There are many reasons people choose to go to Penn, most of which are prominently displayed in a glossy catalogue which is given, upon request, to high schoolers. Just look at the pretty pictures: see Spot work hard at the tight-knit college campus (see photo-op under stained glass at Fisher Fine Arts) and see Spot party hard in the urban hustle and bustle (see article on "The Great Historical Tradition of Smoke's"). It's true that these big images are impressive, but what's most important is the small print: go to Penn and go places. America does not have a monarchical system, but the patronage of the Ivy League is as close as you can get -- a Court of Versailles, minus the gray wigs and plus Burberry jackets. I wondered: if meritocracy is a na‹ve dream, and I want to be someone, then is the logical conclusion a one-way ticket on Connection Mention?
And speaking of connections, I had made a powerful one with Ben Franklinstein. We met during Happy Hour in LT's -- Penn's prime mingling spot, a watering hole for the up-and-coming movers and shakers. Ben was a hot History major with a majorly hot ass. I looked into his green eyes, which sparkled with the gleam of ambition, and I thought to myself: I wouldn't mind if this guy would up-and-come in me.
Over a bottle of pinot grigio and a plate of chicken fingers and many furtive glances, I learned of his impressive resume: honors student, member of a prestigious fraternity, a position on the UA and dreams of political office. He looked as good on paper as he did in his pressed Brooks Brothers slacks. Ben knew how to work the system. I introduced him to my friends and they all loved him, just as everyone did. He even stopped on Walnut to kiss babies and Handy Andy.
This boy knew the formula to win votes and I thought to myself: had Ben won my vote? In this world where single gals are forced to research the candidates, did Ben suit my interests best? It could've been his Polo Sport cologne -- but Ben's aroma was intoxicating. He smelled as crisp as a wedding announcement in the New York Times, as strong as a presidential veto on abortion rights and as sexy as Pat Buchanan. Suddenly it hit me like a bullet from Charles Heston's gun: I could sleep my way to the top. Ben's political aspirations were like a drug: I had to have his power. Once president (after a successful tenure in the UA and then governor of his home state of South Carolina), maybe he could clear off a natural wildlife preserve and make me my Barbie Dream House.
He seemed like a perfect candidate. I faxed a mental note to the Human Resources Department within my head and made an executive decision to offer him the position of new boyfriend upon successful completion of the mandatory training period -- a veritable Electric Slide of instructions (to the left, to the left, to the right, now slide, c'mon, slide). I finally decided to give him the promotion to my bed, and he would have to supply the raise. With his assertive kisses, Ben did not disappoint. Things progressed quickly, proving that he was a man of action. But then suddenly he left the room and came back dressed in a tiger outfit.
"Do you know what would be really hot? If you put on this Quaker outfit and spanked me with this whip? Just a few lashes and berate me for losing the game. You could yell 'Puck Frinceton' and then fuck me?"
I looked at his boy, purring in his tiger-stripes, and I thought: nuck fo! I wanted to run to the farthest place possible. Even a ranch on Montana and a trailer park full of ammunition was sounding good to me at that moment. Ben had offered me the whip of power and he was mine to dominate but somehow I couldn't rally my school pride. I had seen the system at firsthand and the system was pathetic. I thought to myself: is this the pinnacle of power, a cowering tiger looking for someone to give him welting stripes? I couldn't accept his party's platform. So I kicked him to the street to start afresh on a new campaign -- starting on the grass -- roots of the curb. As for me, the Independent Party seemed like a much better fit, at least for the time being.
