And so summer has begun. Despite the persistent rain, barbeque grills still flare with the conflagrating promise of charred meats and a fireside recitation of Hesiod's Theogony. Yes, you're a big bad sophomore, and it's the eponymous summer of your life. A nihilistic approach should be natural, laudable and liberating. After two years of work, perhaps we've earned a trip to old Camp Dartmouth. No other time could be better for the hedonist; the guilty pleasure of R & R weighs not upon our collective conscience. And the LORD saw this, and it was good.
But what are these -- students in suits? Bros in button-downs and women in power pants? And so the placidity of summer is cruelly stained by the perennial antagonist: recruiting. The corporate world approaches, and with it temptation -- a salary, suits, ties, hot cars, the cheerleading captain -- the whole gamut of '80's movie villain possessions are promised to puppy-eyed peers by city-slick bankers.
Torn from smooth beer and morning pong, even the most bro'd out bros become slaves to the magnetism of pandemic capitalism. How do they reconcile their two conflicting worlds? How can they consolidate the glory of the Dionysian with the (business) call of the wild?
As an outsider to the process, I humbly offer myself as an ignorant observer. I could not bring myself to dressing in my gaudy two-piece to join the dapper herd, each bleating "pick me" to any business that will have them. But they'll all be richer than I am, so I guess they'll have the last laugh. And while I considered going to one of the consulting info sessions, I decided to do a bit of analysis myself in the market for Dartmouth minds.
It wasn't an objection to conformity that dissuaded me from participating in the haaj to Career Services -- I'm well past my Emo years -- but the religious desire to preserve the endangered to the cult of summer.
How could I, so well ventilated in my shorts and t-shirt, bind myself within the silky cocoon of business attire? There is something so deeply irreverent about the recruiting process that the sheer discomfort of the costume sparked my column's genesis. And we discover a mimesis of physical discomfort in the disquiet of the applicants around any Food Court table. Each one is subtly divorced from another by the fact that they are no longer peers, but competitors in the corporate game.
Recruiting is a cumbersome thorn in our Dartmouth side. A weighty shadow blocks the eternal sunshine of spotless minds.
Those once focused on summer fun are trapped in the sinking sand of resume deadlines. The interview process grounds the uplifted libertine in any participating peer, and keeps them from enjoying the luxury of mindlessness. College is about self-examination, but the recruiting process is about being examined. How do you measure up, it asks.
When students should be at the apex of happiness, recruiting asks them to consolidate themselves into a single sheet of paper.
And so students are forced back into the high school way of thinking. They return into "impressive" mode. They remember their SAT scores, they scramble to remember extracurricular activities, they hone their false enthusiasm and they return to the cutthroat world of competition. Exactly what we've escaped in our two years here -- the ideology of college entrance -- has returned when our minds are in harmony with the song of summer freedom.
There is no way to stage an intervention; we can't sit down and tell corporate aspirers that they're not the happy peers we used to know, they're not the fun-loving free spirits they were before Morgan Stanley came and courted them with paychecks and worsted wool.
To sell stock, they have to sell themselves. And in looking forward to the winter, their hearts will grow cold.
Perhaps I wax Romantic; occupational foresight is admirable, and these students prove themselves mature pursuers of successful futures. There's no shame in looking ahead with a sound mind and a sound career. And it can't be summer forever. But some of us will fan the flames.
