Staples sells a pair of
scissors for $6.99 that can be used to cut red tape (among other things). My
son Daniel just finished four years of college where he spent more than $140,000
trying to cut red tape. Or trying to avoid it altogether. What's wrong with this picture?
Actually, to say he spent more than $140,000 is grossly
inaccurate: he’ll be spending nearly twice that, when you take interest and late fees into account,
over the next 30 years. Maybe longer.
Dan hates red tape—running into it, attempting to elude
it, devising plans to burn it—and he hated college, too, mostly because
everywhere he turned there was someone either with an unsympathetic palm out and
facing up ready to collect money, or a disinterested palm out and facing front ready
to say ‘No, stop, not now, no way, those are the rules, nothing I can do about
it, try later, go away...’
You would think that secretaries, advisers, administrative assistants and all other people with palms would go out of their
way to help a student navigate the complex maze of college life and learning.
You’d think...
As much as Dan hates facing a future of exorbitant loan
payments, I hate having bought into the old cliché that a diploma from a good
university is necessary for a future that isn’t defined solely by a lifetime of
exorbitant loan payments. Ironically, when he was in high school I used to tell
him that unless he wanted to end up selling burgers at Burger King (or staples
at Staples) he’d better buckle down so that he’d be accepted into a ‘name’
school. He buckled down. He was accepted to all seven 'name' colleges he applied to.
He went to the University of Massachusetts, Amherst. From the stories we’ve
heard, we can assume that had he gone to one of the other six colleges, the stories would have been no less
infuriating.
Here are just a few tales from the dark side of campus:
Even the world’s most powerful power washer would never
get the smell of weed out of the cinder block walls of his freshman dorm
building. (Quick aside: the first time I ever got high was when I helped Dan
move into his dorm—and I never smoked a day in my life.) Despite the pervasive
culture of cannabis, Daniel took his school work seriously, and several times a
week gathered a few other students to sit in the dorm tower’s study lounge to
discuss homework and class assignments. There weren’t enough chairs the first
time they did it, so Dan bought an extra one from his room and left it there so that it
wouldn’t have to be dragged back and forth. At the end of the semester he
received a bill for $135 because the chair was missing from his room. Dan
called the school to inform one of the palm people that the chair was in the
study lounge, that it still looked, felt and acted like a chair, and that even
though the semester was over he’d be happy to drive up to school to drag it 35
feet back to his old room. You would think that learning that the chair was used for scholastic
purposes, that it wasn’t missing, and that it remained in perfect condition would prompt the school
to waive the excessive fee.
You’d think...
Dan spent the second semester of his junior year in
Brazil as part of a Traveling Scholar study-abroad program sponsored by UMass
and the U.S. Department of Education. His acceptance into the program was based
on grades, essays and recommendations. At a Brazilian university his track concentrated
on urban studies and environmental design. He did well. He returned to Amherst
for his senior year. As the semester drew to a close, he was suddenly informed
that his earned credits were not the proper kind to count toward graduation
(even though the number of credits
was fine). It had something to do with the course load in Brazil. No one who
advised and coached him in his course selection for the program recognized this
issue until it was time to prepare for graduation. You would think that since
the shortfall was traceable to an exemplary school record that enabled him to
be selected for an exclusive program, UMass would make it easy for him to
graduate without additional red tape.
You’d think...
One of the oldest stories in the world is the cost of college
textbooks. More than once, due to difficulties in scheduling the courses he
needed to take, Dan had only a day or two to purchase the required books. By
then, his only option was to buy them at the campus bookstore, where the prices
are inflationary. But that’s not the worst part of it. In several cases the
required book was written or edited by the professor. Conflict of interest?
That particular debate will be waged for generations. (I say yes, but don’t
listen to me; I’m still buzzing from my first dorm visit.) The practice is legal.
Its morality is another question. You would think that deans and bursars and
registrars and other university officials, who are entirely aware of the
financial challenges many students face, would at least try to make it a little
easier by loaning or subsidizing books or instituting programs in which
students can share or borrow.
You'd think...
Speaking of deans and bursars and registrars, I’ve dealt
with a few myself, and it was never easy. Most seem to have more chips on their
shoulders than they have shoulder space. I asked Dan about them. A young man of
few words, he said to me, “They suck.”
Dan also used few words to rail about the way professors
run classes (“Like high school”), the food available on campus outside of the
meal plan (“Grossly overpriced”), and the responsiveness of advisers (“Nonexistent”).
Someone once told me that college students will soon start
to become more vocal about what’s wrong with the university system in this
country and begin some sort of civil disobedience to coerce schools into making
changes—and that things will eventually get much better.
You think?
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