretty drenched in sweat. I really do need to start running again.
10:00 p.m.: I got bumped to first class because I’m an uber-frequent flier. For all the money-saving corners we have to cut, working for a small nonprofit, this is a nice perk. Plus, I’m hungry and they’re giving me nuts and warm cookies! I’m no wine connoisseur, but I think this white wine is pretty terrible. Just as well — I need to drive home once I land.
11:39 p.m.: Despite my delay out of Houston, I arrived back to my home-base airport on time! And I purposely live really close to the airport (see: uber-frequent traveler). I may be back to snuggle my dog before midnight.
11:59 p.m.: Canine cuddles at the end of a long day are the best! So is knowing that even though the hours are long and the travel is stressful, what I’m fighting for is critical. Our government is broken, and we are the ones with the power to fix it. But that requires that everyone be given a fair chance to participate in the political process, and far too many politicians just want to continue in their ways, unchallenged. The odds may be against me in this particular case, but the arc does bend, albeit slowly, toward justice.
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