The Opposite of Loneliness: Essays and Stories (15 page)

Tommy has a different perspective on his marriage. “The insect society is matriarchal. That is, the queen is the supreme ruler.” He chuckles. “That’s different in my house, though. My philosophy towards my wife is: ‘The daily beatings will continue until morale improves.’ ” He cracks his knuckles by pressing his hands together but then quickly holds them up on either side of his head in a gesture of surrender. “I’m joking, I’m joking,” he laughs. “Oh, man, I could tell you a million jokes, a hundred million jokes if you wanted. Hey, so what do you get when you cross a centipede and a parrot? . . . A walkie-talkie!” He throws his head back and lets out a loud wheeze.

Tommy takes a sip from a Mister Donut coffee as he flicks on the radio and starts swaying his head back and forth to a smooth jazz song. He takes a sharp left and pulls up next to a run-down concrete apartment complex of about five stories. Colorful graffiti surrounds the lower level of the building and a large white banner hangs over the entrance that reads
APARTMENTS FOR RENT: CALL 773-555-0962 FOR MORE INFORMATION
.
Tommy takes one last sip of his coffee, and with a twist of his wrist, the car turns off and the music goes silent. “Welcome to the derelict city,” Tommy says in a mock low voice. “Gateway to downtown ghetto.”

The landlord called Tommy a few days ago, desperately begging him to come “as soon as he possibly could” to deal with a bedbug problem in one of the apartments he’s trying to rent. “Bedbugs are becoming more and more of an issue these days,” Tommy explains as he retrieves his supplies from the back of the truck. They resemble little black ticks that live in the cracks and springs of mattresses and rely on human blood for food. The key to knowing you have a problem, Tommy describes, is seeing little red spots all over the bed. “It’s their feces,” he laughs harshly. “Disgusting, huh?” He walks over piles of brown snow toward the back door of the complex and knocks.

A middle-aged man with a receding hairline opens the door and looks Tommy up and down.

“I take it you’re the exterminator,” he asserts in a thick accent.

“That’s me.” Tommy smiles and holds out his hand, “Thomas H. Hart: I kill for money.” The landlord doesn’t laugh, nor does he shake Tommy’s hand.

“Like I told you on the phone, we need a bedbug spray-down in C3 on the third floor.”

“Well, luckily, all I have to do is kill one bug and the rest will leave the bed to go to his funeral.” Tommy bends over laughing, almost losing hold of his supplies.

“Look, I have a shitload to do before I rent these things,” the landlord says coolly, adjusting his faded blue tie. “Just get the damn bugs out. If you need me, I’ll be in my office.”

Tommy stands still, his lips pressed tightly together. In silence, he pushes the door open and trudges up the musty staircase holding his heavy metal pesticide sprayer in his right hand. Once on the third floor, he starts posting warning signs all over the doors of the seemingly vacant building, still in an angry silence.

“Sorry about that,” Tommy finally says. “Sometimes I just feel so goddamn angry at people.” He forcefully takes off his sailor’s hat and tucks it into his bag. He breathes in deeply and, after a pause, relaxes into a smile. “Whatever. I don’t want to talk about it. No one will want to read about all my stupid emotional stuff. No one cares.”

Out of a large black duffel bag, Tommy pulls a pair of thick gloves and a roll of duct tape. After taping the sleeves of his shirt and the legs of his pants closed, he slips on his gloves and wriggles his head inside a World War I–era gas mask. All suited up, Tommy is somewhere between frightening and comical. “Bloodsucking bedbugs,” he muses, his voice sounding weirdly mechanical and muted through the mask’s air filter. “Sounds like something out of a scary horror movie.” He pauses and gestures to his eccentric appearance. “But then again, look at me. I suppose I’d fit right in.” He half smiles.

“On to My Lai!” Tommy suddenly declares. “The enemy lies ahead!” He brings his left hand up to salute and marches into the dusty, vacated apartment. A single window provides the light for the room, and with its low ceiling, dank smell, and sheet-covered furniture, the atmosphere is reminiscent of an old attic. Alone in the left corner of the room, a queen-size mattress lies like a victim, exposed and bare except for a few mysterious stains. Tommy places the heavy B&G chemical sprayer down on the old wood floor, laughing that he has no idea what the two initials stand for. The machine resembles an oddly sized scuba tank: a one-and-a-half-foot metal cylinder with three red nozzles protruding from its top surface. In the middle of these three sprayers is a gold pump used both to increase pressure of the spray and to reload new poisons. Moving closer to the bed, Tommy loads the enzyme pesticide into the tank and pumps the machine’s gold lever down about ten times before grabbing one of the red tubes and bringing it over to the bare mattress. “I can’t believe I’m still doing this at sixty-three.” Tommy laughs. “Did I tell you I’m sixty-three? I don’t think I did. I don’t look sixty-three, I don’t feel sixty-three, I don’t act sixty-three, and I don’t care.”

Tommy’s daughter, Anna, who now lives in Arizona, explains, “I usually call home about once a week, and Dad will sometimes tell me the same story twice in one phone call.” She pauses. “I mean, he’s always been like that with jokes, but now it’s other stuff too.” She stops again, then laughs slightly. “I don’t really understand why he’s still working. Forty years . . . Forty years killing bugs and rats. Well, it sure beats me.”

Growing up with an exterminator as a father was always slightly embarrassing for Anna and her brother, Kevin. “I remember,” Tommy begins, “one year when Anna was about eight, and it was ‘bring your daughter to work day.’ That was a big thing back in the eighties,” he chuckles. “Well, I remember Anna came down to breakfast that morning and told me she didn’t want to come.” Tommy half smiles, but shakes his head slightly and closes his eyes for a second. “ ‘Dad-
dyyy
, bugs are nasty. Why can’t you be a pilot or a doctor or something cool like that?’ I didn’t even argue with her, I just let her go to school.” Tommy sighs, “I told her I was sorry I didn’t have a cooler job.”

Moving with deliberation, Tommy slowly disinfects the bed by spraying the clear and odorless poison over the frame, edges, and then center. Peering close enough to the mattress, he can see the tiny black bedbugs writhing and shaking in agony for a few seconds before they fall still. “When I see bugs outside I never kill them. There’s no real satisfaction in killing them.” Tommy pauses as he watches a particularly twitchy one. Walking back and forth along the side of the bed, he switches between the three red tubes, each spraying in a different shape: fanlike, mist, and jet. “All insects and rodents and stuff play a part in Mother Nature’s scheme of things. It’s a balancing act. I mean, I could technically get arrested for this because it’s breaking the law, but when I catch squirrels in people’s houses, I usually sneak them into my truck and let them free in the woods somewhere. The law says you’re supposed to drown them, but I just can’t do it.” Tommy sighs and shuts off the machine, a new silence hovering in the room. “That should do,” he proclaims, standing back to observe his work, then walking over toward the wall next to the bed. Through his fogged-up gas mask, Tommy’s blue eyes gaze out the frosted window at the street below. Moving closer, he presses his hands up against the cold glass, cooling them off from the heat of the machine. “I don’t know,” Tommy sighs. “I just don’t know.”

Tommy suddenly picks up his stuff and starts walking down the stairs. “I’m honest, I’m never late, I respect people, I try my hardest, I’m friendly, I love my wife, I love my children,” he rants as he makes his way out of the building and toward his truck. “It’s just like, no one wants bugs around, so no one wants
me
around.” Tommy shakes his head and shoves his supplies into the truck. “I mean, why do you think it’s unlabeled?” He waves an arm outward toward his truck. “Because people would be embarrassed to have it in their parking lots, that’s why.” He shakes his head, suddenly stops talking, and sighs. “Ehh, stupid landlord. He’s just an asshole anyway. What do I care?” Tommy smiles and his body becomes less tense. “Hey, here’s one I’ve never told you, my dear. What do you get when you cross a centipede and a parrot? . . . A walkie-talkie!” He gags, and bends over laughing. Tommy slides into the driver’s seat of his truck and shuts the door, sealing the plain white shell around him.

Even Artichokes Have Doubts

I
f this year is anything like the last ten, around 25 percent of employed Yale graduates will enter the consulting or finance industry. This is a big deal. This is a huge deal. This is so many people! This is one-fourth of our people! Regardless of what you think or with whom you’re interviewing, we ought to be pausing for a second to ask why.

I don’t pretend to know any more about this world than the rest of us. In fact, I probably know less. (According to the Internet, a consultant is “someone who consults someone or something.”) But I do know that this statistic is utterly and entirely shocking to me. In a place as diverse and disparate as Yale, it’s remarkable that such a large percentage of people are doing anything the same—not to mention something as significant as their postgraduate plans.

I want to understand.

* * *

In the spring of my sophomore year, I got my first e-mail from McKinsey & Company. “Dear Marina,” it read, “Now that you have finished your sophomore year, I am sure that you’re starting to think about what the future may have in store for you.” (I hadn’t.) “Perhaps you are starting to experience that nervous, exciting, overwhelming feeling that comes with exploring the options that are coming your way at Yale, especially given your involvement in the Yale College Democrats. To help you get a better sense of what is out there, I thought I would take the opportunity to provide some more insight into McKinsey & Company.”

This weirded me out. How did they know I was involved with the Yale College Democrats? (How did they know about that nervous, exciting, overwhelming feeling!?) As a sophomore, I’d hardly settled on a major, let alone a career path. But despite myself, it made me feel special. Who were these people? Why were they interested in me? Why were they inviting me to events at nice hotels? Maybe I perused their website, WHO KNOWS? The point is: they got me, for at least an evening, to look into this thing and see what it was all about.

Of course, everyone gets these e-mails. I’m not special. Their team of recruiters is really good. They come to Yale with myriad other consultant firms and banks and sell themselves shamelessly and brilliantly to us from the time we turn twenty. We get e-mails and career-fair booths, letters and deadlines. I don’t know much about consulting but I do know that if I were having trouble recruiting smart kids for a job, I’d hire a consulting firm to help me out.

But it’s not just them. It’s us, too. I conducted a credible and scientific study in L-Dub courtyard earlier this week—asking freshman after freshman what they thought they might be doing upon graduation. Not one of them said they wanted to be a consultant or an investment banker. Now, I’m sure that these people do exist—but they certainly weren’t expressing interest at a rate of 25 percent. Unsurprisingly, most students don’t seem to come to Yale with explicit passions for these fields. Yet sometime between Freshman Screw and the Last Chance Dance something in our collective cogs shifts and these jobs become attractive. We’re told they will help us gain valuable skills. We’re told a lot of things.

* * *

One senior I spoke with (whom we’ll refer to as Shloe Carbib for the sake of Google anonymity) has known what she’s wanted since freshman year. When asked what she hoped to do with her life, Shloe responded immediately: “Oh, you know, I want to write and direct films or be an indie music celebrity.” Ironies of expression aside, there was a sincerity to her avowal. “I want to devote my life to the things that I love. I want to create something lasting that I’m really proud of.”

At Yale, she’s worked hard in pursuit of these goals—directing theatrical productions, playing in a band, and collaborating on the 2012 Class Day Video. Yet on Monday evening at eight
P.M.
, she found herself at a top-tier consulting firm event at The Study, meeting and greeting in anticipation of her interview the next morning.

“Of course I don’t want to be a consultant,” she said the night before, clutching a borrowed copy of Marc Cosentino’s
Case in Point
(the aspiring-consultant bible). “It’s just very scary to watch as many of your friends have already secured six-figure salaries and are going to be living in luxury next year. I’m trying to figure out if I love art enough to be poor.”

Like many students, Carbib was roped in by the easy application process. All she had to do to apply to the firm was submit a résumé, cover letter, and transcript by the drop deadline.

“Oh, it’s brilliant of them to make their first round of applications so easy,” she said. “It was so little work that I felt like I might as well try.”

Indeed, the recruiting tactics of these companies are undeniably effective. They express interest in us personally—complimenting our intelligence and general aptitude and convincing us that those skills ought to be utilized to their full capacity (with them, of course).

Tatiana Schlossberg ’12 admits she initially fell for the same trick I did.

“I got a personal e-mail and went to their event because I couldn’t believe that they were interested in me and I wanted to find out why,” she said. But when she got there, she wasn’t sure why she’d come in the first place. “I looked around and felt that I not only didn’t belong with the group of people but that I didn’t believe in what the organization stands for or does,” she said. “There’s definitely a compulsion element to it. You feel like so many people are doing it and talking about it all the time like it’s interesting, so you start to wonder if maybe it really is.”

Mark Sonnenblick ’12 wonders if it might be. A musician, writer, and improvisational comedian at Yale, Mark is looking into (among other things) a job at a hedge fund next year. “I want a job that will dynamically engage me,” he said. “But I guess the bottom line is that I want a job in general and I don’t really know how to get a job. This is easy to apply for and would make me a lot of money.” Ultimately, he hopes to work writing music and plays but understands that’s not exactly a field with an application form.

Of course, many of the people I talked to expressed more explicit interest in the industry. Well, to be fair, most people didn’t want to say anything at all. For every student I interviewed, at least four others refused. In the age of digital print, applicants are (understandably) worried about potential employers searching their names and finding angsty quotes about Their Doubts and Their Hopes. One Saybrook senior declined an interview because he reckoned there was no way to “not sound like a douchebag.” Either he’d come off as pompous for sounding excited about his future job or superior for sounding too good for it. In the words of Michael Blume ’12, “They don’t wanna be interviewed ’cause they already be on the path to making mad bills.”

However, a few people with offers and interest were willing to talk to me. Their stories and motivations for pursuing consulting or finance had remarkable similarities. The narrative goes something like this: eventually, I want to save the world in some way. Right now, the best way for me to do that is to gain essential skills by working in this industry for a few years.

Former Yale College Council president Jeff Gordon ’12 is a great example. Jeff wants to devote his life to public education policy reform but is considering a job at a hedge fund among other options for next year.

“I guess the appeal of that kind of job is more in personal development than in any content area,” he said. “It’s appealing because it seems challenging and because it involves interaction with smart and talented people. There are also some transferable skills.” Yet Jeff claims he could not see himself working in the industry forever.

“I couldn’t imagine myself doing something outside the content area that I care about for more than a few years,” he added. “I take something of a long view on this—I want to place myself in a position to make a very positive difference in social justice.”

But at the same time he has some doubts about these motives: “I think the last time that most of us went through something like this was when we were applying to college and we’re conditioned to accept the ready-made, established process. The problem is, most places don’t have something like that. It’s messy and confusing and we’re often afraid of dealing with that mess,” he said. “Second of all, a lot of people, myself included, are very worried about narrowing their options or specializing, and consulting firms do a great job of convincing us that we still have many options open.

“I think it’s a combination of that and prestige,” he added.

Annie Shi ’12 has similar justifications for her job at J.P. Morgan next year. When asked what she might be most interested in doing with her life, she mentioned a fantasy of opening a restaurant that supports local artists and sustainable food. Eventually, she’s “aiming for something that does more good than just enriching [her]self.” She just doesn’t think she’s ready for anything like that quite yet.

“How can I change the world as a twenty-one- or twenty-two-year-old?” she said. “I know that’s a very pessimistic view, but I don’t feel like I have enough knowledge or experience to step into those shoes. Even if you know that you want to go into the public sector, you’d benefit from experience in the private sector.”

Annie also considers the financial incentives of the position.

“I’m practical,” she says. “I’m not going to work at a nonprofit for my entire life; I know that’s not possible. I’m realistic about the things that I need for a lifestyle that I’ve become accustomed to.” Though she admits she’s at least partially worried about ending up at the bank “longer than [she] sees [her]self there now,” at present she sees it as a “hugely stimulating and educational” way to spend the next few years.

Others disagree. One senior who interned with J.P. Morgan (and who requested anonymity) had a very different experience with the bank.

“Working there was a combination of the least fulfilling, least interesting, and least educational experiences of my life. I guess I did learn something, but I learned it in the first two days and could have stopped my internship then. In the next two months I learned nothing but still came in to work early and for some reason had to stay until ten,” he said. “I would see these people who loved it, but honestly it seemed like they were either uninteresting or lying to themselves.”

But Annie and Jeff weren’t the only two students I spoke with who subscribed to this notion of the private sector as a kind of training ground. The industries certainly work hard to advance this idea—marketing themselves as the best and fastest way to train oneself for . . . anything.

* * *

Kevin Hicks ’89, former dean of Berkeley College, thinks it’s a load of crap.

“As for the argument that consulting provides an extraordinary skill set with which one can eventually change the world, I just don’t buy it,” he said. “Everyone knows what the skill set is for most entry-level consultants: PowerPoint and Excel.” He sees a huge problem with the idea that consulting and finance are good ways to prepare oneself for a career elsewhere.

“Most firms are looking for people who will stay up until three
A.M.
seven nights a week making slides for a partner who goes home to Wellesley for dinner every night at five
P.M.
—and who will do so thinking that they’re ‘winning.’ Look at it this way: most firms assume that you’ll leave for law school or business school within three years, and they invest in your training accordingly. Quality mentoring when you’re young is worth whatever you pay for it. Sometimes that means less money, sometimes that means less of a life beyond work. But quality mentoring is not going to be delivered by someone who is twenty-six, and just one tidal cycle ahead of you.”

Hicks believes this idea of skill-set development is a product of fantastic marketing by the firms themselves.

“There are a half dozen more life-affirming ways you can acquire those same skills, including taking a class at night at a junior college while you do something more interesting. I suppose I’m open to the idea that consulting may truly be a great first job for someone, but too many seniors march lemming-like toward it because everyone else seems to be doing it, and it’s the next opportunity for extrinsic validation. If McKinsey says you’re okay, you’re okay.

“The danger in doing a prefabricated thing after graduation,” he continued, “is that there’s no unique story to tell about it. If there was ever a moment to be entrepreneurial and daring—whether in terms of business or social change—and really test yourself, this is it.

“If you’re like most people, you’ll do one thing for two to three years, then something else for two to three years, and then—somewhere in that five- to seven-year distance from Yale—you’ll see a need to fully commit to something that’s a longer-term project: graduate school, for example, or a job you need to stick with for some real time. The question is: where do you need to be with yourself such that when the time comes to ‘cast your whole vote,’ you’re reasonably confident you’re not being either fear-based or ego-driven in your choice . . . that the journey you’re on is really yours, and not someone else’s? If you think of your first few jobs after Yale in this way—holistically and in terms of your growth as a person rather than as ladder rungs to a specific material outcome—you’re less likely to wake up at age forty-five married to a stranger.”

Yikes!

Professor Charles Hill also believes it’s an unproductive use of Yalies’ time—but for slightly different reasons. He sees the job world as split into two categories: primary functions and secondary functions, productive and unproductive. Unlike straight-up corporations, he doesn’t see these banks or consulting agencies as contributing to the world in a primary, meaningful way.

“People go into it without knowing why,” he said. “They consider you a crop. They harvest you, put you in their grinder, pay you well, and off-load you.” He sees consulting services as something companies invest in to protect against potential lawsuits—providing somewhere for CEOs to point the finger in the event of legal trouble. When the economy goes down, corporations cut back on the use of consultants. Hill argues that if their services were truly needed, the exact opposite would occur (i.e., the corporate use of consultants would increase).