Typical Day
Ima DuCider starts her day at 8:00AM, whether she wants to or not—typically not.
She fell asleep a mere three hours earlier, having drained a complete pot of coffee while mulling over her final list of prospective students. As she sits in bed she can't help but look forward to the day the acceptance letters go out and she can get back to a normal sleep schedule.
The past six months have been a nightmare, with Ima having to read a good twenty-five to thirty applications a day. Each thick, orange folder includes a brag sheet, a personal essay, official transcripts, test scores, and teacher recommendations.
Ima has read through hundreds of applications and must narrow her choices down to just a handful that she wants to present to the admissions staff. She feels a personal connection with the applicants and has a difficult time saying no when they've been so open and forthcoming with her.
In a perfect world she'd be able to admit everyone, but unfortunately that's not the case. That means that the talented kids, like Darla, the ballet dancer who danced for the Joffrey until she broke three bones in her left foot and who now has a passion for sports medicine, or Rodney, a first generation immigrant with straight A's, a 2200 SAT score, and a reformed gang member for a father, will both probably not make the cut—that is, unless Ima can figure out a way to convince the board to overlook their flaws and only see their promise.
The bulk of applicants didn't even make it this far. Ima is the third and last stop in the reviewing circuit—an honor she has worked long and hard for. Well, more like three years, but it's felt like forever.
Most applicants end up in the proverbial trashcan. (It's actually a recycling bin, which is apropos considering most of the kids recycle the same trite lines about how wonderful they are because they spent the day at a soup kitchen and how "they learned more about poverty from people at the shelter than the other way around.")
If Ima has to hear one more word about "how math saved my life" or "why my teacher is my hero," she'll scream. She's also getting mighty tired of students misspelling her school's name, not to mention the half dozen or so mix-ups with that other school (straight shot into the trashcan). At least the laughable mistakes keep her awake. On more than one occasion she's fallen asleep with her computer in her lap and awoken to a keyboard covered in drool.
Ima takes one more peek at her selections. She's torn between recommending a legacy kid with a 2100 combined SAT score and a girl from Detroit who spent her summer learning how to unboil an egg. She decides to go with the girl who unboiled the egg—just for the sheer novelty of the task.
At noon, Ima is in the middle of a session with her colleagues, all of whom have been defending their selections as if their lives depended on it (instead of their jobs—which is more true to the task). So far, Ima has had both of her recommendations rejected.
She tried valiantly to plead for the figure skater from Los Angeles and the swimmer from Rhode Island, but the former didn't quite have the grades, while the latter only won the bronze medal in the Olympics. Who would've thought that Ima's colleague would've found a boy who won gold in the 50-meter freestyle? Oh well, at least they'll have a good swim team for the next few years.
At 1:00PM, Ima suggests breaking for lunch. The dean frowns. With so much to get through, he expected people to have brought lunch.
Those around him whip out homemade salads and the dean starts pealing a hard-boiled egg. Ima squirms hungrily in her seat and sucks at the dregs of her water bottle, pinching herself under the table to stay awake and willing her growling stomach silent.
So it goes for hours and hours. Ima eventually gets four of her picks accepted and revels in her achievement, trying not to let the twenty kids she couldn't get through eat at her.
She is especially happy about an adopted girl who plays concert violin and has already done research with Cal Tech and JPL. Finding STEM girls who can also fill out the band is a special hot spot for the group, and the dean is exceptionally pleased. He even offers to share one of his hard boiled eggs with Ima, who accepts, in honor of the candidate they let in who unboils eggs.
At 1:00AM the team packs it in for the night. Ima is grateful she doesn't have a family, children, or pets waiting for her to make her feel guilty about never being home; but at the same time, she kind of wishes she had someone to share her space with.
She shuffles through campus towards her ten-year-old Toyota coupe. Once home, Ima falls asleep with her work clothes on. It doesn't matter—in a few short hours she'll just have to get up and do it all over again. She doubts anyone would care if she wore the same thing to work tomorrow, although they might notice the smell.