Dear [insert university here],
Let me tell you, your campus was pretty swell. I even loved the cafeteria bathroom that was filled with overflowing shit. It added to the ambiance and let me know that this was the real deal. It made me appreciate the crusty burgers you were serving, or rather slapping, on the trays. Your campus had a real beat to it. “Better than that shit in the bathroom,” I kidded to the person next to me in line. I winked. He definitely got it. You guys are filled with the intellectual sort.
But this isn’t about me, now is it? Let’s get down to the real grit and grime of why I’m here. This is about you and the things we’re going to need to work out if and only if I decided to attend you for the next four years. For starters, none of this ‘no smoking’ crap. We’re big boys now. I think we deserve the right to decide if we do or do not want to slowly kill ourselves. But I do hate littering. It’s revolting, to say the least. Nothing is worse than walking on the street and seeing someone toss a wrapper on the ground. Or a cigarette butt, at that. Especially if it’s still got a hit or two left. So just make sure to have a lot of trash collectors and street sweepers to tidy the place up. I’m sure we can get the environmental club to do that.
And I’m going to need a green. Nothing too extravagant. So long as Jonnie and I can T some B’s — that’s ‘Toss some Frisbees’ for anyone over the hill (~30). And don’t worry, Jonnie will pick you. He didn’t exactly apply to many schools. His range was more limited. His pocket only so deep. And no dogs allowed. They’ll just gum up the lawn. No one wants to lay in the sun while breathing in the smell of half fermented Beggin Strips. On that note I don’t like the smell and sound of lawnmowers, so just do that at night. It’ll need to be mowed during the summer time of course. Don’t cut it when it’s wet; if you do that, there’s a chance that someone could bust a leg. So none of that. Call my people. Or just look in the phone book. There is bound to be someone who can do the job. Not a lot of English, but they’ll know how to run a show.
Teacher to student ratios. That’s all the rage these days. I don’t really care about it. But don’t give me one of those professors who thinks he’s all that. If you have to, give me a young guy, fresh out of grad school, totally unaware that I can copy all of my work. They told me not to cheat in high school, but if I didn’t, would I be prepared for college? Psht, no. Better yet, give me one of those PILFs. One with those Sarah Palin glasses that slept their way through grad school so I can sleep my way through Econ or Psych.
Whatever the case may be, I think things will work out quite right. Don’t be so worried. Loosen up. Worst comes to worst, I decide to take a year off. Maybe I’ll apply again next year or go to one of the other schools that supports my deferral. Bottom line is, it’s not the end of the world. I understand you tried hard, tracking my GPAs and convincing yourself that I was the one. Your Phi Beta Kappa. Your Summa Cum Laude. But there are plenty of fish in the sea. You just have to broaden your horizons and find the one that’s right for you.
In closing – my 10th grade English teacher would be proud – I think you and I would work out just fine. Sure, we have our differences. Maybe one of us works harder than the other, but I’m okay if you’re an overachiever. Just don’t get too bogged down if you’re not the one. It’s not you, it’s me. We can’t all be winners in life, right?