The real me

Today, in the middle of a busy Wednesday, I had a meeting with Darden Director of Student Affairs, Marsh Pattie. Marsh wanted to know how I was doing and wanted to discuss my application to the International Students Advisory Board, a group that will advise the Office of Student Affairs.
Marsh embodies the typical Darden staff. He is polite, smiling, professional. He speaks fondly of his work. He’s human, kind. His office is a friendly place. I’ve only been at Darden for two months, but I have seen many people like Marsh in all offices and positions. With what is left of my traditional Italian skepticism and my proverbial cynicism, I sometimes wonder - I have to wonder, is this place real?
I remember going to the Office of Student affairs of my university when I was preparing the documents of my applications to business schools. I took an hour off from work and went to Bocconi with my Vespa. Milan is not big, but it’s a 20 minutes ride. The lady greeted me with a not-so-friendly look and I said I have graduated in 2000 and needed my transcripts. She told me that, if I still have my student ID card, I can print a transcript at one of the machines. For a split second I thought of where possibly I have put that card, but then I thought ‘I paid a lot of money to this institution -money that financed a huge and ugly expansion project’, so I told her that I didn’t have the card. She printed the transcripts and it took thirty seconds. I was pissed, but I wasn’t surprised.
It’s not so much that service is always terrible in Italy, it is that we are used to terrible service. So when someone is actually professional and nice, especially in public or semi-public offices, we are surprised, it’s a big deal!
And here I am, at Darden still amazed, every day. One could say that business school is expensive and that there is competition among schools, that competition is on service, as well as on a number of other elements, but my university a home is expensive and has to be competitive. No, the comparison simply does not hold. The mentality, the expectations are different. We don’t expect good service and we certainly don’t expect kindness. And in many ways it’s a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Marsh enquires about my time at Darden. He wants to know about the Diary Project. About ways to improve the international orientation. About culture shock. About what it is like to adapt to a new life in Charlottesville. About academics. We discuss the grading system, class participation, the involvement of the faculty in all activities (including softball). I realize that, although everything is not perfect at Darden, and life can be tough here, every new sentence I make expresses my surprise and appreciation.
What has happened to the real me? The me that would be suspicious when someone is overly nice (‘hidden agenda syndrome’), the me that, as many of my fellow educated countrymen, thought (or thinks?) that clever people are at least a little cynical, a little distrusting of their institutions?
Shouldn’t culture shock prevent this, making me hate the changes, even the good ones, building my wall? Scary enough, Darden has changed me, already, and there is nothing I can do.