As soon as Harriet entered the building, she headed to the seventh floor. Mr. Joseph King was rumored to take a late lunch every day between 2:20 pm and 3:15 pm—a time when he thought he could eat in peace. He almost always ate his Spam sandwiches slathered with sriracha mayo on two English muffins, on the observatory floor of the Harvard University Science Center. This was the only tranquil time he had during admissions season.
Joe was halfway through his lunch when he spied an anxious young woman walking straight toward him. He recognized the look. She had a fixed stare that she thought made her look confident—eyes wide and shoulders back, but her breathing gave her away; it vacillated between too quick and too long. She was holding a printout of a rejection letter. Joe looked around for a way to make a speedy retreat, but she was too fast.
“Mr. King, my name is Harriet Aycock. I just received my condolence letter from your department, but I want you to know that you can’t kill my future at Harvard.” She reached into her large messenger bag, pulled out a letter, and handed it to Mr. King.
Mr. King accepted the letter and glanced down at it.
“This letter informs you that I am officially rejecting your rejection. I was going to go through the appeal process, but after careful consideration, I decided that was not the most expedient approach.”
Mr. King had only 3 years, 8 months, and 22 days until he could retire. “Miss Aycock, I shouldn’t have to tell a bright young woman like yourself that this is not how we do things at Harvard. Also, many other fine institutions would pave the way for a successful future.”
“Mr. King, do you think you are the only one to reject me? I had to chuckle at your naivety. A number of high-status institutions have rejected me, so you are not special, but you are lucky in that I have chosen to reject your rejection.”
Harriet sat uncomfortably close to Mr. King. Her long ulster overcoat was unbuttoned, and a gentle breeze blew back the center flaps. As Mr. King looked more closely at her coat—or, more specifically, what was under her coat—he noticed a detailed leather holster, partially camouflaging what appeared to be multiple knives and a small can of red paint.
Harriet stared into Mr. King’s eyes. “I’m embracing the motto: Never take no for an answer! At first, I thought this was just good dating advice, but I now see it can be applied to many situations.” Harriet leaned in. “Can I ask you something?” Who was Mr. King to say no, so he nodded his assent.
“I hear Go Crimson all the time. Is a color one of your mascots? This may have been the best you could do in 1875, but we live in a different era now, Mr. King. And don’t get me started about your ridiculous mascot choices since then. First, a Puritan minister, and more recently, a turkey—the dumbest bird ever. This is just one of the many reasons I am rejecting your rejection. All that brain power led to a turkey. I’m shaking my head in consternation. You obviously need me.”
“Well, that’s really outside of my domain.”
“It doesn’t have to be. You are allowed to reject stuff too. Let’s give The Crimson an update. Now just go with me on this. What if we create a club quietly known as The Crimson Bloods? We could set up internet sports gambling for collegiate games. I can see to it that Yale’s best pitcher ingests psilocybin in his mushroom omelet two hours before he’s called to the mound.”
Mr. King started choking on the last bite of his sandwich. “Miss Ay—”
“I’m also pretty adept in the cyber world. I can show you how to send malware to your competitors. You’ll know what they know and be able to hold their files hostage.”
Mr. King started to rise from his seat, but Harriet grabbed his arm, “Listen, I want what you want, and that’s to make Harvard an untouchable entity. We will win every varsity and club sport and collect so many Nobel prizes that we can use them as paperweights. I’ve got some great ideas for ensuring success in ultimate frisbee.”
“Miss Aycock,I don’t think our viewpoints are quite in alignment.”
“But they can be. I’m sure you’re a staunch feminist so how about if I also guarantee that the Harvard College Student Chapter of the Massachusetts Menstrual Equity Coalition has the funds to make its members comfortable for when the Crimson Tide makes her monthly visits? This important club will get a monthly stipend as long as we can launder money through their organization.”
Mr. King pulls away from her grasp. “Why don’t I walk you to the Wellness Center? It’s a great resource to help in these kinds of situations.”
“Oh my God, yes!” Harriet threw her arms around Mr. King’s neck. “I know that the Wellness Center is only for students! You won’t be sorry. I have many more great ideas, and I’d do anything for Harvard.”
“Mm Hmm.” Harriet was not the unique exemplar she thought she was. Did she have any idea how many rejected students tried to get their rejections rescinded? Her tenets were certainly reactionary and downright criminal, but she was not the sui generis she professed to be. And truth be told, Mr. King was tired of hunting down new lunch spots where he could have a modicum of solitude.
After marching Harriet to the Wellness Center, Mr. King decided there were easier ways to make up for the money he would miss by retiring today.
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