Nobody's Home

Business school is not about popularity; it’s not about the marginal propensity to consume alcohol; it’s not about playing beer pong at the wee hours of the morning; it’s not about being the “stealth gunner” of the class; it’s not about faking laughter to be a part of a clique; it’s not about being the cliché stereotypical MBA – it’s about respect. Yes, you heard me right – it’s all about respect. The respect you show today – the respect you earn tomorrow. The smile you give today – the smile you get tomorrow.

This is not reality – the reality awaits for you tomorrow when the grey patches on your temples will hide the wrinkles beneath. It is reality when you browse through your phone book list wondering whom to call. “Is he the one who accosted me when I was standing in the corner?”; “I remember how she used to smile whenever she ran into me in the corridor.” And the voice at the other end of the line, cold and dry from years of distress, says “Hello!!”…

And the line goes dead…

“I've got a little black book with my poems in.
Got a bag with a toothbrush and a comb in.
When I'm a good dog, they sometimes throw me a bone in.

I got elastic bands keepin my shoes on.
Got those swollen hand blues.
Got thirteen channels of shit on the T.V. to choose from.
I've got electric light.
And I've got second sight.
And amazing powers of observation.
And that is how I know
When I try to get through
On the telephone to you
There'll be nobody home.”