The Way I Heard It with Mike Rowe - 326: NEW STORY—The Class of '23

Episode Date: June 16, 2023

America's most exclusive graduate school is at it again.  

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That's netsuite.com. NetSweet. I got a story to tell every word of it true, except for the parts I made up for you, just some history that has been reworded into a mystery called The Way I heard it. Well, there it is. Another blast of unsolicited four-part harmony, heralding another bonus episode. this one number 326. It's called the Class of 23. Chuck, ask me why. It's called the Class of 23. Why, pray, tell is it called the Class of 23? That's a fine query. I'll tell you why, because this year I was

flattered, nay, honored with several dozen requests to deliver the commencement address to as many fine universities, colleges, trade schools, and high schools. How wonderful? How many did you do? I did none, Chuck. I'll call. tell you why. In fact, ask me why. It's better if you ask me. Why on earth did you do none, Mike? I was busy writing this story. No, I, um, well, because, well, a couple reasons. Mostly because I wrote a kind of generic yet heartfelt commencement address to all the graduates of trade schools a couple of years ago that's still out there. And I, and I honestly can't find a better, I can't find a better message to deliver to the class of 23 than the one I already wrote.

So if you're really curious about what I would say to the class of 23, you can Google it and find it and listen to it. But if you're curious about why I would write a story about the class of 23, well, then you have to ask yourself the question I ask, which is, what would I say about the graduating class of the most? exclusive school in America, where I invited to do so. And that little exercise turned in to the seven or eight minutes story I'm about to share with you right now. What do you think, Chuck? Are you titillated? Are you interested? I'm certainly interested, although in full disclosure, I am familiar with the story. I know the reveal. Yeah, I know. Because I read it for you, as I always do to get your unvarnished take on it. And on a scale of 1 to 10, what was your reaction when you heard this story?

Be honest. 82. All right. You're not honest, but you're very kind. I think you'll like the story. I love it. Anyway, to recap, it's episode 326. It's called The Class of 23, because this is the way I heard it.

It would be fair to say that Ed Roland was a man who relished his job. As the head of admissions at H.D.H. It was up to Ed to determine who was admitted to America's most exclusive graduate school. Just how exclusive was H.D.H? Well, in 2023, the acceptance rate at Yale was 7%. At Princeton, 6%. At Harvard, 5%. But at H.D.H, 0.17%. To say it another way, 7,000 students applied to HDH in 2023, but only 12 cut the mustard, just 12 out of 7,000. The process of whittling down 7,000 applicants to a mere dozen was painstaking, but Ed not only relished his job, he relished the responsibility of upholding the school's exacting standards. And so, he took his time, personally evaluating each and every. every application until the stack of applications on his desk shrank from 7,000 to 5,000,

and then to 3,000, and then to 1,000, and then to 100, and finally to 30. When Ed had identified 30 of the most impressive candidates, he flew them all to the H.D.H. campus in Wisconsin. There, he would interview them individually and select from their ranks. The top 12. The best of the best. The class of 23. Ed walked from his desk to a two-way mirror and considered those 30 students now assembled in the adjoining room waiting to be summoned. All held post-secondary degrees from respected universities. All had graduated at or near the top of their class. All had impeccable references, and of course all of them had perfect driving record.

Ed Rowland looked at the first name on the list and pressed a button that opened an intercom in the adjoining room. Stephanie Cortez! Come on down. A young woman with dark hair and blue eyes glanced over at the two-way mirror and smiled broadly. The other candidates with whom she'd been chatting were smiling too and wished her luck as she left the room and walked down the long hallway to Ed's office. That was good, thought Ed. Smiling was mandatory at H.D.H. The young woman paused in the open doorway, waiting to be invited in.

Enthusiasm radiated from her like the sound waves off of a tuning fork. Come in, Stephanie, and have a seat, said Ed. Thank you, said Stephanie, but please, call me Smokey. Smokey smiled so big the light on Ed's desk reflected off her teeth. Ed smiled back and said, Okay, Smokey it is. Smokey sat, as Ed considered her college transcript. I see you graduated at the top of your class at the University of Florida, a double major?

That's right, said Smokey, communications and public relations with a minor in business and marketing. What do you plan on doing with all those degrees? asked Ed. Smokey leaned in as if she were about to share a secret. May I speak frankly, Mr. Roland? Ed smiled. Of course. Smokey leaned in a little further and said, I'm going to work my buns off.

Ed nodded in approval. Would you like to hear the school song? Said Smokey? Sure, said Ed. Smokey sang it. "'Not bad,' said Ed. "'How's your driving record?' "'Excellent,' said Smokey.

"'I worked for Uber and Lyft while I was in college. "'No accidents? No, sir? "'No tickets? Not even a warning.' "'Ed smiled and thanked her for coming all the way to Wisconsin "'to answer his questions in person. "'No problem,' she said. "'I've been grilled in worse places.' "'Good one,' said Ed.

"'I guess I'm on a roll,' said Smokey. "'You certainly are, said, Ed. You'll have my decision by the end of the day. Frank you very much, said Smokey. With that, Smokey excused herself, and Ed Rowland called in the next candidate, a young man who called himself Nathaniel Nitrate Johnson, followed by Casey Conqueso Robbins, and Peter Porcine McAdams. And that's how it went for the next eight hours. 30 exceedingly wholesome gensiers, armed with an arsenal of completely predictable puns,

self-prescribed nicknames, and solemn vows to work their buns off, while never exceeding the posted minimums. By the end of the day, Ed Rowland, a man who really did relish his role, once again decided who went home and who cut the mustard. Smokey Cortez made it, by the way, along with a less. other exemplary candidates who entered the hallowed halls of H.D.H. Where they learned how to operate the vehicles, they were assigned upon graduation. Vehicles from which the class of 23 would crisscross America for one year, waving enthusiastically, cheerfully posing for photographs, handing out company whistles,

singing the company song, and dispensing a relentless barrage of good cheer and terrible puns. upon an unsuspecting but delighted citizenry, while making good on their solemn pledge to deliver endless smiles for miles and miles. Such are the official duties of all those who graduate with a coveted degree from H.D.H., otherwise known as Hot Dog High, the most exclusive graduate school in America, and the only place in the world that trains a new class of brand ambassadors to drive a fleet of wiener mobiles for a little company in Wisconsin called Oscar Meyer.

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