COLUMN: Running at 300 miles per hour

important to slow down and examine the people and culture of our society. Sometimes I feel that my life is a race -- I frantically run around this campus as if life were governed by a clock. In trying to balance school, work, activities and friends, I become so busy that I forget to stop and smell the roses. Or more importantly notice the problems that plague the city in which we live. In fact, it took returning to my home for me to realize exactly what I am missing and not accomplishing as I check everything off my To Do list. I admit I was skeptical when asked to distribute Mastercard applications at the race track. Having just left the mostly upper-middle class, preppy student body of Penn, I was not sure I was ready to face many of the real-world race track fans. I reluctantly took the job. Yes, I made a lot of money this past weekend -- but what I learned about myself and my communities is even more valuable. I always thought that being a cultured person meant attending the ballet, opera, and symphony. I would have never included the National Hot Rod Association's car races as a cultural event. But culture extends beyond the museums and theatres. It stretches from the highest points of the skyscrapers to the lowest points of the inner cities. I never expected to gain as much from a drag race as I would from a Picasso exhibit. But I did. I was hesitant to work at the race track was because I was worried about being hit on by drunken men. This fear was not ill conceived. As part of the promotion for Mastercard, the bank I was working for was raffling off a 1964 Chevy. I was asked by numerous men if I came with the car, if I would drive the car to his home when he won it, and how much I cost. "No I don't come with the car," I responded. "And I'm not for sale." "Bitch," uttered one man to his friend as they walked away. I assume I was just supposed to stand there as the "passive woman" and be harassed by these men. I was supposed to let men feel they had control and power over me and could "own" me. But since I stood up for myself, I was called a bitch. None of the men I worked with that weekend had similar problems or fears of being the recipient of unwanted advances. Just as assertive and bitch should not go together, neither should babies and racetracks. However, some parents didn't seem to think that the roaring noise of cars racing at 300 miles per hour would hurt their children's ears. By the end of the day, my 18 year-old ears were aching, my head was pounding, and my body felt the vibrations as the cars raced by. I innocently asked one mother if she thought that her three month-old baby's ears hurt. The mother snapped and said the baby was crying simply because she was hungry. I believe that if the baby could have spoken she would have said otherwise. Then there was the women who wrote on her Mastercard application that she made $100,000 dollars a year working as a cashier at Kay Bee Toys. I told her that I hoped she did indeed make $100,000, and that if she did we would all apply for jobs. She sheepishly said that she wasn't good with numbers and that she really only made $10,000 per year. Finally, and most upsetting, is the vignette of a 19 year-old boy and his father. The son filled out an application but didn't have a form of identification with him for verification. The father offered to tell me his son's birthday as proof. But he was so drunk that he could not remember his own son's birthday or the names of his other children. The son looked incredibly embarrassed and ashamed of his drunken father's behavior. Looking back at my weekend, I realize that as soon as I slowed down I noticed the severity of society' problems. I was no longer the race car accelerating to 300 miles per hour and striving to travel a quarter of a mile in five seconds. I had left Penn and the city of Philadelphia to return to my community which I always thought was affluent and relatively problem free. At 300mph everything is a blur. However, at normal speed things become clear. Life was not meant to be lived at race car speed. As summer approaches, I urge everyone to slow down and notice the maladies that are attacking the foundation of our society. The only race we should be participating in is the one to improve our communities. Knowledge and awareness will start the ignition and there is a race to be won.