Ever found yourself in the world-renowned Carlson School of Management wondering exactly where and when you crossed over into this new planet where corporate terms and uncomfortable heel clicks abound? Well, I have, and let me say it was certainly an eye opener. IâÄôm not a Carlson student, but I am a University of Minnesota student and I consider it my right and duty to investigate all areas of my campus with the hopes of better understanding this institution, as well as the people in it. I first stumbled upon Carlson while on a personal exhibition to scavenge out new study spots. The result: clumps of people in suits and, honest to god, real, professional suitcases discussing something that I couldnâÄôt possibly try to reiterate. As I quickly glanced around the hall, I could immediately sense how out of place I was. It wasnâÄôt because of how I looked, but how I didnâÄôt look. I know that sounded contradictory, so let me try to make sense out of it. I wasnâÄôt like them. I wasnâÄôt wearing a suit, and my shoes werenâÄôt making any noises when I walked. Soon the awkwardness got to me, so I rushed to the nearest exit. Ashamed of my actions, I went back the following day with an open mind, ready to seek understanding. So here I was again with my flat, no-noise shoes, looking for an approachable person to casually start a conversation with. To my disappointment, I found no one. But why is that? What is it about CarlsonâÄôs atmosphere (because I certainly doubt itâÄôs the people) that is so stuffy? Now, I know IâÄôm quite possibly offending a Carlson student or two, but how about they do a little experiment: go over to the East Bank and see if IâÄôm exaggerating. I guarantee somewhere along the way youâÄôll find laughter, joy and fun, while at the same time getting valuable education. Faduma Abdulle University undergraduate student