A History Major Heads to B-School

Her heart always leaned toward finance, but her path to business school proved long, twisting, and unforgettable

by Rachael Klein

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Rachael Klein
Georgetown
MBA Class of 2008

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Other. That was the box I checked off in the Incoming MBA Student Survey. The question was undergraduate concentration with choices such as business, economics, engineering, and natural sciences. Which is interesting because that is exactly what I wrote my history thesis on: "The Concept of the Other in 16th-Century England" blah blah blah…I'll spare you the subtitle because it's long and irrelevant.

So, there's your first clue about me: I'm a history major heading to business school. One of those liberal arts students so envied during school and laughed at after, which I find a little off-putting since we know the library floor just as intimately. I always wanted to go into finance, but I majored in history because I thought I'd mix it up a little. Yes I know, I was young and stupid. But at least I didn't get a tattoo.

I did land myself an internship with a reputable firm which will remain nameless, but those kind souls thought it best to stick me with the HR administrator for the office. She was never truly excited about her position, so she welcomed my free labor and I-want-to-learn-everything attitude, which meant that my finance internship at a brokerage turned mostly into extensive HR experience.

Right Place, Right Time

No finance job yet. I started temping. Took the CBEST (California Basic Educational Skills Test). Resisted all parental and friendly suggestions to take the GRE and/or teach and/or get a PhD and/or be a reporter. I felt my route becoming slightly more round about then I had envisioned.

I applied for a sales job that did not at all suit me. But I watched the woman who recruited me. And I realized I wanted her job. So in the midst of turning down the offer for the sales position I casually inquired about the position she held. Turned out she was the manager's wife, they hated working together, wanted to save their marriage, so (glance at my résumé) want the job?

Long story a little less long: I got it. The job, that is. I went from temp to recruiter and six months later found myself managing all things related to human resources for this small office of about 30 people. I worked hard. I worked long hours. I sort of liked what I did. Until of course clarity found me and punched me in the face.

Next Step Please

I realized I was recruiting wonderful successful people for a company I did not want to work for myself. I learned so much in HR that I wanted to revamp my company, clean it up, make the employees happier, make everything more efficient, and oh yeah, get an assistant.

Easier said than done. Of course. Always has been, always will be. And this was the first time business school occurred to me.

Upon hearing his name, my boss looked at me expectantly. "I want to go to business school," I told him. "I think I can really make changes here that will make you way more money than you make now. Something is off. We're missing something, and I would feel much better running this office with a foundation like that."

Ah, the Innocence

Young, tattoo-less me thought this idea bordered on genius when it came to the success of the company. But the poor man disagreed. He called us "partners" and said he could not run the office without his partner. And then some perspective descended. Flashback to thought cloud above my head in Spring, 2005.

I'm working so hard to make this company successful so this man makes as much money as he dreams about at night. What if I worked just as hard to make sure people ate, to help indigenous artists sell their art, to preserve the integrity of societies while helping them to stimulate the exchange of capital?

What if I spent my time and effort with the independent community bookstore of 25 years that honors gift certificates exactly that old and gives free coffee to the homeless vets who bide their time in the café? This iconic bookstore that will close its doors when the nice old man who owns the building and has been keeping rent low passes away.