acid-stars.com

The day started off early. I was awake at 5:55 AM, five minutes before the alarm went off. By 6:20, I was in the kitchen, still in my pajamas, making breakfast for two. I prepared four eggs (sunny-side up) along with four turkey sausages, four strips of bacon, and two cups of coffee. Why such a hefty breakfast? Well, today was the first day of my spring semester. I was preparing myself and my boyfriend for a full day of classes.

At 9:20 this morning, I entered a lecture hall on the third floor of my college’s Humanities building. I took a seat in the second row from the front, near a window. As I was removing the cap from my pen, in comes in the instructor. I was expecting a male professor (as the name listed on my program belonged to a man) so I was quite surprised when a young woman walked in. I wasn’t even sure if she was the instructor as she was dressed like the girls in the room. As it turned out, my CC 1.2 (Art History) instructor is a graduate student. She seems like she enjoys her major and that is very evident in class. However, she is not cut out to teach. She threw up a projection of a handful of vocabulary terms on the board and then zoomed right past them. She showed us some pictures that she only briefly described. It seems like she expects us to know a lot of the history behind the art — which is ridiculous, considering this is an introductory art history class. I am hoping that, since today was only the first day, this was a quickie lesson. (We were even let out half an hour early.)

Next on the list was HIST 44 (History of New York City) on the fifth floor of the History/Economics building. About 15 minutes before class started, my cellphone starts vibrating in my hands. Who is calling me at 10:30 in the morning? I muttered as I stared at the strange phone number.

ME
Hello?

MAN
Is this Alevtina?

ME
Yes. Who’s this?

MAN
Alevtina, hi. This is D—- B——- from the MTA. How are you?

ME
Oh! Hello. I’m fine. And yourself?

MAN
Good, good. I am calling you about the internship position. Are you interested?

ME
Of course! But… is that allowed? Ms. W. told me that if we were to meet, it had to be before Friday afternoon.

MAN
I’m sure it’s okay. You know what, though? Let me get in touch with Ms. W. I’ll call you right back.

ME
OK, but you know what? I have class in 10 minutes. Would you be able to call me back in that time?

MAN
Uh, sure. OK, take care.

ME
Thank you so much. Good-bye.

I stood by the window in the corridor with my cellphone in my hands, clutching at it as if my life depended on it. However, class started at 10:50 and I couldn’t wait anymore for Mr. B.’s phone call. I went into my assigned room and took a seat by the window. (Are you beginning to see a pattern?) The professor was a few minutes late… but he completely made up for it with his pedagogical personality. He breathed life into the subject that, to me, seemed completely lackluster. He’s intelligent, humorous, and techno-savvy. Despite the man’s request for three papers to be written throughout the semester, I think I will thoroughly enjoy the class. I mean, hell, we’ll be taking three walking tours of New York City neighborhoods! They’re all voluntary… but being the dork that I am, I am going to go. No excuses.

My next class of the day, CIS 25 (Operating Systems), was to begin at 12:15 PM. However, when 12:40 rolled around, there was no instructor to be found. (I ended up making an origami frog to pass the time.) Finally, two male students from the front row decided to go to the department office and find out what had happened. They returned three minutes later, saying, “He’s here. He’s coming. He said he was given the wrong schedule.” About two minutes later, in walks a man I’d never seen before. (While I haven’t personally met every professor in the CIS department, I am somewhat confident in my abilities to place faces to names, whether it be in passing from fellow students or from photos online.) He is of Middle Eastern descent so he speaks with an accent, making it somewhat difficult to understand him. However, he, too, is a graduate student. He even seemed to be a little nervous standing in front of the class. (His hand shook as he was holding up the syllabus.) He also had a hard time articulating the material. (Grad students seem to think that, because they understand it, there is no need to explain the subject any further than what was already stated. Either that or they are simply incapable of explaining the material.) I’m not too thrilled with the actual class (learning about operating systems? snore…) but I’ll try to think positive thoughts.

At 1:40 PM, I entered another lecture hall. Since the class was CC 3.21 (Biology), however, it was on the first floor of the Science/Math building this time. When the professor arrived and unlocked the door, several dozen students poured into the classroom. I picked a seat that was close to the front of the room and near an exit. (In actuality, I sat in the first row by the door. My preference is to sit next to walls or windows, as I tend to get claustrophobic in all other situations.) This turned out to be an unfortunate seating arrangement, as I noticed a cricket or cockroach of some sort near my feet towards the end of class. I tried not to stare at him too hard or bring any attention to the critter (especially since he didn’t seem to be able to move too well, as he was on his back and making unsuccessful attempts at turning himself over, so he was perfectly harmless) but I couldn’t help but feel panicky for the remaining 20 minutes of class. The professor’s magic tricks (!) couldn’t even keep my mind off the brown bug on the floor. However, from what I was able to retain, the professor is an energetic guy who enjoys cracking jokes. (I find them funny… but, then again, I’m easy to please. Sometimes maybe too easily impressed?) The only downside to this class is that there will be no actual “laboratory” component. All lab work is to be done online — a concept that boggles my mind. I can’t seem to understand how the part of the class that used to be so hands-on has gone completely online. But you know what? One less class meeting to attend each week, which always cheers me up.

The only other class through which I have yet to sit is CIS 23 (Analysis of Algorithms). I will be meeting the professor and my classmates on Wednesday morning. This is probably the class that I am dreading the most. But, again, I need to keep my chin up and my thoughts positive.

While browsing the web one day last week, I came upon the MTA website. Now, I’ve visited this site before — I am a New Yorker, after all. What was different this time, though, was that I found their HR department page and came across the Intern and College Aide Programs site. A surge of electricity ran through my veins. Interning with the New York City Transit Authority? That would be amazing! So I quickly fired off an email to my school’s internship program director, Ms. M., and asked her how I could apply for the internship. I met with her on Tuesday aftenoon and I was scheduled an appointment for Thursday morning to see the woman in charge of the College Intern and College Aide programs for the MTA, Ms. W.

For two days, I ran around Staten Island looking for a professional outfit that I could wear to the interview. I ended up buying a pair of black pumps at Spring, a pair of black slacks at The Limited, and a black-and-white vertical striped shirt at The Gap. I was fairly confident in this outfit and thought I could pull it off without having a jacket. (I figured, I’m only twenty years old! What are the chances that I am actually expected to wear a suit? I’m young, I’m hip… I’m not ready to be wearing suits just yet.) When I arrived at the site, I found myself in a conference room with eight seats taken by fellow students — all wearing suits. I suddenly didn’t feel so confident anymore. (I ended up wearing my coat the entire time because I didn’t want anyone to know I wasn’t wearing a suit jacket.) Furthermore, I was now confused: Why were all these people here? Wasn’t I supposed to be getting interviewed?

After about three hours, I was handed a black three-ring binder and instructed to find some projects that interested me. I was to be interviewed by the managers of these projects. That meant that I was to be interviewed by a maximum of six people today. (The greatest amount of projects that could have been selected was six.) I only ended up being interviewed by one person — except that it was actually two people. (There were two men who were in charge of this particular project.) I felt a little overwhelmed, especially since they didn’t sit next to each other and would transfer control of the interview to the other when one ran out of ammo.

I learned that I was grossly unqualified for the internship position in the MTA’s R160 Train Simulation Laboratory. I tried to portray to the project managers that I ws willing to learn whatever was necessary in order to work with them… but I know that that’s not enough. Not for this project, anyway. They’re looking for strong candidates and I’m not one of them. However, I am now determined to learn more on my own, outside of school. (I was reminded of just how outdated my school’s Computer and Information Science curriculum is.) I need to have the motivation to study the subject on my own time… and I was made painfully aware of this at the interview site.

When the interview was over, I was to return to the initial site of my arrival. (It was a block away.) The next project on my list required me to go to Manhattan. It was only one stop away on the 4 train, so I wasn’t too bummed out. However, running around downtown Brooklyn and Manhattan in 3-inch stiletto heels was not on my feet’s to-do list for the day. My feet were especially angry when they took me to the interview site… and the project manager wasn’t even in his office. The security guards of this building tried a couple of other phone numbers associated with this project and were able to reach one man. I was handed the telephone receiver, whence I was informed that he needed to meet with the president (of the MTA? of the country?) and I would need to wait for him. Now… correct me if I’m wrong, but do software developers usually meet with presidents? I thought that, no, they did not, so I asked the man on the phone to clarify: “Now… This is a programming internship, right?” With a touch of confusion, he replied, “This is Labor Relations department.” My face fell. “Oh,” I said. “Well, then. I seem to have gotten incorrect information. Go meet the president, then. Good bye.”

Dejected, I returned to the infamous conference room on the sixth floor of a building in downtown Brooklyn. I was angry, I was hungry, and I was tired. So when Ms. W. asked, “Did you just return from 2 Broadway? Would you like to go back?” I scoffed and said no, thank you. She then informed me that another gentleman, Mr. B. (who happened to be the manager of a project on my list of prospectives), had just called her and asked her if there were any students interested in interning for his project. So, instead of being sent back to Manhattan, I was given a phone number. When I dialed the ten digits, I didn’t even hear a dial tone: I was taken straight to the man’s voicemail. In a state of mental and physical exhaustion, I let out a somewhat crazed laugh. “You’re kidding me!” I muttered. My resume was being faxed to his office as I was calling him, so I left a message letting him know I was interested in the position.

It was at this point that the internship director looked at me, saw how pale and sickly I was beginning to look, and told me to go home. I barely knew what to do with myself. I gathered my stuff, put on my gloves, and trekked over to the R train two blocks away. (I can’t even tell you how much my feet hurt. I’d been wearing the pumps since 7 o’clock that morning. It was already 4:30 in the afternoon. Ouch.) I arrived at Whitehall Street in Manhattan about 15 minutes later and walked straight to the Staten Island Ferry terminal, where a ferry was already docking. So I walked straight onto a ferry and then onto a car on the Staten Island Railway, where there was a little confusion halfway down the island. (Great Kills turned out to be the last stop on this train, which is nowhere near my destination. The passengers were not well informed of this situation. So when I went to leave the train, the doors closed right in front of my face. The train kept moving… and then came to a dead halt in the middle of the tracks. We were then taken back to the Great Kills station, where the few passengers left on the train were allowed to leave. Another train was right behind us, so all was well.) However, when it was all finally straightened out, I arrived at my station and was able to collapse in the hands of my boyfriend. He then drove me to a pizzeria and bought me two Sicilian slices. (Bless him.)

I never got a call back from Mr. B.