In Chapter 8 of Should I Stay or Should I Go?, Efraín Ochoa dives into the highs and surprises of his first week in business school, from scaling ropes with classmates to navigating cultural nuances and forming friendships that would stand the test of time. As section chants echoed and neon-clad MBAs took over the dance floor at the legendary Eighties Party, one thing became clear—this was more than just an education; it was the start of an unforgettable chapter.

Disclaimer

• All characters and events in this chapter —even those based on real people—are entirely fictional.
• The following chapters contain coarse language and situations and due to its content it should not be read by anyone.

Chapter 8 “Orientation week”

The sweltering summer heat of LA made even stepping out of the shower feel pointless, as fresh waves of sweat would immediately return. Against this sticky backdrop, I embarked on my first day of orientation at Anderson—equal parts exhilarating and exhausting.

Filing into the auditorium with my fellow students, I couldn’t help but feel a flicker of trepidation. What lay ahead? Would we endure endless lectures and painfully awkward icebreakers? As it turned out, the organizers had something entirely different in store for us.

Instead of droning speeches, we were whisked away to participate in activities that felt more like summer camp than business school. I found myself scaling ropes, laughing, and bonding with my new classmates. It was an introduction that perfectly captured Anderson’s essence—collaborative, adventurous, and just the right amount of quirky.

As the week unfolded, we transitioned into section-specific activities—attending classes, forming groups, and learning the ropes. Our guides, two second-year students, became invaluable resources, doling out advice and helping us navigate the unfamiliar terrain.

Of course, it wasn’t all business. Games and competitions brought a sense of levity to the week. Sections faced off in friendly, Olympic-style contests, and no orientation would have been complete without the time-honored tradition of crafting a section chant. The energy was contagious, the camaraderie palpable as we elected our section’s president and vice president.

That week set the tone for the rest of our time at Anderson—a reminder that business school wasn’t just about academics but about community, connection, and unforgettable experiences.

Orientation week also highlighted the cultural nuances of what I came to call “Gringo business school life.” Some of my international classmates struggled to adjust to the distinctly American flavor of it all. Especially when we had to create a cheer for UCLA. I discussed this at length with friends from Israel, Europe, and beyond. Some found the enthusiasm overwhelming; I took it more in stride.

Growing up in Mexico, I had been immersed in American culture—sports, movies, and music had long blurred the lines between our countries. This exposure demystified much of what my peers found unfamiliar. Even the assertive style of American communication, which sometimes came off as insincere or over-the-top, felt quotidian to me.

To ease the transition, UCLA organized a special orientation session for international students. While many found it helpful, I couldn’t help but chuckle at times. As Mexicans, we’d grown up understanding the quirks and idiosyncrasies of our northern neighbors.

During orientation, we were introduced to our study teams—curated by the university to ensure a diverse mix of backgrounds and experiences. My team was no exception.

Jay, a banker from Philadelphia, brought sharp analytical skills. Andy, an army veteran fresh from Afghanistan, grounded us with discipline and pragmatism. Julia, with her deep experience in politics, rounded out our dynamic, contributing invaluable insights into leadership and governance.

Initially, I had doubts about how well we’d mesh. Our backgrounds couldn’t have been more different. But as we tackled case studies and trudged through the rigors of the first quarter, it became clear—our medley was our greatest asset. Different perspectives fueled more innovative solutions.

The bond between us grew, especially with Andy and Jay. Outside of class, we found ourselves grabbing beers, swapping stories, and talking about life beyond the walls of UCLA. Years later, I stood as a groomsman at Andy’s wedding and attended Jay’s.

Julia, meanwhile, would later play a pivotal role in my team thesis project, her insights becoming instrumental to its success. Looking back, the pairing felt serendipitous—one of those rare occasions where fate seemed to have a hand in things.

As orientation week drew to a close, we were asked to introduce ourselves with personal presentations. I carefully crafted mine, layering each slide to reflect who I was—my interests, experiences, and identity. The opening slide, featuring the Mexican flag, was deliberate—a nod to my heritage and a subtle attempt to clear up the confusion.

Throughout orientation, classmates had guessed my nationality with amusing inaccuracy—German, Israeli, Russian. Each time, I laughed it off. But the presentation, I assumed, would put an end to the guessing game.

It did, but not as I expected.

Next to me sat a student I had grown friendly with—until that moment. As the slide revealed I was Mexican, his demeanor shifted. It was subtle but unmistakable. The conversation dried up, and the camaraderie we’d built evaporated.

The sudden shift was sobering. I’d encountered racism before, but experiencing it in such a direct, personal way left an indelible mark. California’s reputation for inclusivity didn’t shield it from prejudice.

Being tall and pale often confused people about my origins—something Andy and I turned into a game at bars and clubs.

We’d approach groups of women, and I’d offer to buy drinks if they could guess my nationality. It was a fun icebreaker that led to some interesting conversations.

However, I learned quickly that certain revelations—like being Mexican—could change the tone, especially with more conservative Americans. For fun, I began claiming to be Russian, a lie that worked until actual Russians saw through me. After that, I cycled through Brazilian, and eventually, the truth.

It was all lighthearted—never malicious. Just a way to poke fun at assumptions and have a laugh along the way.

The club’s fair during orientation felt like a buffet of extracurriculars. Surf club, entertainment club, cultural associations—there was something for everyone.

I gravitated toward the Entertainment Club and, naturally, the Latin American Business Association. Joining clubs wasn’t just about passion but strategy. Leadership roles padded resumes, and in the competitive world of US business, that mattered.

Orientation culminated in what would become legendary—the Eighties Party.

Neon wigs, parachute pants, oversized blazers—we embraced the excess of the era. The drinks flowed, the music blared, and the night became a blur.

It was only the beginning.

The Anderson social scene had a reputation, and I quickly learned why. Partying wasn’t just common—it was expected. Two or three nights a week became routine, shots flowed freely, and hangovers became badges of honor.

I kept up, fully aware that the pace wasn’t sustainable. Years later, I barely drink, haunted by the memory of hangovers past. I sometimes wonder if I burned out my liver during those wild MBA years.

But at the time, it felt like a rite of passage—one I was more than ready for.