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A Story of Guidance
This is going to be a rant nothing more nothing less; like it, continue reading; don’t then ignore my words, my sword into the heart of the Ridgewood High School Guidance office and the horrid pessimists that work there discouraging and insulting the very students they’re meant to guide.
Today I walk into guidance, request my transcript, “that’ll be one dollar.”
“What? You are joking, right?
“No, we charge a dollar per hard copy”
Out of my pocket I pull my dollar; slam it on the desk of the worlds laziest receptionist (I’ll explain later—my rant is going newest to old incident).
“You need to fill out a transcript request form.”
“You’re serious?”
“You need to fill out the form and pay the dollar if you want the transcript.”
“So let me get this straight: I need to give you one dollar for a ten cent piece of paper and I need to fill out a form stating my request?”
My anger begins to show, “Yes that’s how it works,” she says; a mater-of-factly tone in her voice—the beginning of her belittlement of my intelligence. Calling me dumb is one thing I really couldn’t care less, implying it—a totally different story. Assuming my intelligence is low enough that I won’t pick up on your insults is well insulting—no I take many things as an insult, all meaningless, offence is the word, few things actual offend me despite my onslaught of insults I receive.
I have a look of complete disbelief, obviously mistaken for confusion. For it’s at this point she asks, “You’re not getting it.” to which I reply, “This is completely pointless, it’s stupid. I’m asking for a sheet of paper,” obvious anger in my voice, “it costs you all of ten cents for a sheet of paper—“
“It’s more than just one sheet of pap—“
She cut me off I’m cutting her off too. “Okay, thirty cents.”
Two students who were in there talking about some randomness I couldn’t care less about to even hear turn and look, “for what?”
“My transcript—“
They’re all cutting me off—my point valid, a direct insult, highly offensive. “You need to fill out the form and pay the money.”
Politely, though a little sarcasm did show through, “Yes I understand it, it just don’t get it [referring to the act of requesting it and paying for MY information--MY transcripts].
The three of them, the two conversing students and the excuse of a guidance councilor at the desk, get this look in their eyes, the look that you get when you frustratingly outwit someone, a look of I’m better than you, the subtlety of it—saying all that yet it’s all contained within a faint glow in the eye. My frustration grows, “Okay, so I get a slip of paper write my name and student number—hand it in. Then, you take it; go through the effort of getting my transcript; print it; get an envelope; label it; buy a stamp; and mail it—FOR FREE. (They have a twenty four hour turn-around on it by the way.) Yet, I need to fill out a three page request form and pay money for a copy for myself?”
With a tone of duh, that’s common knowledge, “Yes.”
“It makes no sense.”
“Is this too much for you?”
“The effort is.”
She looks confused, “It’s not worth the effort.”
I begin walking away, picking up the dollar I had laid out, “Come back when you decide you’re serious about your future.”
Doesn’t edict say not to attack when their enemy’s back is turned? Another offensive insult, I care very much about my future, and I’m taking a very active step to getting into college; they have my transcripts already, I need this copy for a scholarship contest. I did well though, I didn’t turn around with a quip or some physical violence; I just walked out and let her keep eating the food she didn’t once put down or even stop eating during the whole ordeal.
This though, is just the latest in a string of incidents. Before this I was told through heavy and blatant inferences that I was not nearly smart enough to take let alone pass the SAT.
This takes place after the story I will next tell. I’m in guidance all I ask for is the sign-up form for the SAT and the ACT. Also, since I believe paying sixty-some-odd dollars to take a test early on a Saturday is ridiculous, I asked for the wavier to take them free. At which point the lady (different person than the previous story) goes to her computer and looks at my information, “Where do you want to go to college?”
“Full Sail,” I reply, she begins to laugh.
“What? It’s one of the best schools for the kind of art I do.”
“It was reveled on 60 Minutes to be a scam school, they target kids with less than perfect grades; offering good financial aid and excellent job placement; yet they end up with the kids in thousands of dollars of debt and no job.”
I took it with a grain of salt, obviously she doesn’t understand that getting a job in that field is all about you demo reel; if your reel is craptastic than so will be the job you get. It wasn’t worth telling her though. She goes to a school finding web site, “What is it you want to go for?”
“Digital art and design.”
“Well look at a the price of Full Sail for that program—68,000 dollars; but look St. Pete Community College is only 1,200 dollars a year.”
“Yes, but at Full Sail you can go back again and again for free once you graduate.”
“Well, at that price I would hope so.”
She obviously was unaware of how the school works. You pay the tuition price once—the 68,000 is for the entire program, not per year as she was trying to say.
“I’m also looking into the Art Institute of Tampa.”
She looks it up, “Well that’s 17,000 a year (the average price of a university).”
“They also accept Florida Prepaid so I can go with out any out of pocket expense. I hand them my paperwork for it they say, ’Okay your tuition is paid.’”
“But they’re 17,000 a year and St. Pete is only 1,200.”
“Either way I go for free so I’m going to go with the better school.”
To which she says, “A degree is a degree.”
A degree is most certainly not a degree, just because you get a degree doesn’t mean you learned anything. Something school has taught me—I pass all my classes, I couldn’t, to save my life, hold a conversation in Spanish after three years of classes. I ignored her. I was getting annoyed; I asked for my waivers again so I could go. She was reviewing my GPA and asked why I was taking them.
“Why?”
“Because we’re low on the forms, and your GPA is too low for scholarships.”
“It’s good to have them taken though.”
She didn’t even show any sign she was listening, she was still looking at my info, “So, you don’t have a math class?”
“No, I was in advanced math so I got my math classes done a year early.”
“Oh, well if you don’t have a math class you’re going to fail the SAT, it’s a hard test you need to be a good student to pass.”
I stare blankly at her complete disregard for what I say. She continues, “You should take just the ACT it’s better for less academic students,” IMPLYING THAT I’M NOT SMART. Why do they insist on implying that; why don’t they just say it? A conversation along those lines continued for another ten minutes. When I finally had enough I used the excuse of having a test during the class this conversation overlapped into. She kept the form and said come back tomorrow. Next day, I show up ask the person at the desk, the lady from the above mentioned story, if the person I spoke to yesterday was there, “Oh, her? She’s not here?”
“No.’
“Well she’s not here on this day every week.”
WHAT THE HELL!? Don’t tell someone to meet you the next day and not be there. I left, screw the tests I don’t need them for the schools I want to go to anyways.
The reason I was even there getting info about the tests (I originally just wanted the test dates but figured I’d get the other stuff while I was there) was that my mom called for the dates and the person from the first story responded with the answer, “Well, I can’t see the dates; the paper is on the other side of the room.”
How lazy can you be? Honestly, ‘it’s on the other side of the room,’ the guidance office is a mockery. They don’t “Gide” you they don’t “Council” you either. A kid at our school died they didn’t want to hear about it, “We’ve hired grief councilors for you to talk to—we’re too busy.” Nice response, huh?
With the removal of the trees the forest becomes visible…
They just don't see the big picture.
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