A funny thing happened today. I started reading another short story on The New Yorker website, but I didn't get a chance to finish. I sat in on four interviews instead!
I found out before the kid arrived that he attends St. Andrew's School in Delaware, which is where they filmed... wait for it... Dead Poet's Society!(!!!) So automatically this kid gets in because he must be best friends with Robin Williams, right? Then the counselor starts telling me about this school and giving me their catalog to read. The students are basically taking college-level courses in a castle, and occasionally breaking for meals in a Great Hall that rivals Hogwarts. And. The BEST part: they have their own pony! So automatically I'm going to best friends with this kid because he and Robin Williams and I can ride around the castle on the pony, right? I'm fairly certain that everything that is wrong with my adult life can be traced back to the fact that I did not attend a school that gave me access to a pony. And to be honest, after meeting this kid, I think I totally deserve the pony more.
A really nice local kid who asked questions and was interested in the college, but was a little lacking academically. Hopefully we'll be able to work with him; I think he could benefit a lot from the school.
I sat in with a different counselor for this one. He's a little chattier than the other counselors. This girl was very nice, very chill, but didn't seem entirely sure of what she wanted yet. Fair enough.
Get ready for some gushing. I almost went out and bought stickers and put gold stars all over her interview sheet. She needs to come to this school. This girl is interested in something science-related and wants to be a nutritionist. Her grandfather died of cancer, so she organized a marathon event in his honor. When she was training, she realized that she was having issues and started researching about dieting and food allergies and all this other stuff and started adapting it into her life. That's when she knew. When she told us that story, we were both completely sold. I'm visiting her high school during my travels, so hopefully I'll get to chat with her again.
Thus, a complete range of interview experiences today. But I have yet to discover what happened to Arty, the ancient widower who is celebrating his birthday alone and, starved for human contact, is telling anyone who calls him all about his various ailments. I hope he doesn't die at the end. That would suck. But, as Arty likes to say, they don't give you a manual. Or a pony.