The other day in my journalism class, my teacher, Ms. Tyler read my class a story. It was about a lady named Miss Rumphius, whose grandfather had told her to do three things before she died: travel to faraway places, live by the sea in her old age, and contribute something to make the world more beautiful.
Despite the fact it was a cheap ploy to get my fellow classmates and I to contribute our time and writing to next semester's college newspaper, the story struck a chord within me. What would be my contribution to the world? I wasnt too concerned about the traveling and living by the sea since I had a whole lifetime to accomplish those tasks, so I figured I'd settle on my worldly contribution. That's when a dark cloud settled over my computer. As I checked my email, I noticed one from Josh Levin, I didnt get the Slate Internship.
Thank you very much for applying for our summer internship. I’m sorry to say that we’re going to be hiring someone else for the position. I appreciate the time and effort you put into the application and thank you for your patience. Best of luck in the future, and I encourage you to contact me again if you have a story contribution that you think might work for Slate.
Best, Josh
That was one contribution I had no intention of contributing to. Devastated, I felt the only thing I could do was to console myself with endless sugar-coated crap, so I headed to the campus cafeteria. That's when I met Mary, a talent scout who was looking for students to model for the cover of a game/puzzle box. It wasnt a major product, just a small toy that would be made here in town and sold at the next college fundraiser. My crushed feeling were somewhat mollified, and so I agreed to do it. It would be a contribution to my school!
I felt so satisfied, I decided to make more contributions. But what? What else could I possibly give to the world? What else could I put out there that would make me a part of a dialouge?
Later on that week, on Thursday, as I considered my contribution options, one of my fellow math classmates invited me to a frat party. Jason had been struggling in class for a while, and felt the only proper contribution he could make to the people who helped him would be to invite them to get drunk.
True it was a small contribution, but it was one that led to a big party. It was your average college mixer: ten percent jock, ten percent slacker, and jello shots with with way more than ten percent alcohol. As I made the rounds, before I committed to a location, Jason saw me and invited me to the whipping room.
ME: A whipping room?
JASON: Yeah.
ME: For like eggs and butter?
JASON: Um, ok.
ME: Yeah, I guess. I didnt have anything to eat all day. Where is it at?
JASON: It's down the hallway to the left.
Turns out the room served more than breakfast. Two asian ladies in black leather dominatrix outfits and a guy in a leather thong and mask, escorted the party-goers to a sexual expression of being whipped like a horse. Wa-cha! It was totally humiliating, but like a car accident, I couldnt look away. The masochist students obviously enjoyed the crop but I wasnt drunk enough to enjoy that crap, so I left the room.
An hour later, Mistress Ana, one of the ladies who used and abused the crop, came out from the whipping room for a drink.
ANA: So, have you been whipped yet?
ME: No.
ANA: Why? You should try it!
ME: Yeah, I dont think so. I never really got off painful fetishes.
ANA: Pain? It's not pain. It's healthy fun! Plus, if I can make those people happy, then I'm happy.
Apparently Mistress Ana's contribution to the world was painful pleasure. It was a weird contribution, but it made people happy. And it got me thinking. Would my modeling contribution make others happy or just me? And if it was just me that would be happy, wasnt that contribution be considered selfish? And what if the game turned out to be super lame, like a 9 piece puzzle? What kind of contribution to the world would that be...me sitting at a desk, struggling to put together a puzzle?
Despite the fact it was a cheap ploy to get my fellow classmates and I to contribute our time and writing to next semester's college newspaper, the story struck a chord within me. What would be my contribution to the world? I wasnt too concerned about the traveling and living by the sea since I had a whole lifetime to accomplish those tasks, so I figured I'd settle on my worldly contribution. That's when a dark cloud settled over my computer. As I checked my email, I noticed one from Josh Levin, I didnt get the Slate Internship.
Thank you very much for applying for our summer internship. I’m sorry to say that we’re going to be hiring someone else for the position. I appreciate the time and effort you put into the application and thank you for your patience. Best of luck in the future, and I encourage you to contact me again if you have a story contribution that you think might work for Slate.
Best, Josh
That was one contribution I had no intention of contributing to. Devastated, I felt the only thing I could do was to console myself with endless sugar-coated crap, so I headed to the campus cafeteria. That's when I met Mary, a talent scout who was looking for students to model for the cover of a game/puzzle box. It wasnt a major product, just a small toy that would be made here in town and sold at the next college fundraiser. My crushed feeling were somewhat mollified, and so I agreed to do it. It would be a contribution to my school!
I felt so satisfied, I decided to make more contributions. But what? What else could I possibly give to the world? What else could I put out there that would make me a part of a dialouge?
Later on that week, on Thursday, as I considered my contribution options, one of my fellow math classmates invited me to a frat party. Jason had been struggling in class for a while, and felt the only proper contribution he could make to the people who helped him would be to invite them to get drunk.
True it was a small contribution, but it was one that led to a big party. It was your average college mixer: ten percent jock, ten percent slacker, and jello shots with with way more than ten percent alcohol. As I made the rounds, before I committed to a location, Jason saw me and invited me to the whipping room.
ME: A whipping room?
JASON: Yeah.
ME: For like eggs and butter?
JASON: Um, ok.
ME: Yeah, I guess. I didnt have anything to eat all day. Where is it at?
JASON: It's down the hallway to the left.
Turns out the room served more than breakfast. Two asian ladies in black leather dominatrix outfits and a guy in a leather thong and mask, escorted the party-goers to a sexual expression of being whipped like a horse. Wa-cha! It was totally humiliating, but like a car accident, I couldnt look away. The masochist students obviously enjoyed the crop but I wasnt drunk enough to enjoy that crap, so I left the room.
An hour later, Mistress Ana, one of the ladies who used and abused the crop, came out from the whipping room for a drink.
ANA: So, have you been whipped yet?
ME: No.
ANA: Why? You should try it!
ME: Yeah, I dont think so. I never really got off painful fetishes.
ANA: Pain? It's not pain. It's healthy fun! Plus, if I can make those people happy, then I'm happy.
Apparently Mistress Ana's contribution to the world was painful pleasure. It was a weird contribution, but it made people happy. And it got me thinking. Would my modeling contribution make others happy or just me? And if it was just me that would be happy, wasnt that contribution be considered selfish? And what if the game turned out to be super lame, like a 9 piece puzzle? What kind of contribution to the world would that be...me sitting at a desk, struggling to put together a puzzle?
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