Published November 10, 2010

You exact revenge on the Alumni Association

You give Wright State University an opportunity to give back
You give Wright State University an opportunity to give back

You decide to take a stand against Wright State University’s Alumni Association for their crass demands for money. You sip your morning coffee and do a cursory Google search for the WSU Alumni Association site. You find it and study its language so as to imitate their strategy well. You read a particular disquieting passage: “The Wright State Alumni Association offers exciting outings, the chance to meet new people and an opportunity to give back.”

Shocked, you nearly spit your coffee everywhere, but luckily you are able to merely spew a few tablespoons into your lap. You are outraged at the Alumni Association’s impudent behavior, especially the arrogant insinuation that you have done nothing but take from Wright State University.

You continue reading. You find another noteworthy passage, “Our campus is built on a solid foundation of bricks, stone, mortar—and people.” That dash says a lot. It says, “Please excuse our alumni from combining figurative and literal speech willy nilly.” They go on to insist that the aforementioned bricks are a beloved landmark. “In the way that the Berlin wall is a beloved landmark,” you suppose.

You look to the site’s navigation menu and find, “Who Are We?” You click on it hoping to find a “How Dare We!” section but to no avail. You read instead from the benefits of membership, such as they may be. There you find that Wright State is cahoots with Life Connection of Ohio. If it’s not tasteless enough that they’re going to ask the unemployed for money, they’re going to try to get your blood, bones, pancreas, or liver. The Alumni Association will scoop out your corneas so you can “give back” even if you are seemingly destitute.

You call the Alumni Association directly at (937) 775-2620. A woman answers: you politely begin the conversation thus, “Hello, my name is Luke Teaford. I just want to make sure you have my current address.”

She clacks at the keys and says, “I have 20 Anne Park, Sumter, South Carolina?”

“No, it’s actually 20 and a half,” you correct her, crucially.

“Will that be all, sir?”

No, that is not all. “As you may be aware, I worked hard for my degree,” you say. She agrees pleasantly enough. “And now I’d like to offer you this exciting opportunity to give back by mailing a $50 contribution to my home address.”

She becomes indignant as you might have expected. You feel less victorious than one might imagine because calling someone and asking for money in a cloying, condescending voice is disgusting, even if done in an arch manner.

You spend the rest of the day writing a children’s book. You are going to a social function at Emily’s school tonight. To avoid the embarrassment of being unemployed you will pretend to have a job, casually dropping your title now and again. You just need to get your story straight.

You decide to: