If there’s a time in your life where one single person can alter the path you’re gonna follow in life, it’s definitely high school.
The problem is, that single person, who, coincidentally has the power to make impossibly important life decisions for you, can be a dull witted, self centered, uncaring shit for brains.
I’m talking about those career counselors you find at schools.
I understand that being a snot-nosed adolescent douchebag, you barely have an idea about what you want to become as an adult. Seriously. The amount of people who enter college through any generic degree only to switch to a real one halfway is staggering. Thanks in big part to who?

I think you already have an idea.

I am a living testament of how a career counselor can make you waste precious years of your life and tons of your parents’ money.
It all started when I decided that I definitely wanted a career that had something to do with computers. I was just getting into PC’s and Internet and all that shit when I graduated, so I said “eh, why the hell not. Computers are cool”. What I failed to explain was that I liked working with computers, in a clearly graphical aspect.
Of course, the dumb whore we had for a counselor heard the word “computers” and immediately thought “OMG COMPUTER ENGINEERING YOU’RE SUCH A SMART KID OF COURSE YOU CAN GET IN WITH THAT GPA YOU CAN APPLY ANYWHERE YOU WANT IT’S GONNA BE SO AWESOME!”
Bitch made me apply to Puerto Rico’s top engineereing colleges, especially RUM, since my brother was already there and my parents were thrilled at the thought of following “family tradition “and having two graduates from “El Colegio”. I didn’t have a single motherfucking idea about the galactic clusterfuck that I was getting into.

After a while, and much to my dismay, I was accepted into the RUM. But there was a catch. And what a catch.
For three, I repeat, THREE FUCKING POINTS I didn’t make it into engineering. And this is where the bigger, more vicious, conniving whore, the university counselor, joined the pity party.
Bitch² told me that I could just get in through Computer Sciences, since both degrees are quite similar and require the same classes and credits. After a while I’d improve my grades and raise my GPA, which meant that in less than a year I could make the jump from Comp Sci to Comp Eng. It made sense to me. How hard could raising my grades in college be? I mean Senior year was a breeze, right?

I dropped to average D’s in less than six months.

But I battled on. I said, I bet that in six more months and five more classes I can undo the damage, right?

STRAIGHT F’S.

I swear it’s like my brain malfunctioned intentionally in every fucking test, protesting about having crammed so much useless, uninteresting info about formulas, variables, cells and the wonders of hydrochloric acid.
I only did extremely well in electives and non-concentration classes, which means that Swimming, Japanese, English lit and Weith Lifting were the only things that kept my grades from going completely down the gutter.
Couple that with having your bag stolen on the first week of class (along with your chemistry lab equipment and graphic calculator) and I was having a JOLLY FUCKING GOOD TIME.

Oh well. At least I learned how to smoke. _{(Both cigarretes and cock).}
But that’s another story, of course.

After three glorious years of EPIC FAIL, I absolutely gave up on the delusion of ever getting into engineering. And besides, the ongoing war between Comp Sci and Comp Eng made me a little biased and appreciate the Comp Sci camp just a liiiiiiittle bit more. So I decided that all I needed to succeed was a change of scenery.
I transferred to UPR, Bayamón Recint. I was just 15 minutes away from home and had my own car! Fuckin’ A!
My grades did improve for a while, but then I decided to make gay friends and it all went to shit.

Yep, I had finally come to terms with my sexuality, and meeting a group of misfits that had gone through the same or worse shit than I’ve been through was both a blessing and a curse. I soon joined their carefree, class-cutting way of life, which, coupled with what little interest was left towards classes with every passing day, was a recipe for disaster.

I had pretty much managed to get every class under control, except concentration classes. Calculus and the assorted programming courses were raping my mind, and my dad’s wallet. As far as I remember, I repeated Calculus 1 a total of FIVE times. The last time I set foot in a calculus final, I spent five minutes in the classroom feeling antsy, thinking “this is gonna end up exactly like the previous classes. Either a drop or a big ol’ F”. Before the professor arrived with the tests, I bolted and never looked back. It was a weird feeling. So damn liberating. And scary.
I realized that Computer Sciences meant nothing for me, so thinking that this time I would finally get the help I needed, I requested the help of Bitch Number Three.
This time it was a guy who looked and talked like he hated each and every aspect of his job. Whatever, I didn’t care. I just wanted an alternative to this hell. Fast.
So I asked him if there were any colleges at all in Puerto Rico that teached some sort of computer-assisted art or design courses or degrees.
Could you believe the counselor of a “renouned” college in the metropolitan area DIDN’T FUCKING KNOW A SINGLE ONE?!

No School of Plastic Arts in Old San Juan?
No Graphic Design degree in UPR, Carolina Recint?
No ATLANTIC COLLEGE?!

That guy not only fails at his job, he fails at life. I bet he intentionally withheld information from me so I could’nt escape his idea of hell and stay stuck repeating classes thy kindom fucking come.
After that colossal waste of time, I heard a friend of mine mention the name “Atlantic College”, so I started investigating. It sounded like a very good alternative. Can you believe I got useful advice from a fellow homo instead of someone who is actually PAID to do that for you?

I love this island.

Soon after, me and my family had a fallout. I put my foot down and told them that I did not want to go back to that atrocious waste of time and money. I didn’t want to continue with the constant failing. Enough. DO NOT WANT.
My car was taken from me as punishment. Funny, since it was also my parent’s fault I ended up studying something that I know abhor with a passion. They practically took the decision for me, even more so after being egged on by counselor dipshit.
But now I don’t blame them for lashing out at me. I bet they were scared that their little kid would end up a jobless, leeching bum without a degree to his name. Their biggest fear ever.

After the smoke cleared I told them what i knew about Atlantic College, and how I really wanted to change everything in my life, And I didn’t care if I had to start over from zero and spend four more years studying if it meant I would be doing something i loved. I just needed a little bump in the right direction (translation: “I need some mo’ monay, biatch!”) and I promised I would dedicate every fiber of my being into this new ambition.
They were so desperate for me to finally find my way that they said yes to everything, even when they found out that tuition was about three times more expensive than the previous colleges. Ouch.
What happened after I enrolled in graphic design, in a specialized college that didn’t treat it’s students like cattle and was casually suggested by a friend of mine?

I graduated SUMMA CUM FUCKING LAUDE.

IN YO’ FACE, UPR.
_{WHAT! YOU WANT A PIECE O’ THIS? WHAT!}

So in conclusion, and to recap this whole soap opera of the damned, here’s a rundown of all the (mostly) irreparable damage that a single, inept career counselor did to me in the span of six years:

On the plus side, I learned some Japanese, how to swim properly and later on met a bunch of fantastic people whose friendship and support was invaluable during those miserable years.

As you can see, the cons far outweigh the pros, not only for me but also for my parents’ financial standing.

Counselors just don’t seem to give a flying fuck. To them you’re just another social security number sliding across their desk between coffee breaks. They don’t care if you ruin your life. They couldn’t care less if you end up a crack whore or a drug dealer. They just want you to choose quickly and get the fuck out of their office and graduate and leave their school as soon as possible so they have one less douchebag to deal with.

I understand that it’s not fair to demonize their method of work, especially since I don’t have an alternative to offer, but goddamn they should at least consider doing a bit more personalized research on how to deduct a person’s specialty, or at least be aware that college is not for everyone, so stop pushing innocent, naïve students into four (ha! make that six or eight) years of studying something they regret and eventually grow to hate.

In conclusion: Yes, I’m blaming my high school career counselor for all the fucked up shit in my college years, because that’s where SHE sent me. She didn’t even give me a choice or some time to reconsider. She just went “OMG YOU GOT ACCEPTED IN “EL COLEGIO” SO JUST PICK ANYTHING AND GO THERE! NOW! THEIR DIPLOMA IS RECOGNIZED WORLDWIDE DON’T THINK TWICE!”

I bet most of the sour cunts who work on that side of education got to where they are by the same means they instruct their prey students: Bad advice and horrific counseling. That’s why it is their fondest desire to fuck you over as well.

Oh well. At least I’m not a crackwhore.

_yet.

Posted in Rants |

Tags: College, RUM, Mayagüez, Bayamon, Fail, School, Counselor, Misery

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