Oxford: Business as Usual

Oxford is a quiet place on Christmas Day. I cycled leisurely through a deserted town, pleased at the total absence of taxis and busses that usually speed through Queen Street. The Christmas lights that adorned the city center were turned off for no one was there to appreciate them. Even the mannequins stood naked in the shops, taking a day off from posing in the latest fashions. I was on my way to help cook a goose for Christmas dinner, in traditional English style, when I had a flashback in reverse-chronological order of the most recent three months of my life.

I immediately shuddered at the thought of the exams which just passed. Six in one week! What a marathon! They were unpleasant at best, kind of like someone peppering you with an automatic rubber band shooter while you’re standing naked. They sting for a moment but don’t do lasting damage. I quickly banished the thought from my mind (both the exams and me naked on Queen Street in January).

Who could forget the penguins – the South African Jackass Penguins – at the Oxford Union Ball? There they stood, staring at the men in tuxes and women in black gowns, and posing for the steady flashes of cameras. They were the perfect complement to the fire jugglers under the snow blowers and the chocolate fountain next to Santa Claus. If you could not guess, the theme of the Ball was “Fire & Ice”. To top it all off, there was free champagne, complimentary overcooked hamburgers and all-you-can-eat ketchup.

I see myself putting on my Sunday best to attend formal dinners at Hall. The evening starts with Evensongs with our chapel choir in our 15th century chapel. We move to a candlelit hall decorated with portraits of royalty and stained glass windows. Finally, we retire to the common room for coffee and biscuits.

I remember filling out a survey. I don’t recall exactly what it is for because it was the fifth survey of the week. Maybe it was for improvements in the graduate student website. Perhaps it was requesting feedback on whether to hold the end-of-term dinner on a Thursday or Friday. Or was it for ways to improve the admission process for USA based applicants? Ahh, now I remember: it was a survey asking if electing separate slates of officers for class rep, student rep and alumni rep who each sent around their own surveys were meeting all of my needs and expectations at the business school.

Then we had the real March of the Penguins. All of us new admits, dressed in full academic regalia, a sub-fusc of a black suit, white bow tie and a scholar’s gown and cap, marched off to have our photo taken as part of the matriculation ceremony. In most schools, one dresses in academic regalia to get out of the place. At Oxford, one has to dress up just to enter. Plus, you also have to dress up for exams. And certain formal Balls. And the Sexy Sub-Fusc party (or rather, that is more of dressing less than dressing up).

So I finally arrived at my college, looking for the Porter’s lodge to pick up the key to my room. I wander around the grounds, walking through medieval cloisters and into the meadows. Pretty soon the Magdalen tower becomes a distant view, behind the deer and the trees. The flowers are in their final bloom of the season. I find my room and I make myself comfortable with a hot cup of tea. I breathe a sigh of relief. I have arrived and I was full of excitement in anticipation of the adventures that were to come.