Exposing the perversion of Carlson

Just the other day, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes at the start of an 8 a.m. class, I was hit with the first real awakening or eye-opener I’ve had since I started school here. Everyone experiences this at one point or another; it’s just a matter of what will inspire such moments of clarity. I’ll never forget that day or the words that came drooling and slobbering out of the mouth of that wild, ravenous professor, forcing me to gag and choke.
“And why are we going into business? To make money! A lot of money!”
Those words slapped me hard across the face and have resonated in my ears ever since, like one of those irritating humming noises that drive good people to the brink of insanity. It was at this moment that it also occurred to me that it wasn’t just those words or even that professor, but the entire seething culture and mindset at the Carlson School of Management that has become the whiny little kid upon this campus.
All it takes is one short, mistaken stumble into the wrong area of that wretched building business students call home, and you’ll soon realize that this is not the University of Minnesota that most of you have come to know and love. This is not the place they intended to show you when you first came to visit the University, for it has become merely a symbol of the greed and insincerity that is so shocking to young recruits that they convince themselves Winona State probably has everything they’re looking for in a college.
If some of you haven’t taken that cursed misstep, allow me to explain what exactly entails a day at the CSOM monstrosity. Every day, minus the runway and the cameras, there is a fashion show that is judged and scored by every other person passing through the halls. Certainly, Abercrombie and Fitch need not squander their advertising dollars on this market.
And if you listen closely to these awkward mannequins who have somehow sprung to life, you might even be lucky enough to hear them jabbering about the growth of their stock portfolio as they stare blankly at the overly unnecessary stock ticker hanging in the main atrium.
I also highly suggest that you avoid eating or being tempted to partake in the University Dining Services cafeteria in the basement, as it seems there is already an ample amount of sickness floating in the air.
All this, and we haven’t even touched upon the depravity of the classes at CSOM. Not that I was going to let them off easily — it’s just that I’m one of those sentimental kind of guys. Even as I was blistering with my pen, sketching out the rough copy of this article under cover and duress in a marketing class, I couldn’t help but feel appalled by the topic of that moment — not stocks, not annuities, not even any other form of that evil culprit money that seems to string these people along.
Today, in a class that, excluding the two lonely Asian women in the front row, was comprised solely of a homogenous Caucasian crowd, they were discussing the buying behavior of African-Americans and Hispanics. Believe me, it was much worse than it sounds.
There I was, attempting to conceal my disgust for their talk as these highly educated “peers” of mine rattled off characteristics that they feel could be used in a successful marketing attempt to lure in the apparently susceptible minorities of this country. The lists looked liked they could have come straight from a dictionary of stereotypes in this country: African-Americans, proud of culture, urban, brand conscious, church; Hispanics, family/children oriented, live!, play, present-minded. Is this what these “students” are really paying for? Mothers, don’t let your children go into the world of business!
That’s enough of my ranting for now. I’m sure any of you who haven’t been there understand what it must be like now (although I didn’t even touch upon the wasteland of trees that is better known as the Undergraduate Computer Lab; ask anyone who knows, and they’ll tell you the horror stories).
So if you ever happen to pass by this building where all these sins are taking place, remember to stop and say a little thank you, maybe to the College of Liberal Arts, Institute of Technology or any of the other colleges on our campus. It’s your choice. Just be glad it wasn’t you who was stricken to fester in that godforsaken place we call the Carlson School of Management.

Tim Neuenschwander is a marketing senior the Carlson School of Management. He welcomes comments at [email protected] Send letters to [email protected]