We, along with Mae, are always “on”. Be it online, on camera, or on a physical or metaphorical stage. The Internet is our readily available antidote for boredom, and rarely are we out of a zone with Wi-Fi connection. Security cameras are everywhere, following almost each and every step we take. Our own phones, through the use of such applications as Maps, we can pinpoint our locations, or we share our locations with others through the use of Snapchat filters. We are constantly on stage, not typically in a theatrical performance (although those are all well and good), but in that we always have a part to play, a role to fulfill. Our responsibilities as students, and Mae’s positions as a Circler extend far beyond a classroom or workplace.
WE ARE always Penn State students. We are told to be cognizant of the way we present ourselves to employers or to visitors of our campus. On social media, especially, we know that wearing a Happy Valley t-shirt is more than significant, as we represent the entire student body, and the institution as whole. A few weeks ago, even when I travelled off-campus to New Jersey for a THON canning weekend, I was told to be aware of how I speak to donors, and how I carry myself. Barely anyone knew my name that day as they walked by excitable volunteer and I, but they knew our university and our cause. I could even see in the reactions of passersby how they felt about my school. For some, upon seeing us, their eyes would light up and they would tell a story about their niece attending Penn State back in ‘05. Others, however, might have made some side comment about scandal and abuse, despite the fact that we were merely raising money for pediatric cancer research. Nonetheless, the differing reputations of our school preceded us, and therefore superseded our individual identities.
Mae is so recognizable that she need not a wear an emblem or a uniform. Her constant presence online makes her an undeniable force, but one under incessant scrutiny. Her mere support of a product validates for thousands that it is worth considering, and in many cases, purchasing. One day, she notes her success in “work[ing] on her PartiRank for forty-five minutes… and [bringing] her Retail Raw [to] $24,050” (Eggers 279). Notably, she still describes these actions as “work”, even when not officially on the clock. Her obligations, and ability to represent her employer, encompass much more than a 9-5 job. This holds within her daily life, too, as she adventures outside of campus. After illegally borrowing a kayak one evening, she is unsurprised that her superiors automatically know her misstep: “He knew. God, he knew. In some recess of her mind Mae realized that the Circle must have some web alert to notify them anytime a staff member was charged or questioned by the police. It only made sense” (275). Mae is never off the clock, and to her, this becomes commonplace, a working hazard. This exhausting, high pressure way to live leaves her needing more than just a day off.
Great job explaining Mae’s huge roll as a Circle ambassador. The way you connected your commentary to Penn State was very intriguing. We are on camera often, but fortunately it’s not as close a scope as in The Circle. Imagine a world where your every action was being recorded. It would just make for such a dull society. We are definitely much closer to that then we were just ten years ago, but it doesn’t have that same feeling as in The Circle. The cameras changed Mae and how she went about her daily life. She was a pretty genuine person to begin with and becoming “transparent” didn’t do anything for her but make her naive and boring, at least from a reader’s perspective. In a sense she became a lifeless slave to The Circle.