When I was 16 years old, I read a profile in Rolling Stone about a pair of hotel management students on the “seven-year plan” at Florida State University. Written right after FSU had first been named the number-one party school in the nation, the journalist followed the students around their daily life, focusing especially on party scenes.
One scene that burned into my impressionable mind was when a main character of the article, while in the middle of a frat party, took a dump on a pizza box. In the middle of the party. With people watching. He just dropped a load right on top of the Domino’s Box.
I kept wondering: Is this what college does to people?
It came time to apply to college and I went on many college tours. Parents kept asking questions like, “can she bring a microwave?” or “can he bring a car?” or “are there frats and sororities?” Meanwhile, I kept wanting to ask, “have you ever seen anyone poop in public?” but couldn’t figure out the right way to phrase it. I mean, far be it from me to tell people how to make their decisions, but it seemed way more important to determine if I was going to a school based on the number of public defecations I might have to witness rather than if I could bring my microwave my first year.
I would have saved myself a lot of trouble if I realized that college admissions were a crapshoot and that questions I asked didn’t really matter because looking at the numbers I was lucky to get in anywhere.
For the fall of 2001, Georgetown admitted 21 percent of applicants. That doesn’t sound that bad, until you consider that over 15,000 people applied for less than 1500 seats. Or, if you visualize it like I do, it’s like shark teeth-right behind the student that got into school are four just-as-promising applicants poised to take that person’s spot.
However, most high school parents don’t have warped visions of students as shark teeth, or any idea about how difficult it is to actually get into college. I know this because I was once a high school student myself that asked obnoxious questions on admissions tours, and I currently work at the information desk in the Leavey Center, where admission tours end and I hear a lot of obnoxious questions being asked. Sometimes, if the tour is especially large, parents will come and ask me questions at the info desk.
“So, is this what you call a work-study job?” asked one well-meaning mother.
“Well, not technically. I work and study, but its not official work-study. Why am I telling you this?” I answered, realizing I was giving too much information.
“What did you make on your SATs?” she asked.
“Uh … ” I started to respond, caught off-guard.
“What about your friends? What did they make on their SATs?”
“I really don’t know, I mean, we don’t really talk about it that much.”
“Because my friend’s daughter goes to Columbia, and she said there was someone on her floor that made … ” and then she began to whisper, “less than a 1300. But she says he’s able to go to classes and do his reading and participate.”
“And able to eat and bathe and complete normal daily tasks like everyone else,” I said to myself.
While it is unrealistic to think that these questions even matter, that schools are easy to get in to and we can chose wherever we go, it’s preferable to look at schools as these institutions that we get to choose between rather than the truth-that we are commodities that the schools get to pick and choose.
While filling out my law school applications this year, I had to submit an evaluation from my dean which asked, “Did this applicant live up to what their test scores indicated?” Ouch. What a brutal question. How does one determine that? I’d hate to see the answer. It would probably be something like, “Well, she wasn’t exactly coming in here with a 1600, so our expectations weren’t the best to start out with. She pretty much met those expectations.”
While I might be slightly biased, I think I’m a great applicant. But I also have a logical explanation for my grades, my LSAT scores (I had to go to the bathroom really bad) or anything that looks questionable in my application. Still, it’s brutal to think of how I must look to an admissions committee that doesn’t have “explanations” for my college experience-a set of grades, some test scores, a couple of recommendation letters and an essay you wrote not knowing what they were looking for. I don’t mean to crazily lament, “They will never know all the mysterious facets of my wonderfully complex personality and the magic that is me,” but I really feel that admissions committees could be missing some very crucial evidence about people they admit. For example, you can’t really tell from test scores and grades if someone is going to leave a huge pile of dung on take-out containers.
So, anyone planning on coming here, rest assured. Even though I’ve heard rumors to the contrary, my time at Georgetown has not been soiled by one public defecation incident. So maybe the admissions committee is doing something right.
Gina Pace is a senior in the School of Foreign Service and senior writer of The Georgetown Voice. She is aroused by the mundane.
