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Martha, the hired help is here! The hired—no? Undergraduates, you say? Well, then. Come in, come in! Make yourself comfortable. Admire our walnut paneling, our sumptuous rugs, our impressive portrait collection of pasty, unidentifiable friends of the College. Take a seat in one of our plush armchairs. A waiter will be by with champagne momentarily.

It pleases us immensely that you have responded so favorably to our electronic mail invitation. We must admit that we initially feared our recent decision to open our posh Quincy Street premises to students for a fee might be, well, misunderstood. Taken crassly, reduced to financial terms of the crudest sort. The term “desperate” may even have been thrown out—presumptuously, of course.

But why should not a Faculty Club admit students? Will not students one day assume the roles of professors and successful business professionals themselves? Is this not the ideal time to initiate them into the mysterious world of cutlery, fine wines, and so forth? The situation is what our banking friends so aptly call a “win-win”: you rub shoulders with graying dignitaries, we enjoy the presence of fresh-faced visitors and potential future donors. The logic, you must agree, is impeccable.

If you have finished with your drinks, shall we proceed to dinner? Tonight’s menu—lobster bisque, rosefish, hazelnut soufflé—will be prepared by our star chef Jean Luc, who trained for six years at Le Benardin julienning carrots and perfecting his flambé. What was that? No, unfortunately, at the present time we do not prepare beef tacos, though high demand may necessitate a reconsideration of our current bill of fare. It is possible, however, that ramen noodles al dente—a staple of your demographic, we hear—are currently available, though naturally an 18-percent surcharge will apply.

As we were saying, this decision to admit students is arguably our most significant change in policy since we granted women access to the main dining rooms in 1968. My, what a fuss that was! The Ladies’ Dining Room was pleasant enough, with ample space for their knitting circles, but—heh—you know how those Radcliffe women can be. We must admit, though, that their feminine touch lends a charming dash of domesticity to our proceedings. It can’t be all cigars and snooker all the time, you understand.

If it is not undue, might we remark on what interesting garments you have chosen to don this evening? In our day, business casual practically meant a three-piece suit. Well, it is true that cravats and waistcoats are only adopted now by a particular kind of man. But if you would just remove your Converse sneakers from the white linen—if you could just—ahh, here is the bill.

Sign right there, right by the X; yes, there we go. Scented towels and after-dinner mints are available in the bathroom just down the hall. The coatroom is to your left, from which you may reclaim your belongings for a mere $25 service fee. Thank you very much. We hope you have enjoyed your glimpse of our values, the quality of service and New England virtue we strive to embody. Incidentally, have we mentioned our reduced membership fee for students? Good evening sirs, mademoiselles. Good evening. We hope to see you again soon.


Jessica A. Sequeira ’11, a Crimson associate editorial editor, is a social studies concentrator in Winthrop House.