Our society admires "doers" and frowns on dawdlers. To succeed, you must appear as productive as possible. During the semester, strict school deadlines force productivity upon me - I work hard for good grades. I have no time for outside activities - it's a convincing picture. Nobody would guess that when I reach my maximum activity level, I am, in fact, procrastinating on a grand scale. It's the vacation that finds me out. The fact is that involvement in one area creates the perfect excuse for total stagnation in others. For example, during school I don't write letters, cook elaborately, or clean house more than sketchily - I'm far too busy. Now I've had access to a whole unstructured summer, and guess what; I still haven't done those things - I can't be bothered. So sue me. But really, it's not my fault. The culprit is my irrepressible alter ego: Ms. Lazy.
Maybe you aren't familiar with the story of Mr. Lazy, the appealing personification of sloth in Roger Hargreaves' "Mr. Men" series. I quote: "Mr. Lazy lives in Sleepyland, which is a very lazylooking and sleepylike place." Like me in the vacation, Mr. Lazy sleeps late. Pink and benign, like a relaxed jellybean, he takes lengthy naps in the garden of Yawn Cottage. His clock is divided into just four l-o-n-g hours, accommodating a blissfully leisurely schedule. Then - "WAKEUPWAKEUPWAKEUP." You guessed it; it couldn't last.
Enter two objectionably active characters named Mr. Bustle and Mr. Busy. They chivvy the inoffensive Mr. Lazy into DOING stuff - "chopping and making and cleaning and getting and polishing and washing and dusting and cutting and cooking and mending ..."
I know Bustle and Busy. So do you. The UA faculty and the workplace abound with them. Catch Mr. Lazy as he runs around under their direction, and you'd never suspect his real nature. You'd employ him like a shot. Now we approach the heart of the matter. When I graduate next year, hopefully with my GPA relatively intact, what are prospective employers going to look at - the schooltime me or the vacation me?
Type A's spend their vacation doing things, like leading rafting expeditions on the Colorado River. "A" stands for Ants in the Pants. Anxious to get Ahead. All-American Activity. Budding Bustles volunteer as camp counselors for groups like 4-H Club. Some, like the teenager who recently encountered a hostile bear on Mount Lemmon, even endanger their lives in the process. I admire these people. I envy their built-in drive. Even when faced with overwhelming odds, they don't give up. Their tendencies work with them, not against them. Their mailboxes will be bulging with job offers the moment they graduate.
"Come now," you other laid-back Type B's plead. "I get good grades. That's what counts. I've earned my vegging-out time." Maybe so. But those corporations out there might not agree 100 percent.
Jill O'Rourke is the personnel assistant for Cella Barr Associates, a Tucson engineering company.
"Suppose," I asked her, "two equally qualified grads apply for the same job; could those vacation activities tip the scale in favor of Applicant "A"? She had little doubt. The one whose leisure pursuits proclaimed him/her a go-getter would win the day, "not the one who's been sitting in a closet the whole time."
Well, I wouldn't call Breakers Water Park or the movie theater a closet, exactly, but although they did add to my summer enjoyment, I admit they wouldn't look too good on my resume. Okay, I resolve that next summer I really will try for that internship.
In the meantime, the fall semester approaches. Professor Shelton will soon be reminding me of all my defects as a writer. Together with yet unknown professors in math and German, he will provide the deadlines and structure my vacillating Ms. Lazy doppelgłnger craves. I'm unlikely to succeed in sleeping through Aug. 22. I know the first thing all those instructors are going to say. "WAKEUPWAKEUPWAKEUP."
Kaye Patchett is a creative writing senior with a minor in procrastination.