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Jeremy Handcock walks us through a typically busy day as a college admissions counsellor.
The whole day is planned, in fact the whole year is planned and then something happens: students. They are what makes the day exciting, and there is always something unexpected that walks through the door. It’s 5.41pm on an early November day. I am putting the finishing touches to UCAS application no. 62 for this year, when there is a frantic knock at my door.
“Office hours are over,*“ I call out.
“Please Mr. H, it will only be really quick. It’s super important.“
“It always is, I think…“
“My parents will kill me if I don’t sort this out,“ the voice pleads.
“Come on in, this better be good,” I say.
Tranquility is what I seek, and I find it in my office at 7 a.m. Yes you heard, 7 a.m. I cannot decide whether I am a masochist or whether I genuinely love mornings. Mornings have a huge advantage over all other times of day: there are no students around. Students are allergic to early mornings. I love them because I can write recommendations. Woe betide any student who is foolish enough to forget to come to an appointment with me because their rescheduled appointment time is…yes, you have guessed it –VERY EARLY! Masochist or sadist? Your call! My students have grasped the basics of how this whole thing works: if you want your counsellor to work 24/7 for you, he needs feeding. My students make the best carrot cake and in return they get the best references. I have cut an even better deal with my medical students, they have to promise to fix me for free when I am old and broken (not long now at this rate).
The day continues with the usual selection of questions/problems to solve:
“Where can I apply to do Mechanical Engineering if I only have IB standard level Maths?”
“What should I write on my Cambridge SAQ form?”
“Can you take another look at my personal statement?”
“Have you written my Commonapp reference yet?”
Interesting one this, as my area of the Commonapp software shows the student has not applied. A few ‘Sherlock Holmes’ moments later I ascertain that the student mispelt my e mail address, so someone out there in cyber space has received a request for a reference. And I even gave her my business card and said, “Spell my name correctly!” Elementary, my dear Watson.
As an aside, for those who do not work as college counselors, much of the work involves saving students from the consequences of the own inexperience, but then it is their first foray into the wonderful world of form filling.
“I am going to apply to UCL, Imperial, LSE, Kings and Warwick because they are top universities.” (student only has 27 predicted IB points) I gently steer him towards some more realistic choices.
“The university has sent me a letter; I do not understand what it means.”
“Can you call the university because they have given me an offer based on me getting a 6 in IB Higher level Maths and I am only taking IB Standard Level Maths?”
“What is the difference between architecture at Bath and UCL?”
Then the phone rings, a parent wants SAT prep for her son who is currently in Grade 5. Turns out I am having a Dr. Jekyll day as I hear myself reassure her that there will be plenty of time if he starts in Grade 9. I really wanted to be Mr. Hyde and say, “Hey Lady, give the kid a break, let him have a childhood and stop wasting my time.”
Next call: “Sprechen Sie Deutsch? “ Me: “Ja”. Turns out the caller has applied to Ivy League schools in the US and wants to know where and when the SAT test takes place. Thinks: he may find the SAT papers are in English, not German. Oh well.
And so the day spins towards lunchtime. My secretary is wonderful; she reminds me to go and get some lunch. I have this theory that she does not want me to eat all the carrot cake and Reeces (present from my American colleagues...another story) before our daily planning meeting – note to self: must ask her about this.
I am about to leave my office to go and speak to the IBDP Coordinator and the Grade 11 and 12 Grade level coordinators, and then it happens: an art student appears. Now don’t get me wrong, I love my art students, they are very special people, they are talented, they bring beauty into the world but they sometimes overlook little details like deadlines. Now I am a stickler for deadlines (probably why I am not an artist), however I think to myself, ‘wouldn’t the world be grey if we were all form fillers.’ Time for another special deal: donate a picture to Vienna’s newest art gallery.
Sorry college reps, no more ubiquitous scenes of beautiful, carefully selected multi ethnic, gender balanced, totally PC posters of students lolling around on a lawn in the Fall in New England allegedly discussing poetry, NO! My office has broken out of the mould; it has metamorphosed into an art gallery. Thanks art students, keep on missing those deadlines! I allow myself a quick day dream about becoming an artist (Gauguin, actually) and then...
‘Hi Mr. H., just got a quick question. ‘ Reality check. (Notice how the text messaging generation has dispensed with the pronoun)
The remainder of the afternoon passes in a flash, it is 4 p.m., classes are over and a couple of students drift into my office, the rest obviously have lives. I am still here, maybe this why they say, ‘Get a life, Mr. H.’
Oh yes, I remember, I was supposed to be writing recommendations today, or is this what autumn break is for? Oh well, another couple of hours and I will go home, too.
For the counselor, it is a good day. But no matter how good, there are many more such days. 33 more days until the next vacation. Tranquility, bliss.
‘Hi Mr., sorry to disturb your holiday, but just have a quick question. It is super important. My parents will kill me if I don’t sort this out `
Jeremy Handcock
