The Seven Ages of an MBA (with due apologies to William Shakespeare)

All the world’s a stage,
And all the MBAs and Academics merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages.

At first the entrant,
Dazed and confused at what the MBA is all about.
Amazed at Accounting and overawed by Corporate Finance.

And then the whining student, with his satchel,
And dreary morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school.
And then making up for sleep in the lecture hall.

And then the deadliner,
Forgetting his own birthday to make space
to remember all submission deadlines.
And then forgetting those as well.

Then the fighter, sleeping half an hour a night,
Full of strange formulas, and bearded like a life imprisoned inmate,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the examination hall.

And then the graduate,
In sleek graduation cape, and a degree to hold,
With eyes severe, and mind sharper yet,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part.

The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper’d tuxedo,
With spectacles on nose, an unemployed youth crossing doors,
drinking liqueurs with CEOs and managers,
and so he moves on too.

Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is the CEO – second childishness and mere oblivion.
Sans worries, sans analytics, a private yacht and the limitless sea.
Sans everything.