harvard students.
notorious for social elitism.
undignified snobbery.
and of course,
the nastiest cut-throat-ism on the planet.

although i anticipated that most of these stereotypes would be confirmed when i stepped foot on campus, i have been pleasantly surprised -- and almost downright shocked -- by the benign responsibility shown towards fellow classmates and the warmth expressed for the under-privileged and distressed (i.e. individuals at schools such as wharton or stanford). in fact, we had a group hug the last day of classes. we had piggyback races too.

but the funny thing is that when pushed to extremes, the niceties cultivated over the last few months of classes, projects, team building, and homework are trumped by the once-hidden internal demons.

the competitiveness -- the over-achieving, cut throat, devil-take-the-hindmost -- harbored within all of us has surfaced.

smells like teen spirit finals are in the air.

what it comes down to is that this place and this vocation are not for the faint-hearted and easily-intimidated. which begs the question i've been asking since i was accepted: what am i doing?

and if the answer is that i'm an over-achieving, cut throat, devil-take-the-hindmost individual, then i have bigger problems than the fact that i'm failing three of my five classes.

of course, some students are able to blow off the intensity, others become consumed by it, and the rest (like me) swing back and forth between inconsolable panic and scornful enjoyment.

in the quest to distinguish one's self in a system that assigns only three grades -- 1s indicating "superstardome;" 2s meaning "mediocrity;" and 3 being "for-the-first-time-in-your-life-
you-are-setting-the-bottom-of-the-curve" -- competitive advantages are gained on final exams by getting one's hands on the spreadsheets and prepared answers that actually attempt to make sense of entire courses.

which boils down to "whom do you know?" and more often, "whom can you bribe?"

i'm not sure how the whole finals thing works in other grad programs. but for a business school that tells you the two questions on every exam on the first day of class (analyze the situation and what do you do?), being able to quickly get through the quantitative number-crunching to support your qualitative analysis is what differentiates the boys from the men. the girls from the women. the 1s from the 3s. and the baker scholars from those of us who just bake cookies.

the only reprieve i've encountered in the grueling endeavor to prove that something was learned (*use of passive voice intentional) over the last four months is the format of the test: choose a position and defend it. (see blog below.)

a good friend of mine likes to say that on multiple-choice exams, the answers are already on the paper; all one need to do is pick the right one.

unfortunately (in a completely extremist and unwarranted stereotype) for the bankers, private equity associates, and accountants. who haven't had to use evidence. punctuation. or full sentences. to support their opinions. since ... ever(?) ... those of us who bring mostly-unusable writing abilities to business school are better equipped to express ourselves.

unfortunately for us, without the quantitative capabilities, we're left with nothing to express.

hence the source of widespread panic. and the emergence of competitive demons: the same ones that probably got us here in the first place.

admittedly, there are students who are not affected by the performance pressures associated with the approaching exams. and not only do many of them widely share their knowledge and expertise with the gimp horses (read: me) who are slowing down the curriculum for the fit, but they also remind us that at our twentieth reunion, no one will remember who got the best grades. but we'll always remember who took the time to help us understand the material.

and that's a lesson worth learning -- final exam or not.


important post-script from the ombudsman: it turns out that the outlines, spreadsheets, and prepared answers were mostly useless on the exams. turns out: you actually just needed to be smart. crap.