Page 26 - How We Lead Matters

Payback

In my second year at Smith College, I agreed to arrange a mixer at a down-
town ballroom on behalf of my class. The tradition at the time was for the
girls to submit the names of boys they knew who were going to schools in the
area. The boys wouldn’t know which girl invited them, as the invitation
went out from the “Sophomore Class of Smith.” When the RSVPs started
coming in, we realized our boy–girl ratio was falling short.
In the second round of invitations, I remembered the name of a hand-
some Harvard pre-med student, Glen Nelson, who was from my hometown
of Edina, Minnesota. A couple days later, Glen called me, insisting that I had
submitted his name. I denied it. (What nerve!) Anyway, who cared? (Besides
the two of us, that is.) Glen accepted the invitation. And to punctuate my
indifference, I told him to bring a couple of other guys to fill in.
He showed up an hour and a half early with two cars full of star athletes
and announced that they were all there for dinner. I still don’t know if I was
more furious that my hair was uncombed and I wasn’t dressed for the event
or that, as the hostess, I was responsible for paying per head.
I stormed upstairs and announced to my classmates that guests were
starting to arrive, and by the way, I wouldn’t be joining them for dinner.
There was a stunned silence. When I got to the part in my rant about who
would be at dinner, I lost every sympathetic ear. The requests came in a flurry
about who wanted to sit next to which athlete.
I heard that the dinner was lovely. Some new relationships bloomed.
How nice. Every place was taken. I know; I paid the bill. And in the end, I
eventually did get even with Glen Nelson. I married him.

Marilyn Carlson Nelson 9