Dear Future Employer,
I am enclosing my transcript, as per your request. However, I think it is important for you to realize that these grades tell only half the story. For I have led a college career full of adversity. Treacherous obstacles have continually blocked my trajectory to the top. But I have overcome them. If you’re looking for fancy majors, “suma cum” whatevers, or any other bells and whistles, you’ve come to the wrong place. But if you’re looking for grit, for pure determination in the face of constant hardship, I’m your man, baby.
My story begins in high school. When I was in twelfth grade, my mother bought a soft gray convertible couch and put it in my room. Only a few weeks later, this couch set out on its evil plot to ruin my academic career. Soon I did nothing but lie on it, under a striped down comforter, sometimes listening to Danzig on headphones. Because of the couch I slept 20-23 hours a day. On several occasions, I even folded it out into a bed. My relationship with the couch continued until the following August, when, despite my many tears, my parents would not let me bring it to school. I was so blind.
With the couch safely in the distance, my parents thought my academics would improve in college. They were wrong. Dead wrong. Because before they knew it, I was sleeping with not one, not two, but three pillows. How could I have known that the more pillows I had, the less likely I was to get out of bed? And not only was I completely corrupted by the comfort of my bed, but my alarm clock, the device that was supposed to be the safety net, had a button on it that let me doze for an extra nine minutes! What with the pillows and the snooze button, I couldn’t possibly get to classes.
But there were other dangerous obstacles attempting to pry me away from the success I so clearly deserved. One came in the guise of a mild-mannered woman named “Susan,” who, claiming to be my “friend,” kept passing me notes during my fascinating geology lectures. I tried to ignore her, I tried to explain that I was trying to learn, but she persevered nonetheless. Soon she had pulled me into her spiral of decadence to the point where I didn’t even go on the field trips and failed the mineral identification test. She—and the pillows and alarm clock—are the reasons I struggled freshman year.
Sophomore year, I lived with three deviants who continually forced me to drink alcohol and do other terrible things. Whenever I gathered my books and explained that I was going to the library for a night of wholesome studying, they almost literally threw me onto the couch and forced me to listen to very unsettling, drug-influenced music while pouring shots of tequila down my throat. In the meantime, I still had the same alarm clock and three pillows, but now I also had flannel sheets and a bedroom that was quite dark, so it was even harder to get up in the morning to go to class. To make matters worse, my textbooks were getting very heavy and it was becoming increasingly difficult to carry them around; eventually, due simply to their sheer weight, I had to stop using them.
By my junior year, these various conspiracies had prevented me from earning anything higher than a B- on my report cards. But I was convinced that by finally deciding on pursuing the English major, my academic scope would improve as it became more focused. Once again I was wrong. I couldn’t go to English lectures because of the early-morning thing and because of the heavy books thing, as well as because the lectures were always in the YUAG, which is a very uncomfortable room to sit in because there’s nowhere to put your feet. I couldn’t go to English seminars because of the heavy books thing and also because sometimes there were annoying people there.
And then, blast my fate, Main Garden entered my life and my academic prospects just flew out the window. Late at night, just as I was curling up with a nice copy of Lacan, I would start craving the sweet and sour chicken w/grape soda combo—and the next thing I’d know I’d be sitting, bloated, in front of Jay Leno, completely unable to move. And of course all this time I was still living with the same deviants who kept doing those awful things to me.
Now I’m a senior and I cannot predict what awful hurdles shall block me. The sinister Refrigerator Ball, a game I invented in which I throw a ball at my refrigerator, has already occupied a disproportionate amount of my time, as have Sega, Steve McQueen movies, and thinking about how I don’t have a girlfriend. I now have an evil window seat (with its own pillow; the bed still has three) which I sit on all the time. I also have yet to buy any course packets because they are too expensive. But I am strong. I can do it. I will persevere. I’m going to Naples now.