Finals. At Dartmouth they seem to arrive in the blink of an eye, and they are over before we know it. For that period of time, we will do anything to wring all that we can from each day. Mountain Dew and Coca-Cola sales increase. Students experiment with Vivarin and invest in veritable libraries of General Foods International Coffee flavors. And we all lose our minds just a little.
At the end of Fall term, I stayed up studying most of the night before the last day of finals. A great proportion of my time was devoted to finishing and polishing my take-home exam for Film Studies 46 --Television and Gender. My company was an occasional blitz from someone else who was still up, and a good-sized supply of caffeine -- an enviromug of tea and a one-pound bag of m & m's. Perhaps not the healthiest company I could have, but they did the job.
By three a.m. I was wired. After hours of working on my exam, I had gender issues, gender relations and non-sexist, non-heterocentric, non-racist ideals, philosophies and terms coming out of my pores and dripping all over my rug. I expected them to stain. That is when I noticed the 800 number on the bag of m & m's. "Questions or comments about this product call..." In my rather looped state, the invitation was appealing.
The next morning after I turned in my exam, I was both exhausted and wide awake. I trotted back to my dormitory and stalked into my room, raccoon-eyed and slightly green, but in an exceedingly good mood. When I spotted the half empty m & m bag, my self-satisfied grin widened to a mischievous smirk. For the two days remaining before I left for winter break, I had no commitments to fulfill, no deadlines to meet. I decided to give the Mars Company a call and tell them exactly what I thought of the new blue m & m's.
The woman who "manned" the 800 number answered the phone in a Lily Tomlin/Ernestinesque nasal. I wasted no time acquainting her with the purpose of my call. "I find the blue m & m's offensive to goals of gender parity in modern society," I stated matter-of-factly. "What was that?" she asked. (It seemed I had startled her out of a daze.) "Blue is a color that traditionally represents maleness," I expanded. "The m & m's are gender free," she assured me, ready to rationally argue with an obviously irrational person.
"Ah, but they're not," I insisted. After all, I had been studying (ad nauseam) gender prejudices on television. "You have effectively added a male influence to m & m's without adding a female influence as well." She did not interrupt me, so I continued my train of thought, making a molehill into a mountain of blue candy. "Pink is the color that is stereotyped as female, a color that is wishy-washy, indefinite and inconsequential, so pink m & m's would be wrong. Pink pigeonholes women, so you can't make pink ones. Therefore, with a view towards political correctness, I recommend the immediate discontinuation of the manufacture of blue m & m's."
There was silence at the other end of the phone as she attempted to figure out how to deal with me. "Well ... we make red ones ..." she finally replied, albeit with heartfelt hesitation, obviously hoping to pacify me. It was a good attempt, trying to meet me on my own turf -- not astro or real grass, but a sickly-colored muck of chocolate stress. But I was not buying it.
"Ah, no, no, no," I told her. "Red is not a representation of womanhood. Red is a symbol of power in a still patriarchal society. Red is communism. Red is the color of male dominance. Red is the male characterization of female menstruation as the 'curse.' Red is the color of wars fought by and for men. Red is the color of men's control of women's reproductive rights. Red is the color of hate and intolerance and anger. Red is almost worse than blue." I paused, as much to let her absorb as to allow my brain time to process what had just come from my mouth.
"OK, well we appreciate your calling and letting us know what you think ma'am. Can I have your zip code for survey purposes?" I willingly gave her my zip code, the New Hampshire one of course, as opposed to the Long Island one that spawned me, to throw off the survey. After she thanked me, I hung up the phone and sat back on my bed. A serene smile turned up the edges of my weary lips, and my eyelids clicked shut. I went from rabid to comatose in an eyeblink.
The end of the term engenders lunacy. While it is happening you know other people will forgive you your eccentricities, for they are experiencing the same brain warp. So you cut loose a little, make a telephone operator think that you have no marbles to lose, kiss a few walls, eat a few too many EBA's chicken sandwiches, scare your freshmen and drink too much coffee. And all the while you rely on the knowledge that it is only temporary.
