http://www.theparisreview.org/blog/2012 ... the-lsats/
“Monica … Lewinsky?” the proctor said, tipping her name into a question.
She approached coolly, ignoring his obvious fluster and the gathering cloud of whispers. I wondered why the testing authorities hadn’t prepared the proctor for her. I wondered why someone of her— let’s call it “stature”—couldn’t finagle a private room. But I didn’t wonder much else, because now she was beside me. As she flumped into her seat, juggling an armful of items that included a blanket and a Jewish prayer book, her driver’s license landed near my foot. I handed it back to her with a warm, casual smile meant to reassure her that I was not like all the other uncouth gawkers in the room.