Hayfever in Capitalism's Garden of Eden

SOME miscalculating psychiatrists performed a series of tests in the 1960s to discover which hue of color relieved feelings of fear and anxiety. After the study found that students would feel "more comfortable" if their exam books were a soft, pale blue, universities and high schools began to buy the now infamous "blue books."

The psychological theory, however, failed for the simple reason that now all students equate those blue books with exams, and exams with frustration, anxiety and fear. Those ugly, lined, short pages loosely pressed together with weak staples in that putrid blue color remind us all of what we want to forget--exams.

Psychological appeasement just doesn't work. Any item or program meant to placate uneasiness will inevitably exacerbate it.

So, it isn't just blue books that get to me. It's innocent looking brick houses. I do not mean to offend those who work so hard there to make it a comfortable and practical utility on campus. I know that it's meant to soothe panic about our future.

It's just that, well, I hate OCS.

There, I said it. The Office of Career Services is supposed to help in your endless search for a summer job and career. Learn how to write a resume, have a practice interview, meet corporate investment bankers.

Do I care? Yes, and that's the problem. OCS reminds me of how disorganized I am. It makes me question my plans.

What will I do this summer? Where will I be? Who will I live with? What will I wear? Who will I marry? Will I want to keep my last name? When will I retire? Will I be rich, or famous, or both, or neither? What will I do with the rest of my life?

LODGED near a final club and the MAC, OCS is a simple brick house with a small, white sign leading unassuming students to a couple of hours of hell. The whole concept is a misnomer. Office? When I walk in there is a welcoming staff member who points towards the different rooms in the building.

Career? I'm only looking for summer employment, so don't think I'm going to take this seriously. At least not yet.

Services? I really don't want any services, I just wan't a job to come simply and painlessly. I'm giving myself a time limit, too--I'm out of here by 11 a.m.

I browse through possible food relief programs in Africa. Despite the fact that I'd have to pay half my tuition to experience the toils, to live on the edge, to test my limits of compassion and public service, I'd also need to write five essays proving "Why are relief programs in Africa necessary?"

If you haven't noticed yet, it gets hot in Africa and vital greenery tends to lack sufficient fertilizer. Is that the right answer?

By the library, I see a sign heralding "Many, many, many more opportunities are available." I'm not looking for more opportunities; I only need one. I pull out eight binders on Public Sector jobs, but half the deadlines are already passed.

Who are these people who start planning for their summer in December? Who has already sent resumes and letters of recommendation? These people really ruin things for the rest of us.

I begin to sweat. There are 12 more binders and books on Public Sector jobs. Well, now at least I know in which field I won't be working.

So many binders. Where will I begin and when will I stop? At 1 p.m., I swear I'm leaving, but with each page there is another address, another interesting job or service that wouldn't hurt to try.

But as my list of cover letters and addresses grows, as the number of recommendations reaches triple digits, I fear for each subsequent page, each subsequent binder. I pray that there is some deadline, some stipulation that makes me unable to qualify for the job. Good, this one is for juniors. This one is for minorities. This one was due yesterday.

At 2 p.m. I see a binder on Archaeology. Although I've never really thought much about digging, it sounds intriquing. Oh, and here's one on Wine Tasting in Tibet, on safaris to study the mating habits of Brazilian butterflies, on the endless opportunities with Xerox Co.

OCS is capitalism's Garden of Eden, and I'm getting hayfever.

I see a friend dressed in one of those yuppie outfits. She's just had an interview. Interview, I yell, realizing that although summer is more than two months away, most people already have their fight schedules from Cambridge arranged. After the shock, I begin to envy them.

I miss those summers when nothing really mattered. I want to be booted off to camp by my parents and have them pick me up after a month. I want to take those family vacations in late August. I miss those precious times when everything was decided by others.

PERHAPS I'm blaming OCS for my own unwillingness to grow up and take the initiative, including organizing for this summer. It's so far away, isn't it? Tell me it is, because there are more than 80 pages of summer programs and addresses laying on my bedroom floor.

They whisper my name in the night, reminding me that time is ticking away. They yell, "the decision you make today will effect the rest of your life. The job you have this summer will open up opportunities in your career." A horrible figure appears in my dreams, laughing at me and ponting at my resume. It's a blank sheet of paper.

I call my parents the next day and tell them I might want to live at home this summer. They're thrilled, and I'm relieved. My mom says she'll plan a trip for August. And, maybe, just maybe, they'll send me to camp for a couple of weeks.