THIS IS HOW IT SHOULD BE

- with a glass of champagne,
- with several glasses of champagne,
- with two lines of people opening bottles of champagne to form archways of sparkling wine in salute over you as you pass,
- with attendants holding tiny brightly-colored umbrellas to shield you and the box from the champagne as you pass,
- with crowds of people cheering and clapping,
- with small children scattering armsful of rose petals before you,
- perhaps even with people throwing strings of beads like at Mardi Gras,
- with people running forward to bestow leis, kiss your feet, or cense you with a censer, depending on your background and/or inclination,
- with heralds of trumpet fanfare,
- or possibly flutes,
- or even a ragtime band, to continue the New Orleans theme,
- throngs of paparazzi as you move out into the quad,
- and an honor guard with rifles,
- an entire parade following you, with marching bands, rose floats and the inflatable creatures from the Macy's Day Parade,
- or perhaps elephants trained to rear as you pass,
- a professional cryer going before you, shouting "Oyez, Oyez" and occasionally "Huzzah!",
- play-by-play and color commentators breathlessly describing your every movement as you begin to ascend the steps to graduate division,
- a quad of butlers and footmen in 18th-century court dress to unroll a red carpet before you as you ascend the steps to graduate division,
- a ceremonial pause for the eating of fine chocolate and the toasting of toasts (Bailey's is always good) before entering the elevator,
- bestowal of an ermine robe, tiara, bronze plaque and keys to the city in exchange for handing over the box,
- a feeling of infinite lightness when handing over the box can be represented through the release of a thousand pure white doves, massive fireworks display, or a flight of the Blue Angels in formation overhead, depending on the weather and wildfire hazard conditions,
- at the moment of signing the final papers, a wall of drab industrial file cabinets should slide away to reveal a gospel choir, the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, or Tom Waits singing your benedictory praises, depending on preference,
- masses of people then hoisting you to their shoulders and carrying you at the forefront of a mob, off into the sunset,
- as aeroplanes make sweeping arcs of smoke in the sky that read,

Doctor, Doctor, Doctor.