Tour de You're Forcin' It.

For my sister, Jaimee.

The road of applying to college is one fraught with something I like to call: insanity. 

First of all, everyone but the entitled geeks takes a massive blow to their self confidence, thinking that they've made so much of a fuck-up of their high school career that no one will ever accept them.

You start off thinking about crazy goals anyways. What's the harm in dreaming....right?

The grandeur of such thoughts slowly fades as you remember those few B's you got back in sophomore year.

Your standards have slipped just a little bit, but hey, they're still high. Of course, SATs roll around, and with that score squatting squarely atop the peak of the bell curve, you're going to need to reconsider some things.

State schools are boss, plus you'll be saving yourself and your family a whole bunch of money. In the long run, you'll be equally successful as anyone else, just minus all those loans to pay off! Somehow, however, you just can't shake the feeling...

And then, since you presume yourself to be at rock bottom, you reach the final conclusion, one that'll hopefully bring you to some top-tier, high-paying managerial position if you work hard at your entry-level job prospects.

This paralyzingly frightening stage only lasts about a week or so, before your brain starts to remember all the kick-ass things that you've been doing for those four years. Maybe you didn't get straight A's, but you're the world's leading alpaca psychologist...

...or a champion ostrich racer...

...or your state's mathelete of the year--four years running.

[Sappy moral lesson to follow, skip if you just want to laugh at the rest of the pictures. This is, after all, dedicated to someone.]

The only ones who have any need to worry are the ones who...don't care enough to actually worry. You'll wind up happy wherever you go, and even if you don't, transferring to somewhere you will be isn't the end of the world either.

[That concludes the moral lesson, thank you.]

So with that knowledge you feel emboldened to pursue a mix of both realistic and quasi-fantastic schools, covering all your bases.

Now what? Well, you've got to show the colleges that you exist (or, really, that you exist MORE than other people exist.)

And this is where I find fault with the college application process.

It's turned into a half-year period where obsessive attention-whoring is encouraged. Not even just encouraged, but strongly encouraged.

Every child must stand out, or else they'll be kicked down that mountain I showed earlier, only I didn't show you what the rest of it looked like.

Why the hell did I climb this thing?

And so kids start acting like they've been listening to Rihanna's "Disturbia" for 2 weeks straight.

Some people pretend not to notice this outbreak of truly bizarre behavior, believing themselves to just be "swept up in it all."

No.

You've gone b@t$h!t crazy with stress, and everyone thinks it's normal.

Your life becomes dominated by checklists of forms to fill and people to call. All things to do so you can show you're interested in a certain school.

You haven't been there yet? Well then, looks like you should get on that, because you know that they put a little gold star on your file if you've shown the initiative to go on a tour.

From my experience, I've only come across two types of potential tour guides.

The first one shares something with you--a burning question as to why they are a tour guide. They aren't excited about their own school, or about getting you to go there. Their lack of energy is contagious. It's almost raining just because of their piss-poor attitude.

That corner of sidewalk that goes into Bapst. 

It's practically illegal for the weather to be halfway decent during a college tour. Anything remotely sunny should be considered a divine omen. Regardless, you should prepare for the worst.

I wish I could say that it was less painful with the second kind of tour guide, but it's just not true.

This bitch is crazy.

She wants to give you a tour so bad, excitement is practically bursting through her skin.

Buckle up, because you're in for the tour of your goddamn life.

Talking at hyper speed. Your mind is unaware of just how much ground you've covered on this tour.

As your body begins to feel the effects of the exertion, patience begins to slip away.

Remember, you need to make yourself known. EVERYONE on campus needs to know that YOU'VE BEEN HERE.

Peeing on trees and streaking are the cop-outs for this special kind of attention.

No. You need to be the closest person to the tour guide at all times.

Fuck personal space.

Your goal is to stay as close as possible for the longest time span possible, with the hope that you might actually fuse together.

Cheap tricks are a viable alternative.

What decade is this picture from?

Competition is fierce.

No one will stand in your way, goddamit.

There's one giant caveat, though. Maybe you've forgotten during your relentless battle to stay in front of the pack, but does the campus you're visiting really even look like the one you saw in brochures or online?

Huh...that's weird. But you just spent too much time considering it, and someone else has taken your spot at the front asking all the stupid questions.

Meanwhile, I'm the groggy college student who already goes here. I'm already pissed that I live on Newton and need to take a bus to get here, and I'm 5 minutes late for class. The last thing I want to do is see all your dumbstruck (or maybe just dumb) faces looking around at all of the students passing by and feel like I have to go from this:

To this:

For the sake of your feelings.

I know, I know, I'm just too kind.

It's not my job to ruin kids' dreams about the perfect school.

It's life's.

Quit forcin' it.

D