Graduation at Enema U

Suddenly, I am a desirable and sought-after individual!  Just today, I have received offers from both the New Mexico National Guard and the U.S. Navy, each wanting me to consider enlistment.  And several headhunter firms would like me to sign up with them.  

Since I am old enough to remember President Eisenhower, this is relatively surprising.  Although I have been retired for years, suddenly people other than the endless horde of merchants trying to sell me canes, hearing aids, and Medicare insurance are desperately trying to get my attention.

All of this is because this May, I’m graduating from college—I am just finishing a degree in Art History.  I should explain—no, that will take too long, so let me sum up.  As a retiree of Enema U, I can take classes for free, and I thought it would be interesting to study something different.  The nice people of the Art Department have tolerated my presence, and I have really enjoyed studying something not normally in my wheelhouse.  Taking one or two courses at a time, eventually I accumulated enough credits for a degree.  (This is easier than you might think, since I have long since already finished all of the required courses, a few of which I used to teach.)

The hardest part of going back to being a student is the challenging task of communicating with my impossibly younger fellow students—and frequently even with faculty young enough to be my grandchildren.  We no longer share a common vocabulary—I don’t even have any “personal pronouns”.

Evidently, the university has sold my name and information to marketers, all of whom are interested in making a quick buck off of me.  Most of this junk mail comes in one of two forms:  People who want me to buy “Official Graduation” swag and people who want me to pay them to help me find a job.

By far, most of the offers are to sell me overpriced crap associated with graduation.  The first offer came over a month ago, addressed the “The Family of Mark Milliorn.”  I gave it to The Doc, who promptly threw it away without even considering spending $745 to buy her husband a graduation ring.   Actually, that’s for the cheapie silver ring—if she really loved me, she’d shell out $2245 for the gold version.

If I would prefer, the school will also sell me a wide variety of necklaces, cuff links, watches, and bracelets, all festooned with the school crest and each costing more than any of my first three cars.  The stores around town are still mostly closed and the town seems like it has been on an endless summer break since the thousands of students who normally crowd our streets and fill the stores have been absent during the pandemic, but the online t-shirt and trinket store for the university is alive and busy.

I can buy officially sanctioned announcements, party invitations, ball point pens, desk plaques, briefcases, hair brushes and just about anything else made in China—all emblazoned with the Insignia of Enema U.  Somehow, I managed to graduate from this university four previous times (not to mention working there for a couple of decades), without ever learning that there was an official school tie.  (I told a former colleague in the History Department about this and she suggested that it was actually 30 feet of good rope fashioned into a noose.)

This is all in addition to the cap and gown that I can buy for only $60, so that I can be suitably attired as I cross the stage at an outdoor graduation ceremony—attended by no more than two masked and socially distant relatives—at which I can receive an empty paper tube symbolizing the diploma that the university will eventually mail, suitably framed for an optional $207.  I’m going to pass on all of that, since as a former faculty member, I’ve sat through countless such ceremonies while I read a book and waited for the stupid speeches to end.  (Every single time that I pulled a book out from underneath my robe, my colleagues seated near me would give me a disapproving shake of the head, indicating that I was not displaying the proper respect for the ceremonies.  Long before the speeches ended, those sitting near me would whisper, “Don’t turn the page yet!”)

If you have never actually sat through those graduation speeches, let me sum them all up for you.  The speaker—someone who has usually contributed significant money to the governor’s political party—will excruciatingly slowly tell thousands of people dressed identically that the key to success in life is individuality.  Then, everyone claps.

Enema U holds its graduation ceremony in the intellectual center of the university, the football field.  This is Southern New Mexico in late May.  Nothing says you have earned a college degree better than sweltering under the relentless desert sun while dressed like a Sith Lord from the Medieval Ages.

The second form of solicitations I’m getting are from people who want me to go to Grad School, to enlist in the Armed Services, or to pay them to help me find a job.  I’m not terribly interested in grad school, as I’ve already been there and done that.  I’m willing to serve in the military, but doubt that I will get much further than that ‘date of birth’ question.  Ironically, if they did take me, I might be the only person in the US military who still has a draft card.

Somehow, I don’t think I need the services of a headhunter agency, either.  I really enjoyed teaching, but I don’t want to do it anymore, nor do I think that there are many corporations out there that desperately need the services of aging curmudgeon with a handful of Liberal Arts degrees.  With degrees in History, Anthropology, and Art History, the only place I’m qualified to work is in Ancient Greece.

But, one such organization caught my eye:  the one that promised to help me develop my “diversity package”.  My first thought was that I was being recruited by the porn industry.

What is a diversity package?  How do I know if I have one?  And why would a corporation want to hire one?  Will I need those personal pronouns?