Going to the fair

A week and a half ago, I was illegally checking my email from the upstairs computers in the library when I received a message from the wonderful people at Career Services. The email informed me of a fair that I couldn't miss. Everybody was going to be there.

"Ooh, a fair," I thought to myself. "Fairs are usually fun, right? Maybe it will be like a county fair, with soft-serve vanilla-chocolate twist ice cream, cotton candy, live folk music, pony rides, and the lingering aroma of hay and manure!"

On Thursday, Oct. 10, a career fair was to be held in the Gantcher Family Sports and Convocation Center (the place most students know by its abbreviated title, Gantcher).

With Thursday rapidly approaching, I began to question just how much fun this fair would be. On Wednesday night, after 17 milliseconds of internal strife and angst, I came to the conscious decision that I would not go to the career fair.

However, I changed my mind and realized that I should in fact go to the career fair following a brief conversation with my parents on Thursday morning. I tried to hold my own during our discussion, but my Dad's arguments were just too persuasive.

"Hey Adam, how are you doing? How are classes? Have you found a job yet for next year?"

"Umm, hi Dad, it's good to hear your voice again, too. Classes are going well, keeping me busy. And no, I still don't know what I'm doing next year. I think there's some career fair thing tonight. I doubt I'll go; it's not going to be that good. None of my..."

"You're going," he interrupted.

"What?"

"You're going or you're cut off financially."

"Yeah, so anyways, I'm really looking forward to this career fair tonight."

I put up the good fight, but alas, I was forced to succumb by the classic, low-ball cut-off-your-finances-tactic.

At that point my mind went blank with the exception of three things.

1.) I have no r?©sum?©.

2.) I have long hair.

3.) I haven't taken my weekly shower or shaved.

I was in trouble. What kind of company or organization would hire a scruffy, longhaired, unshaven, dirty liberal arts student with no r?©sum?©? Two options immediately came to mind _ Peace Corps and Green Corps. Despite the fact that I was the perfect candidate for the job, I had no desire to work for either organization.

That left me no choice. I reluctantly showered and shaved and began to brainstorm activities and accomplishments to put on my r?©sum?©. However, I refused to cut my hair in a last ditch effort to preserve what little dignity I had left.

Miraculously, at 7:15 I found myself hurriedly making my way to Gantcher, dressed in my best pair of khaki pants (with only one not-visible hole in the seam of the crotch) and a button-down blue shirt.

With my sharp looks and impressive r?©sum?©, I would be irresistible to my prospective employers. How could anybody turn down the 1988 Ocean City Watermelon Seed spitting champion? I was practically the president of LCS, too (I think I might have volunteered for half of Kid's Day freshman year, but I can't remember). And what about my involvement in Tufts Mountain Club? So what if I wasn't active; I paid dues sophomore year. What really jumped out about my r?©sum?© was my participation in freshman class council. My peers elected me as an alternate council member (I finished third in a three person race) during an orientation week dorm meeting and entrusted me as their (alternate) representative. Since then I have committed myself to improving Tufts (regardless of the fact that I have never gone to any council meetings).

As I walked down College Ave., I passed by some friends who were coming back from the career fair.

"Hey Adam, how's it going? Going to the career fair?" they asked with a tinge of excitement in their voices.

"Yeah I guess so," I answered as unenthusiastically as I could, trying to hold back numerous sarcastic responses that attempted to spew from my mouth. For what other reason would I be all dressed up and heading towards the gym? To look good while enlarging my already massive frame? To run some laps around the track in khakis? Or maybe to go for a fully-clothed swim in the pool?

A few minutes later, I entered Gantcher and paused just inside the door. My teeth gleamed through my unabashedly smiling lips and I chuckled as I saw what awaited me. A short two hundred feet away were dozens of tables, big booths, flashy signs, smiling recruiters, and seniors. Some students were wearing normal college clothes - i.e. jeans and a Tufts sweatshirt - while others decided to get all decked out in fancy-shmancy suits.

I had never seen so many people look so out of place in my life. The kid who sits in front of me in economics class and always wears a Red Sox hat was sporting a pinstriped, long-tailed, three-piece suit. And he was just one example of the young Clark Kentish men and women that mingled about, trying to sell their services.

After spending forty-five minutes aimlessly meandering around the career fair I got a hot tip to head over to the Dow table for a free T-shirt.

"Hi, how are you? My name is Adam," I said as I greeted the Dow representative with a firm, give-me-free-stuff handshake.

"Hello, Adam. I'm Joel. How are you doing tonight?"

"Okay, a bit tired actually, I don't really want to be here. I was just interested in seeing if you had any free T-shirts left."

Unphased, Joel dove directly into his spiel.

"Well, first of all let me tell you about what I do for Dow. I head up a team of around..."

It was then that Joel's voice seemed to melt into undecipherable gibberish and my inner monologue became a broken record. "Free T-shirt. Free T-shirt. Free T-shirt..."

By the end of the night I had handed out four or five r?©sum?©s, but only one employer, the Secret Service, seemed mildly enthusiastic about my credentials. I talked to the Secret Service recruiter at the booth for two or three quality minutes and then he asked me to step outside.

"Son, I can tell that you are of good moral character and have sound values. Normally I wouldn't be speaking to you at all - that hair you have is a disgrace to yourself and your family. But today is your lucky day. Do you think you have what it takes?"

What it takes? What the hell was this guy talking about?

"Yes, I do, sir," I replied confidently.

"Good. We're currently running," he interrupted himself and rigidly barked, "Stop playing with your hair!"

"Right. Sorry sir," I apologetically muttered as my hand fell down to my side.

"As I was saying, we are presently trying to infiltrate a northern California hippie community and we are in desperate need of individuals like yourself _ young, long-haired, wannabe hippies from the East coast."

To his dismay, I declined his offer to join the Secret Service, citing the fact that I was not confident that my hair was long enough for me to pass as a true hippie (not to mention the fact that I'd think at least twice before taking a bullet for Dubya).

After the Secret Service agent told me to look directly at one of those pen-like-selective memory-erasers from Men in Black, I promptly left the career fair and began to walk home. Although I was leaving empty handed, with no T-shirt and no job, it was undoubtedly a successful night. By attending the career fair I accomplished three important things: I gained valuable interview experience, organized my r?©sum?©, and most importantly, got my weekly shower out of the way.