Exeter Hair

It was 7:45 AM. It was a chilly morning—but it felt like a perfect score morning. I stepped out of the car and walked towards the school. Taped on a door in front of the main entrance was the room assignment for the test. I found my name and walked towards the testing room—room 2400. For the next four hours or so, I took the SAT.

Two and a half weeks later.

I opened Internet Explorer and typed “collegeboard.com” in the address box. I entered my username, and logged into the site. I was redirected to my account’s main page. In prominent green letters I saw the phrase “March 13 SAT scores available.” I clicked on it and was redirected to another page. While the page was loading, I thought about how high my score was going to be. “Obviously very high,” I thought, “my test taking skills are impeccable.”

After several seconds the page had finished loading, and I glanced at my scores.

Math 800 99^th percentile

Critical Reading 800 99^th percentile

Writing 800 99^th percentile

A normal person would be shocked to find out they had scored a perfect 2400 on one of the most difficult college entrance exams. I, however, was not; I knew I would score very high, and it was just not a huge surprise for someone with my academic talent.

Since I had a perfect SAT score, I decided to apply to Phillips Exeter Academy, on of the most prestigious prep schools. They had called me several times during the past few days, begging me to apply to their school because I was so adroit. I filled out their application and received the necessary recommendations and sent it to Exeter. I was informed that I would be interviewed in two days by an Exeter graduate. I had a feeling the interviewer be pretentious, and most likely ostentatious.

On the day of the interview I prepared for a few minutes, and left to the interview site. It was going to be at the Fayetteville Public Library, a poor choice, I thought, obviously this interviewer neither had good taste nor sophistication. When I arrived at the library, I stood near the elevator on the parking floor, waiting for the interviewer. A few minutes later, I spotted something horrendous, a 1990 Mercedes S class, yes, an S class--my assumptions of the interviewer’s poor taste were reaffirmed.

The interviewer stepped out of her car and I laughed at her.

“A 1990 Mercedes? S class? You couldn’t even afford an E6?” I said in a sardonic tone.

The interviewer’s face immediately flushed red. “I…I went to Dartmouth. None of the other Ivies accepted me when I applied. I don’t make a lot of money.”

I laughed at her again. “Well, that is apparent. Dartmouth…what a terrible school. I would rather go to Berkeley or Carnegie Mellon than a mediocre school like Dartmouth.”

For the next several minutes she apologized profusely for her poor choice in cars.

“It is alright,” I said, “you went to Dartmouth, obviously not a great school. My father could lend you one of our Porsches. We obviously don’t want to see an Exeter graduate driving with that piece of trash.”

“Thank you very much,” she said, “we should start our interview now though.”

We walked into the library and sat down in a comfortable area. The interviewer asked me seemingly trivial questions. “Do you have any pets? What are you going to major in college? Which Ivy are you going to attend and why? etc…”

“Obviously Brown University,” I responded to her last question, “the campus is…superlative.”

The interview ended and I left the library. It was an unmistakable success.

Three months later, I received a large envelope in the mail from Phillips Exeter Academy. The envelope was sizeable, and was the standard yellow color. I opened it. I was shocked at what I saw inside of it. A box of human hair. The envelope also contained a letter that said I was accepted. It was odd that they also sent me a box of human hair, though.

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