I’ve been talking off and on about doing the college thing. I even went so far as getting set up to apply. Yes, 2 months ago. Things finally got rolling on that prospect around the beginning of June–after finally, after much arm twisting, getting my transcripts back from the highschool of doom. Application was sent off, money I didn’t have was paid, got the standard we’ll get back to you response, yada yada yada. Fast forward to this morning.
I get a letter from the college in my mailbox dated June 29. It’s all official like, and I consider that I might have actually been accepted to the course I’m considering taking. Get it open, have a read, and okay, there goes that idea. Instead, they’re requesting and requiring my presence to take a math assessment before they decide whether or not to accept me into this course. And, in typical Algonquin College fashion, this pre-admission assessment requires I pay them more money I don’t have. Woohoo–I struck gold. On top of that, because I’m not yet done receiving the wicked awesome news, the course I’m looking at starts at the beginning of September. Tuition for courses starting in September is pretty much due on Thursday. The second career program, who’s epic failure of logic I’ve already mocked, wants proof of acceptance before they’ll cough up a red cent towards my confirming my current education. I see a small problem here.
The problems just keep adding up, though. Lady I’m talking to has very little to no info on the course I’ve applied for. Indeed, most/all of the questions I asked her received as a response a simple “I’ll get back to you”. This includes how/when we might discuss the possibility of tweeking the course in such a way that I might actually be able to take it without inflicting a small series of strokes on me, the professors, and the folks over at the disability center–of which there is apparently only… um… two. Most if not all of those answers I am now waiting on depend on her getting in touch with someone involved with that program–who’s availability is, at the moment anyway, questionable at best. And who’s availability will probably be questionable at best for the next while. All this for a course starting in September.
I inquired on a precautionary basis about the possibility of shoving my effective application date back to the winter session, as they appear to offer a start for that particular program in that particular semester as well. And, again, she’ll get back to me after she gets a hold of mister questionable availability. That’s becoming the new catch phrase. And I think I’ll slap the next person who says it.
So, at the end of all that, I’m no farther ahead except I have one more phone number to add to my list and a whole lot of rather off-pissing questionmarks. The only potential bright spot in this one is she’s pegged tomorrow as when she expects to get back to me. At which point we can probably just do this all over again.
I was telling Jess earlier this afternoon it’s a very good thing I haven’t gone anywhere near politics–the burocracy would drive me to drink long before anything else did. As it is, the average joe burocracy that goes with doing just about anything is making me consider going postal. Fortunately I won’t have to debate doing just that for another day or two. In the meantime, I’ll be waiting on someone who’s waiting on someone else so I can tell someone else to stop waiting on me, and then wait on them to get me money so I can eventually, finally, get this whole being educated thing over with. Can it get much more messy?
I’m not exactly sure what my dream job is, but I know what it’s not–any job that largely depends on having to rely on other people. That, if things like this are any indication, would just succeed in pissing me off to no end. And inducing that small series of strokes I’m still trying desperately to avoid.