Hangovers End, Dings Linger [Edit 1]

I love Bridgette Lumpkins today (but only for today) for she has posted a wonderful rant to the Wharton Diaries site. The best part:

Oh, the Ding. Ding Ding Ding. Ding Dong.

When you get dinged, you can ask for feedback. They can say no. But many banks will provide it. I am asking for feedback. They'll probably be like: "You suck". I think that's the feedback I'm going to get: "We regret that we were unable to extend you an offer because you totally suck. But thank you for your interest in our firm, and we wish you the best in your future endeavors." Signed, The Person Who Holds the Key to Your Future.

A ding does last forever. Rejection shapes a psyche (and a sometimes, a psychosis). I still remember being picked last for kickball in third grade. How many machinations I machinated as a result of that ding in an effort to avoid being picked last ever! How many snacks from my lunchbox I gave up, asses I kissed, laughs I faked, pushups I did!

Let's dissect the ding. There are two components. The first being the ego hit that Bridgette describes so well. I can't top that. Well, I can, but it'd require dredging up some painful memories.

The second component of a ding is the distaste that one develops for the entity that dealt the dastardly ding. Let's spend a moment on this second component.

Sour Grapes

One thing that always puzzled me about acquaintances that went to Yale undergrad: they tend to diss Harvard more than Harvard disses them. It appears to be the cultural norm for Yalies. It's something that some of my coworkers still do whenever we go out to a bar for drinks after work. I've heard the conversation a handful of times, "Yeah, well [idiot manager] went to Harvard, what did you expect?" A degree from Harvard explains lots of things, according to these comrades, including (but not limited to) inability to keep a woman, workplace flatulence, obesity, extreme willingness to kiss ass, bad breath, and (my favorite) ungroomed armpits on females.

Something tells me that they do this not just because the two schools are long, fast rivals but also because (in general) Harvard tends to reject more applicants than Yale (though in 2004 Yale rejected 90.1% percent of applicants while Harvard rejected 89.7% of applicants). Yalies, in a sense, define themselves not just through their affiliation to Yale (which appears to be fanatical at times), but also (secretly) through their rejection from Harvard.

Hey, wait a minute, Yale sounds a lot like Wharton! But do Wharton students sound a lot like Yale students when discussing their rivalry with the snooty, generalist bastards up north? (See how easily I slip into disparaging remarks about HBS? It comes natural after a ding, trust me.) I really don't know how much of this I'll find at Wharton.

I think I'd feel dirty giving voice to my distaste for HBS. I was raised by the Brothers Grimm who taught me that the fox who disliked the grapes he could never taste was not a very admirable fellow at all and (this blog excluded) I want to take this blank-slate opportunity to fashion myself as the admirable sort of guy that would make Dale Carnegie proud. Sour grapes just won't do!

Ain't it funny how we remember our successes least and our failures best? There may be something to the idea that the happiest people on earth are those who aspire to nothing.

New b-school motto: I'm ambitious, therefore I'm unhappy.

Edit 1: Replaced a missing parenthesis.