Undoubtedly, the uncomfortable small talk that you make in your first days and weeks at Washington University will bring you to the subject of the college application. Inevitably, some of the individuals with whom you speak will divulge that the University was not their first choice school. In fact, this may not have been your first choice school. Alas, that’s all over with, right? Well, perhaps.
Some students may still be smarting since the time they read the fateful phrase, “We regret to inform you,” and some may still be in the midst of the healing process. I know this because I was one such student. This is the true tale of an early decision reject.
My story begins sixth period, Monday, December 17, 2001. In the storeroom of my high school newspaper, I reluctantly phoned Georgetown University in Washington D.C. to ascertain my fate.
“Uh huh,” I said.
“I-I-I understand,” I stammered.
“Thanks very [sniff] much,” I squeaked out.
I shrieked. I screamed. I stomped. I was in disbelief. I had been deferred. Adding insult to injury, at that moment I was given a pass to the guidance office. Great, I thought, just what I needed . . . a journey to the heart of darkness.
In my appointment, regarding (in a sick case of irony) my letters of recommendation for my regular decision schools, I sat staring at the pennants of a thousand different universities and wanted nothing more than to strangle my counselor who was of the mind that a good GPA and some community service could get you into just about anywhere.
In the coming days, I glared as my classmates did jumping jacks and cartwheels as, one by one, many of them received affirmative responses from their first choice colleges. I glowered at the many dry-erase boards strewn throughout the school bearing the names of my contemporaries and the schools that had accepted them.
“Congratulations,” I would exclaim, all the while imagining the head of the jubilant speaker exploding. “What are they so happy about?” I would ask myself. Could they not see that my life was fast careening toward a tragic end?
Those trying times did have one benefit, however: these interactions provided me with an opportunity to compile a list of phrases that I could die happy never hearing again. I could always transfer, some would chipperly advise. If all else were to fail, others would ramble, there was always community college. But, by far, the axiom that most fueled my rage was, “A deferral is not a denial.”
A deferral is not a denial? Is that supposed to be some sort of comfort? Fabulous! I mean, thank God-with such a rock to cling to as that, I had no reason to pout or rant. A deferral is not a denial . . . call Hallmark, I think we have a winner.
Sometime early in March 2002, I was at my local McDonald’s handing in my application for the following academic year. Suddenly, my cell phone rang and my mom told me to come home immediately, that I had a big FedEx package waiting for me.
When I got home, I ravenously tore through the wrapping. The tension mounted. My sweaty hands could not get through the papers fast enough. Who would it be? What would it say? Big could not mean bad, right? I read the sentences before me . . . The Navy? This was a package from the United States Navy? I don’t even like that color.
In a few weeks’ time, during spring break, I received my first acceptance letter. It was Monday, March 18, 2002-three months and one day since . . . need I say it? I wearily approached the FedEx package that lay before me. Slowly, I undid the covering and dug in to find that I was wanted by Washington University in St. Louis.
I shrieked. I screamed. I stomped. I was in disbelief. I had gotten into college. Now I was prepared for anything that would come my way. Acceptance, wait-list or denial-I knew that somebody wanted me. Me!
Eventually, I got into some schools, and others informed me that they had no space for me in their 2002-2003 class (must it always be an issue of size?). I chose Washington University, a school to which I never expected to apply. While I thought that the time between mid-December and early-April would break me, would somehow leave me without a scrap of self-worth, I have come to terms with it. Rejection is bound to happen, and besides, there are worse disappointments to come than being willingly steeped into pretension and cutthroat competition.
Anyways, there is always graduate school.
Cory Schneider is a sophomore in Arts & Sciences, and he is the Senior News Editor for Student Life. He can be reached via e-mail at cschneider@studlife.com.