Today, I sat in a room with about twenty BYU-Idaho students and two professors, each student over-dressed and under relaxed (the men clean shaven, of course). Five Nielsen employees, all graduates of BYU-related schools (including me), sat on a panel and answered questions. After much discussion about TV ratings, technology, sample science, and other hoopla, a homely looking girl spoke. I think her name was Emma.
“What is your typical day like?” she said.
The most senior of the BYU-related Nielsen employees turned to me. “Chase, why don’t you take this one,” he said. My soul warmed with the thought of shocking these rigid Mormons and their professors with the truth about Nielsen. My lips turned up on one side, and I tried to hide the Machiavellianism in my eyes.
“Oh dear,” I said, “where do I start …”
I paused, looked at each student, brought my hand to my scruffy face, and looked into Bro. Warnick’s eyes. It was only two years ago when I sat in his Media Management class. He was regularly tardy and many times never showed up at all. The course curriculum was eerily similar to what I do now at work—nothing. He trained me well. At the conclusion of the semester, he asked each student to meet with him privately. I was called into his office. Said he, “Chase, I need to apologize. This class was unorganized this semester, but I know you still learned a lot. Because we didn’t have any graded assignments, I can only grade you on what I feel you deserve … B minus.” I disagreed and debated. Twenty minutes later, I left his office with an A. I made this private conversation public to my classmates. Suddenly, students were lining up at his office door. He did not mutter one audible word to me in New York City, but his eyes spoke.
“… while I do have some busy days, I spend the majority of my time—”
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