Its hard to avoid making self-calls at a place like Dartmouth. For one, we all turned down Harvard to come here. Then there's the fact that we do some pretty cool sh*t as a as a student population. We become Rhodes scholars; we win Olympic gold medals; we try to see how many chicken nuggets we can fit in our mouth while still being able to swallow.
I could go on. But I won't, because modesty is a virtue. Unfortunately, some of us at Dartmouth forget this from time to time and begin tooting our own horn. Sometimes, these self calls are blatant: "Dude, I got soo blacked out last night." Sometimes they are more subtle: "Dude, for some reason, all the clothes I was wearing last night ended up in the toilet and my hamper smells of urine." There are times when you don't even realize when a self-call was made until after the fact: "Wait a second, what did Sarah's off-term helping injured wildebeests in the African savanna have to do with wanting to go to Collis?" This article is an attempt to identify the Dartmouth self-calls so that they can be stopped and their egotistical perpetrators can be slowly bludgeoned to death by their own humility.
The Rage Call
Rage self-calls happen all the time at Dartmouth by so-called "hard" guys and girls. Chances are if people didn't read about your previous night's debauchery in the police blotter it probably wasn't worth telling people about. The obvious exceptions are those exploits involving successful escape from the police, self-defecation and/or jumping out of the second-story window of Chi Gam. In general, no one really cares if you played four games of pong and then stumbled home and ordered EBAs. If you tried to goose the EBAs deliveryman instead of giving him a tip, then it's a different story.
The Hookup Call
Along those lines, no one really cares if you hooked up over the weekend. In general, please don't kiss and tell unless, 1) he or she was comically overweight, 2) he or she works the late-night shift at Food Court, 3) you think you may have contracted type-two genital herpes. STDs are not self calls, just ask Rob Loblaw '07. The "make-out sesh" you had with your girlfriend or boyfriend should be kept to yourself. And if you can't keep it to yourself, at least be more honest about it: "Yeah ... I couldn't get it up."
The Classroom Call
Self-calls can permeate into the classroom as well. This can occur in several highly noticeable forms. First, there's that kid who sits in the front row and spouts random information on the digestive habits of William Randolph Hearst in an attempt to wow the professor. Class participation is respectable; ignoring unspoken classroom etiquette to show everyone what you learned in your AP History is an egregious self-call. Second, there are the individuals who compensate for their nerdiness in high school by never going to class or showing up late and doodling three-dimensional cubes in the back of the room. This "I'm-too-sweet-to-care" disposition is a straight-up self-call, even if you don't really care.
Stressed-- Out Call
So you've been up all night writing your 20-page term paper on the psychological effects of global warming on nomadic camel herders in Uzbekistan and you still haven't studied for your two other exams later in the week? That's great. Have a banana. This is nothing more than a sympathy-seeking self-call. Yes, you are badass for staying-up all night instead of getting the seven-hour beauty sleep that the rest of us got. But you are no different than everyone else at Dartmouth or the Uzbeki camel herders who are up all night worrying about how regional climate changes will affect their elderly camels.
Resume Booster Call
So you are a member of the Dartmouth Investment Banking Appreciation Club? You founded the Dartmouth chapter of the American Society of People of Gender? Well done. You are probably the same type of person who wrote a college essay about your experiences as the president of your high school's Students Against Sleep Deprivation Napping Club. With the job search being as competitive as it is, these self-calls seem to go under the radar. But who are you really kidding? Everyone knows you really spend your time watching reruns of "Seinfeld" in your boxers while eating Doritos by the bagful.
The Greek Call
The Dartmouth Greek system also generates its own form of self-glorification. While pride in one's house is usually positive, sporting Greek letters in big print on the butt of the sweatpants that you wear around the first floor of the library seems to more closely resemble self-promotion. On the other hand, tattooing Greek letters in big print on your butt is clearly a more humble approach. Rage.
The Gym Call
The gym is a breeding ground for self-calls, and non-verbal ones at that. For guys in the hard-guy "free weight" zone of the Kresge Fitness Center, casual flexing and excessive bench pressing grunting are commonplace. Getting fit is one thing (and should be a part of everyone's daily schedule), but wearing a tight cut-off to the gym and banging out curls until your veins pop out crosses the line, a tad.
The aerobic section of gym doesn't avoid these unspoken self-calls. For some of the girls striding away on the elliptical machines, it's not merely a matter of burning away the calories; it's all about making it look as painless as possible. Some pretend to be reading magazines without a care in the world. They make it look enjoyable as if they are perusing Cosmo while lying on a bed of wildflowers on a carefree summer afternoon. It's not until they get back to their rooms that they let down the facade and vent all their pain over a pint of Ben and Jerry's.
The Dartmouth Mirror Article Call
Maybe this article itself is a self-call. Who made me the expert on self-calls? Was it my mother? Is it because I'm just inherently super sweet and have extremely low cholesterol levels? I'm not exactly sure. All I ask of you, the Dartmouth student, is to try and be a little more humble ... like me.
