The beating of my head compounded by the trickle of sweat running down my back were the only senses I felt as I sat on the sterile blue sofa in the waiting room. What questions will he ask me? Will I be able to sit for another half-hour interview, faking smiles and polite nods? The college circuit had become routine, a typical part of my summer days. So why did I have a knot in my stomach that felt as if it would fray if I dared to sit ?

After what seemed like enough time to travel to Mars and back, an older, graying man plodded into the office. Kelly Marx? That's me. Hi, I'm so and so from admissions. Won't you have a seat?

Throughout the interview, I wondered why I had been so nervous. Why had I even bothered to travel four hours to sit in a cramped office talking to an absolute fruitcake? I'm not saying that he didn't give me any useful information. He did. I found out that the student union has a wonderful snack bar where they have pizza night every Thursday, the campus is circular (as if I didn't know that from my tour), and one of the buildings should really be in Albany. The blue prints were switched, so the building is brick instead of stale cement. Burnt Hills? Sure, he's familiar with Burnt Hills. He knows someone there, Mr. Chericko. Yup. Good school, one of the best. Basically, here's my college. Maybe you'd want to talk to a professor. Yup, we have a study abroad program. Oh, Montreal; you like Canada, huh? (my green shirt gave that one away). Yeah, my kids won't go to college here, but feel free to apply. They have strawberry frozen yogurt, too, did I mention that?

Typical interview? I don't think so. But at least it sent me back to reality. Interviewers aren't some gods or goddesses who have control over your life. Admissions personnel are regular people, with regular, normal (that's open to interpretation) lives. f