I just got back from City College where I had gone to figure out my financial aid situation — so far, they’d offered me none at all, which I found a little unnerving seeing as I hadn’t worked in the last year. I trekked over to the “Y” building — an imposing grey structure — and found the office inside. Windowless and without air conditioning, the financial aid office was constructed of little cells not unlike a horse’s stall in a barn. There were a few students seated in the chairs lining the wall, but no one of any authority was anywhere in sight. Then I saw it, the shiny silver bell, like one you’d see on a hotel desk, with a green sign instructing, “Ring the bell for help.” I looked around sheepishly. Which circle of hell am I in now? I thought, and extended a finger to ring the bell. Immediately a fellow came up to one of the stalls. I told him I wanted to speak to a counselor regarding my FA status, and he told me he was one. Gone were my former private school visions of offices, chairs, one-on-one discussions. He jotted down my social security number and ran it into the computer, an elderly machine, black screened with white text. He told me the same thing every other person had told me when I called: that, because I am a grad student, I’m ineligible for undergrad grants. No kidding. I shot out a series of questions to which I got vague non-responses and shoulder shrugs. I filled out a few forms that I had already filled out online months ago; apparently the efficiency of online Direct Loan counseling is thwarted by the office’s inability to process the gathered information.

I left not more than a half hour later feeling completely daunted and miserable. I had been spoiled at SLC in a serious way. At this point, I’m starting to wonder if all that debt is worth it so long as I can actually get what I need to get done.