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8B WednesdayNovember 23, 20 The Statement
PERSONALSTATEMENT
SWEDISH MEATBALLS
JOB WITH THOUGHTS OF HOM E
BY MARISA WINTER
ents. It t
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across th
or hearr
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the meat
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5:01 p.m. "Hop on the phones.
Do a great job. Raise lots of money.
Sound enthusiastic." Greeting me
with those simple lines, managers
start each night shift of the semes-
ter. At the Michigan Telefund, I call
alumni to fundraise on behalf of the
Office of Development. I see these
managerial words as nourishment,
a protein providing some energy for
the work before us.
On this Saturday evening at the
Telefund, I sit in a damp room on
the second floor of our building.
The odor of the room is a mixture
of moldy old furniture with a mask-
ing hint of women's 1970s signature
cologne. I sign onto my computer,
and a long list of prospects appears
on the screen. My earpiece headset
sits annoyingly against my temples.
I prepare for the next four hours
ahead.
While on the phones, we fol-
low a script: "Hello, my name is
_" etc. The reminder,
listen and respond, is printed in
bold at the end, as though we don't
know how a conversation works. I
have willingly become an expert on
building a shallow relationship with
each alumni on the other end of the
line; we must always be ina positive
mood with clear, enunciated vowels
and professional voices.
When asking for money from
SOCIAL MEDIA
From Page 7B
Internal networks are attractive
to big companies because they are
only accessible to employees and can
be integrated with other work tools.
For example, employees who are col-
laborating on a document can track
the progress of their co-workers and
send an instant message within the
platform of the document.
The University uses an internal
socialnetwork operatedbyYammer,
a social networking site made for
enterprises.
Even Steinerman, who said he
considers himself proficient in social
media, only discovered these inter-
nal networks through his intern-
these prospects, my hands moisten
systematically at that same point
during each call. Two minutes in,
I analyze my asking strategy. I find
myself laughing occasionally just to
lighten the mood. Sometimes, there
is laughter in response. I can sense
their smile by the tone of their voic-
es. It's predictable that those smil-
ing types will end up offering the
school some money in the end. With
less pleasant people, I silently wish
to send them a script with bolded
letters. Listen and Respond.
Between calls, and despite the
ringing in my headset, I strain to
listen to the student callers sitting
around me. Carolyn finds a seat
next to me at every shift; we make
a daily effort to build our rapport
as friends. She continues her story
about the mess her roommates left
in the fridge last week. Some days I
feel as though I'm interviewing her
rather than just talking with her.
I feel my body getting tense when
a prospect actually picks up the call
instead of leaving the answering
machine. Even though I can recite
my script with ease, I look over it
every night. I tell these alumni my
perspective. I force energy into
each sentence. I discuss liberal arts
majors and our hopeful, lifelong
dreams of a career over and over.
They respect my words. I bask in
ship with Nationwide Insurance last
summer.
Networks created exclusively for
business purposes within a given
institution are only just emerging
and represent the future of social
media applications.
The University has also placed
an emphasis on this type of social
media. In fall 2008, it introduced
informatics, a new academic major
offered through LSA, the School of
Information and the College of Engi-
neering.
Through this program, students
like Steinerman - who will gradu-
ate with a degree in informatics -
"learn to critically analyze various
approaches to processing informa-
tion and develop skills to design,
implement, and evaluate the next
my 10 minutes of authority, but my all the te
preference would be to only hear ing, rem
their advice. I can smell someone's ing, my h
dinner heating up in the break I grip
room - some sort of meat. My in frust
stomach's voice becomes the loud- pect. He
"I just need to waste those
minutes, but at other points I
relish each minute I have."
est in my head. I feel weakened by positive
the flavors in the air, but our break only way
doesn't come for another half hour. Though
I can't walk around the room or hours to
rest my voice; I am locked to my how I f
chair. Name after name - Johnson, Mrs. Mi
Huang, Miller - the lists of pros- my mom
pects scroll down my screen. When
I sit thinking about a time I was living in
home one weekend. I came down- myself t
stairs, and my mom was already Al descr
moving about the kitchen in her cot- mild bre
ton-blend apron. It wasn't Thanks- coast, I
giving or the day before someone's I was sit
birthday, but I knew what she was water. C
making. There was a faint smell of some, lik
fleshy, raw meat. I have always want- Wojciecl
ed to learn to make those meatballs as they f
with her. I walked down into our glad to h
kitchen and saw layers. There were a nasally
layers of food, utensils and recipes five min
liningthe countertop. nunciati:
I began to compile the ingredi- wonderi
generation of information technolo-
gy tools," accordingto the program's
website.
One of the four subsections of the
concentration is "social computing,"
which prepares students to analyze
existing social media platforms,
know what consumers want and
learnhowto create newsocial media
networks.
In terms of getting involved in
the social media surge, Steinerman
thinks it's now or never.
"We're at this point where we're
going to define how people com-
municate in the future," Steinerman
said. "This is the time to get involved
in it because what you do now is
going to be what our kids use in 20
years ... it's at this evolutionary point
in communication."
akes painstaking effort and
handiwork to form each one.
n was all they demanded
. I looked back and forth
he kitchen and couldn't see
my mom. I combined all of
Singredients before adding
. Intricately forming dozens
I covered the meat masses
ed them in the sauce. After
sring, mixing, melting, add-
oving, weighing and shap-
ands began to throb.
the mouse of my computer
ration at my current pros-
e tells me how unsatisfied
he is with the Uni-
versity and how
upset he is that I
called. He doesn't
appreciate me or
my plea for money.
My energy and
tone aren't enough. My
y of escape is the restroom.
I wish I could use those
call my mom and tell her
elt each day, Mrs. Miller,
lne and Mrs. Andrews are
ns for now.
I am given a list of people
southern Florida, I bring
here. When a man named
ibed the feel of the misty,
eze blanketing the eastern
wasn't on the calling floor.
ting next to him before the
ertainly the last names of
ke Rothschildmanheim and
howskiwojec, give me relief
lash across my screen. I am
ear Carolyn asshe interjects
snort of laughter. We spend
utes figuring out the pro-
on and another five minutes
ng where these people came
from.
I just need to waste those min-
utes, but at other points I relish
each minute I have. I wonder if I
am making the most of each call
for myself. I ask a member of the
2009 class what he thinks of my
accounting class, a lady from 2002
what her advice is on a topic for my
English paper and someone from
1970, if graduate school is worth
the years.
My lack of sleep is evident as I
surrender to my slipping eyelids. I
need to maintain my voice, but oth-
erwise, who could tell? My stomach
feels like an empty cave of echoing
voices. I find myself becoming more
and more hypersensitive, apolo-
getic, polite and respectful with
each new prospect. The repetition
of my words echoes in my mind as I
approach the end of my shift. It has
become a routine with the start, the
grueling and repetitive middle, and
then the final end at 9:01.
9:02 p.m. Iam walking back to my
room; I feel my stomach and think
back to being in the kitchen. As I
prepare each ingredientonebyone, I
realize how the oven would so easily
yield my desired results. I call out for
my mom, but there is no response.
The recipe for these meatballs is
basic; I need sustenance and that's
all that matters. I abuse the whisk-
ing utensils as I compile, mix and
prepare the mixture in half an hour.
I force each ball together between
my palms. My stomach aches rest-
lessly with hunger; I swing open the
oven door. My mom's hand seizes
mine. "Slow down," she says in a
gentle voice.
- Marisa Winter is an LSA senior.
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