Tigers and Bulldogs and...John Harvard? Oh My?

  As we slog on through the sheer hellishness that is reading period, complete with the perfunctory stupidity from old friends at home (“Why do you have your exams now? That’s just so…weird!”), I took comfort in getting an email from my dad today asking whether I thought he should interview prospective Harvard kids.Yep, folks: the college interview season has begun for those sad souls out there who get to tear their hair out in pursuit of the perfect Ivy, and I must admit it’s really providing me with some much-needed schadenfreude.  Sure, we’re locked in Firestone from dawn till dusk and it feels like we haven’t seen a proper night’s sleep since the Stone Age—but hey, look on the bright side!  At least we don’t have to get dressed up for interviews with preppy millionaires who enjoy nothing more than crushing our hopes and dreams!The mere memory of my college interviews still sends shivers of sheer awkwardness and terror up and down my spine.  The fancy outfits, the snooty interviewers endlessly plugging their own children’s merits, the long drives to far-away coffee houses (or, even better, to elaborate mansions designed expressly to intimidate)…it all combines to make me supremely grateful.  My favorite would have to be my interview for Yale, which was held, I kid you not, in the Oreo conference room at the Kraft Foods Building in Northern NJ.  Trust me on this one: there’s really nothing else that’s quite as surreal as talking about your proposed major while dancing cookies are glaring at you from the wallpaper.Of course, I encouraged my dad to do it at all costs; after all, being an interviewer

1. Makes little seniors live in utter terror of him, which is pretty badass.
2. Would give him a chance to interview my former classmates and report back to me, which would frankly be utterly hilarious.
3. Lets him tell kids who’ve been working their brains out that they’re utterly worthless by the oh-so-elite Ivy League’s standards.

How can you pass up an opportunity like that? Precisely: you can’t.Best of luck surviving till intersession, Inkblots: wallow in the wonders of no longer being in high school, and enjoy knowing that if you enjoy this as much as I do, you’ll be nice and toasty in your ringside seat in Hell.