Saturday, November 6, 2010

Infinity Ball

Last night, my friends and I went to Infinity Ball. This is a formal dance for third years. Reminiscent of prom, where women got $30 manicures and squeezed into $100 dresses and then got down on the dance floor, Infinity Ball also brought out the shiniest dresses and killer heels for women.

Or you wore sandals like I did.

Truthfully, I had been wanting to buy a "little, black dress" for a long time, and thought that the Infinity Ball was a good excuse to invest $60 in a good dress. However, Fashion Square Mall was disappointing and even -gasp- depressing after three hours of shopping and finding no formal wear affordable for a college woman. My friend got nice shoes though.

On the way back, we bumped into a friend, KFly, who had sensibly gone grocery shopping. After helping her bring her groceries to her room, I was blessed (or pitied) by some higher being, because KFly had a gorgeous black dress that she could lend me. I felt a little too Cinderella-esque as I rushed back to my room with my dress and transformed into a chic twenty-year old fashionista. However, to spite whoever thought it was nice to set me up in a fairy-tale, I wore white sandals, no jacket, and rode a motorcycle to Alumni Hall. Well, maybe no motorcycle.

It was a lot more fun than I expected it to be. The live band was decently good and sang favorites like Kids (MGMT). Dean Groves emceed and there were canolis. I danced like a manic (think 7-year-olds dancing better than Beyonce). I promise you that I wore something better than they did.

Diversity Career Fair

The smell of crisply ironed suits and freshly printed brochures was pungent, but not as distinct as the fabulous smiles flashing after a firm handshake.

"Hi. I'm John White. Thanks for waiting in line so patiently," he said after each handshake.

Commence the thinly disguised adulation that poured forth from the poor, nervous soul in a pencil skirt. The line dutifully shifted forward a couple of steps and pretended not to overhear the conversation.

"Do you have a resume?" he inquired, and then upon receiving a sheet that was supposed to encompass the entirety of the person shaking in front of him, he asked, "Tell me about yourself."

Commence the 30-second elevator speech that the soul had practiced in the bathroom mirror the night before. The line restlessly shifted side to side in tune with the pen that he tapped against the resume.

John looked up, interested, when several key words were dropped: "self-taught," "HTML," "co-founded," "website design and development company."

"Digital," he declared, "It sounds like you'd be perfect for digital."

The soul abruptly shut up and timidly nodded her head, even though in the beginning she declared that she was interested in being a creative.

As John rattled off the process of applying for digital, his eyes slid behind and noticed the restlessness of the line snaking out behind and cutting off the poor Social Security woman from the foot traffic. Realizing that this was going to take forever, he looked up and smiled.

"Thank you for your time. Do you have any questions?"

However, John was already dog-earing her resume.

A quick note about this man's system. He either dog-ears your resume--- or doesn't. He either puts it in this pile horizontally--- or this pile vertically. All in front of the people in the line.

He dog-eared the resume and placed it horizontally in the bigger stack. The soul realized her time is up.

"Good luck," he said and gave her a firm handshake.

"Yes." A faint reply. "Good-bye."