The Infinite Folly

Of College Admissions

by Ben Steigmann

I was quite happy when my dad told me about the letter. At last, a guarantee of admission from UC Santa Cruz. I was left dazed, ascending into ever higher levels of elation.

As I was overcome with almost innumerable ecstasies, I encountered one major problem: my dad lost the admission instructions. The horror! Just envisioning the furrows of worry that struck his face fills me with goosebumps. It was in this moment that I contemplated the fragility of existence, realizing how easy it was to loose everything. I entered into a living hell.

In desperation, I and my father immediately attempted contact with the admissions bureaucracy. They were initially very accommodating, giving directions to retrieve the information. Or so we thought. They endlessly referred us to a variety of beautiful answering machines, that, in their incredibly sweet voice, told us to call back another time. They referred us to a variety of beautiful answering machines that in their incredibly sweet voice, told us to call back later.

Hours and days passed and still, this nonsense went on. Just hearing my dad ramble on about it was hilarious.

“The level of incompetency here is mind boggling.

This country is going to hell. You have kids who don’t give a damn running reception. You have all these nuts following get rich quick schemes. You have people who don’t give a damn about anything outside of their own gratification.”

Luckily, in the midst of al this, we arranged for an email to be sent requesting login information. All seemed to be well.

Then, one day we to actually use the information. By the most ironic twist of fate, a fiber optic cable that supported the Santa Cruz website was cut. And the expression on my dad’s face changed to fury.

“This is beyond Monty Python. This is ridiculous.”

“I’ve never dealt with this much bullshit in my life.”

“The level of incompetence here is mind boggling. How could anyone be so inconsiderate!”

Such statements were not exaggerations. We had been at this for over a week, and still we had to deal with it.

After this,as if a cosmic trickster had been haunting us during the entire ordeal, we found the papers. We thought that

The next day, we went to my dad’s office, and just as everything seemed promising, our passwords didn’t work. My father contemplated driving up to the University itself and speaking with the chancellor. He even considered writing the president of the UC system. All these things were luckily left in the realm of fantasy as we contacted a receptionist and got the correct information. This madness was finally over.

This was the final chapter in a saga of ridiculousness going back to the beginning of senior year. It is that story I will now tell.

Imagine being obsessed with college choices for much of a year. That describes my first semester as a senior, where I squandered some of my time into the pursuit of a certain Reed college, which I elevated as some sort of Eden within my mind. It appeared to be a place where I could pursue my interest with a passion and have a great deal of freedom. I overinflated every aspect of it, from the area to the people. But money ultimately stood in the way of this, and in blind ignorance, I continued chasing after this.

Much of my christmas break was spent doing work for them. I had to take upon extra assignments just to fill the huge requirements. One of these requirements was a research paper. Consider the implications of this situation: I actually had to ask my teachers if I could do a lengthy research paper for which I would recieve no credit, in order to prep me up for Reed’s “Hyperacademic” atmosphere. At first, in line with my other grandiose ambitions, I decided to do a paper on all the environmental abuses that occurred during the Bush administration. I spent about a week pursing this, but I quickly fell down a deep dark hole. It was obvious that such a task was akin to contemplating infinity.

Eventually, I decided on the much narrower ambition of writing an article on Hurricane Katrina. This took out an annoying chunk of my time during which I could have done something far more productive.

In addition to this, Reed required an elaborate essay called “Why Reed?”, in which I was to explain myself and why I was a fit for the organization.

Along with this, I had to sacrifice a great deal of time for my schoolwork, as I was ever anxious about filling Reed’s requirements. The possibility of going to this college definitely did act as a prime motivator for me to do well in school. Without it, I very likely would have entered into senioritis much earlier. So you can imagine my fury when I got wait-listed, considering the enormous amount of time I spent preparing for the school.

Looking back I lament not stopping with the UCs. If I applied the time spent coveting admission to Reed on another subject, say, art, then I could have been very well accomplished by now. Certainly all that time and energy could have been put towards more constructive purposes.

So I was admitted. Utopia was within reach. I was basking in waves of peace until my father got wind of my short story grade. His emotional turbulence became increasingly difficult to describe with words. I could compare him to an erupting volcano, but that would not do the fact justice.

Then he began a massive lecture to me about the importance of a work ethic. I was berated endlessly on how dire the situation was. I heard a great deal of stories on how some of my dad’s students came from nothing and, by working hard and showing ambition, they were able to succeed.

... Somehow, the fact that I had a paper that was worth 25% of my grade didn’t register.

I then endured perpetual hell. Continually my dad would talk about my grades, forever berating me. It was then that I became aware of the promise...

Imagine actually completing my work and coming to class on time. This may have been the answer I have been seeking all along. To think that this was to be the next step on my life’s journey. The mere thought bewildered me.

And so it was that I completed this work. The utter bliss of having finished it was in my hands. And I lay down to rest.