Roxy’s never really been one for graduating (who would want to leave this college paradise of palm trees, hot TAs and dance floor makeouts?), but she knows some of you will be moving on come end of spring quarter – and she wants to make sure, in the search for that perfect job, you maximize your action as well as your assets.
Everyone reading this column has had a dispute with another person. Some of them are serious — maybe your ex won’t pay child support — while some are slightly less so, such as a confrontation with a roommate who whistles constantly or a housemate who hoards the Doritos (you know who you are). Unfortunately for us, conflicts are everywhere. Although some people — myself excluded — can apparently resolve these conflicts in mature, calm ways, even the most level-headed people sometimes need outside intervention to deal with the big stuff. In this lawsuit-happy culture, our first instinct when things don’t go our way is often to take legal action. But lawsuits are expensive and require the kind of time and money most Americans simply don’t have in this economy.
And that is where this week’s topic, the professional mediator, steps in.
Exactly one week ago, the class of 2012 traded jeans for pencil skirts or slacks and flip-flops for high heels or loafers in preparation for the first milestone of the Cardinal Recruiting Calendar: the Fall Career Fair. Hundreds of potential employers swarmed White Plaza, each booth carefully packaged in plastic wrap to ward off unexpected showers. It’s a cruel twist of fate, really: one minute, you’re a happy-go-lucky undergraduate who’s guaranteed an outlet for anything you want to do on campus (Stanford clubs plead with you to join at the Activities Fair). The next thing, the tables have turned: suddenly, all the people behind the booths hold your future in their hands. Tell us why we need you, they ask.
If you ever go out for a meal with me, a bit of fair warning: you might want to bring something to do for the first 10 minutes of the meal. Like a crossword puzzle. Or homework. From the minute that I get a menu to when the waiter comes by to take the order, I can be a pretty terrible dining companion, poring over the menu like I’m studying for a midterm.
Stanford law school grads do not seem to have the same trouble in finding jobs as their peers do
Rainy days persistently remind me of my gorgeous, enormous umbrella that disappeared last winter at the Stanford Bookstore/Wilbur Dining. And don’t get me started on the locational mystery of well-loved pens I lent out in high school, because I’m still wondering…