Planet Stuy: The Admissions Officer

Of all the terrors in the education system, there is one that looms above all others. The most dreaded shadow that has ever haunted our planet. College applications are the specter that hides behind every extracurricular activity, every pledge of loyalty, and every compliment to a teacher. And today, with never-before-seen footage, we reveal the exhausting grind for survival of the apex predators who hold supreme power over trillions of hopeful students. Join us today on Planet Stuy for the education system’s greatest inhabitant: the applications officer.

These arbitrators of destiny seem to start their routine in a way shockingly similar to ours—getting up and brushing their teeth before eating breakfast. This was repeated every day we observed them, and according to the author of The Book Everyone Knows About, it is indicative of extreme intelligence. These fascinating creatures also perform strange rituals in the morning, such as shouting “Get out and stop filming me!” at the window, ultimately culminating in a violent rush against the glass. According to the leading scientist in universology, Dr. Fayld Harrford, recipient of the “My Parents Are Proud of Me” award with a Ph.D in collegology, this is an ancient cult ritual meant to bring interesting application essays. It officially detests sob stories and trauma dumping, although, strangely, it seems to approve of them when they’re framed as “personal development.”

Once at work, the admission officer enters their hidden lair, surrounded by white walls and furnished with a solitary black box that they refer to as a “destaup” in order to begin reviewing thousands of documents. The most important of all those documents, of course, is the background information of the applicants. The admissions officer examines hundreds of applications a day, and they always seem to be on the lookout for the richest students—the one golden needle in a haystack of what they perceive as average, high-achieving commoners (make that make sense…). To aid them in this Herculean task, the admissions officer has been found using tools, namely, one specific tool called “chatjeepeetee.” They frequently refer to it in their strange dialect, but nobody has ever found a physical copy of this tool. How could a tool this widespread, this significant to their lives, be missing? The mysteries of nature are truly mystifying. 

After a few hours at work, the admissions officer begins to get hungry, pouncing on every paper and occasionally leaping onto a table to survey the office. It yearns for the despair of a rejected high-achieving candidate. Yet, for hours, it has seen nothing but worthless failures, Brooklyn Latin kids, and the occasional fool from Bronx Science; all unsatisfying to reject because of their idiocy. What it truly hungers for is to crush the dreams of the most qualified, but this is its last chance for a successful hunt. If it fails, the admissions officer will be too weak to try again and may not live to see the next year of applications. 

The hunt begins with a search through the papers as applications scramble in terror to hide behind each other. But the admissions officer has the sharpest senses in the education kingdom and instantly homes in on one paper that had the misfortune of using the word “floccinaucinihilipilification.” With frightening speed, the admissions officer seizes the paper, snatching it out of the pile and sending applications flying everywhere. A quick examination finds that the student has a 3.99 GPA, three international awards, and only seventeen extracurricular activities. Such a failure. This won’t give anything, the officer thinks. The next paper, perhaps? Maxima Zuckerberg. A 2.0 GPA, no extracurriculars, and three suspensions. But…her dad is super rich. I can’t just reject her. There’s no pleasure from rejecting an idiot anyway—certainly not enough to justify losing my job. If her dad had donated only one lecture hall, Maxima would have been rejected. But three libraries? Zuckerberg just barely met the requirements. 

Yet another failure. The admissions officer is totally defeated and dejected—they will have to go another long, cold night (or even the rest of their life) without food. 

Suddenly, our admissions officer sits straight up, and the light reenters their eyes. A third paper, peeking out of the messy stack. And the infamous three words written on it: Stuyvesant High School. The hated antagonist of our particular admissions officer, and, indeed, all of their kind. With staggering speed, they pull out the paper, ready to inflict pain. A quick scan over the paper shows a 5.0 GPA, more than 1000 volunteer hours, president of the Speech and Debate team, president of the Robotics Team, 12 math team awards, and the first teenager to land on the moon. Cackling with excitement, they pick up their pen and disgrace the student’s family. They choose to reject the student because, according to them, “this student won’t decide to go to this college anyway; they’ll go to Stanford or something.” On a side note, the admissions officer seems to have noticed our camera crew after this and promptly called something it referred to as “the police,” as it threw two books titled How to Evade Taxes and A Beginner’s Guide to BookTok at our cameraman.

In a few months, our model valedictorian student from Stuyvesant will become the first ever valedictorian from Stuyvesant to go to BMCC. Another win for the admissions committee. 

By evening, the admissions officer is well satiated and content in its supreme position. Yet, as he walks home, he is ambushed by a superior predator that usually lives in a completely different habitat—the law. When accused of bias in college applications and about to encounter what the law calls “justice,” the admissions officer flees in complete terror, scrambling away. Nature has provided a way to all creatures, however, and the admissions officer’s flight is not without its purpose. Indeed, the admissions officer’s resilience is put on full display as it utilizes one of the greatest symbiotic relationships ever found in nature. It flees to the protection of another species, the lawyer, where it hunkers down and prepares for a fight. When the law draws near, it is stung by “the letter of the law” and, even more painful, endless loopholes. Now, it is the law that is terrified, and it flees in a confused frenzy. 

Nature is truly amazing, and its wonder is undeniable. The existence of wonderful fauna and the means of sustaining them is, in and of itself, a reason to preserve this wonderful school we call Stuyvesant. That is all for today. We hope you return to Planet Stuy to witness more of the marvelous and unique life Stuyvesant and its environs have to offer.