MOB. MOC. MIS. No, they’re not airport codes or even covert military operations. They are the links that comprise a backbone of BS, a.k.a. the MSB. My failure to understand the McDonough School of Business does not stem from COL pride. Hurt pride, perhaps, but had it not been for the confessions of MSB students themselves, I would still be in the dark about Georgetown’s business program and consequently, the invalidity of its very existence.
My initial curiosity and eventual exasperation with the “B-school” started sometime during fall ‘01 with the appearance of a new T-shirt. As students, it’s just our nature to create shirts for every God-blessed event that happens on campus, irrespective of importance. Whether it’s that crazy night at Lulu’s or the second annual Tibetan film festival, there is a T-shirt to commemorate the occasion. It came as no surprise that each of the academic schools would fabricate memorabilia. Alas, the MSB took it too far.
Allow me to recap the T-shirt’s brazen assertion: “We do not change bedpans-NHS. We do not wander aimlessly-COL. We do not want to take over the world-SFS. We’re just your boss-MSB.”
I can take a joke, but I think the shirt reveals more about the school than we’d care to admit. First of all, how could something so pretentious represent at least one-fourth of Georgetown’s population? Did I miss something? Are we that self-important? I know enough college pre-meds that, as suggested by the T-shirt, wouldn’t exactly classify themselves as products of liberal arts lethargy. In addition, with 5 a.m. clinical rotations, I wouldn’t shrink the NHS to a school that merely “changes bedpans.” And if that’s not enough of a motivation, bear in mind their mandatory shifts during flu-shot season.
To add fuel to the fire, MSB students openly acknowledge the unfair methods of their persuasion. First of all, let us discuss briefly the practice of group projects. Anyone who hasn’t done a group project since eighth grade life science class, raise your hand. One of my best friends is a B-school offspring, bless her heart, and has, on numerous occasions, confessed to the idiocy of group projects (note: idiocy does not connote boredom). I’m sure we would all agree that if anything, the B-school could be Miss Congeniality. Group projects do improve one’s social relationships.
Social dynamics aside, let’s tackle the fundamental issue of actual work. It just doesn’t happen. When confronted with his friend’s anxiety over an upcoming biology test, a first-year MSB student jovially exclaimed, “I have three letters for you: M-S-B! Transfer, man! Imagine having class only three days a week like me!” It’s true. I swear. There are actually freshmen here that have four-day weekends. I’m not down.
Unfortunately this predicament yields little in the way of solutions. I present three options. First, we could adopt a simple isolationist stance: Let the B-school continue in its wayward fashion, quietly encroaching on our campus until one day college life simply becomes one big group project. Or, we could take a more aggressive position: extermination. Of course, we’ll have to use a more user-friendly word in the pamphlets, perhaps something along the lines of “integration.”
The COL would simply make like the species of female angler fish whose reproductive processes entail epidermically absorbing their mates after intercourse.
First, we court the MSB. We flirt. We dance. We might even salsa. I would register for classes like “Advanced Oral Presentations,” “Buyer Behavior” and “How to Build Strong Brands,” no strings attached. Joe and Jane McDonough would in turn take “Madness, Genius, and Creativity,” “T.S. Eliot’s The Wasteland” and “Philosophies of India,” with a pair of tickets to the annual linguistics symposium, no charge. It would be a sort of cultural exchange! We would get to finally take part in the joys of business coursework! I could proudly assert, “I am a Spanish major with a triple minor in finance, international marketing and accounting. I have been wined and dined by no less than thirty-seven I-banks and my resume weighs 1.3 pounds.”
Of course, after a few semesters of this “courtship,” we would have to move into the final phase of angler fish mating rituals: absorption. Time to dissolve the MSB. First, give their entire endowment to the NHS. Buy a pair of Nikes for anyone with a clinical rotation before 10 a.m. Next, close the MBNA Career Center for renovations and reopen it as a state-of-the-art kickboxing studio with really hot instructors. Keep the windows. Finally, convert the Business Lab on N Street (“Bizzle” as it’s commonly known) into a Taco Bell. If anything, maybe it’ll drive down Wisey’s prices. Vamonos amigos. The night is young.
I implore you to give serious consideration to what I’d like to call “Operation Angler.” Be assured, this is not the work of COL angst. It is only my profound desire for equal academic opportunity, and a six-figure salary for all.
Natasha Jacob is a Junior in the Business School. I mean, the College. You can reach her in Chile.
