So while we are on the subject of college applications...

Explanation:

You know how you have to write those phony essays when you apply for scholarships that say, “Write about why You of All the Billions and Billions of People who Ever Existed on This Entire Planet deserve this precious, coveted money more than Anyone Else?” Well, when I was applying for one scholarship back in senior year, the prompt said,
“Write an essay about why you would be counted among the university’s Distinguished Alumni if you returned for your class’s 25th reunion”.

It was spring, and I was a little sick of such essays. So one Saturday I wrote the following as a joke and then promptly forgot about it until yesterday, when I was cleaning my hard drive of old documents and found the file. It made me laugh and wish that I’d submitted it as the actual scholarship application essay.

For all of you who are just darn sick of applications and essays, I think you will understand the desperation that made me turn out this punchy essay. If not, forgive the craziness or just don’t read it. :)



"This year, when I return to Notre Dame for the Class of 2012’s 25th reunion, I join the ranks of the college’s Distinguished Alumni. That group consists of Nobel peace prize winners, Metropolitan Opera Stars, and other renowned men and women. However, I may be the most unique Distinguished Alumni that ND has ever had.
During my four years at Notre Dame, I was deeply committed to academics, music, and community involvement. My achievements during that period, stellar grades and my double major in psychology and music had earned me a large scholarship for studying music therapy at my first choice school. However, two weeks before graduation, my life took a sudden turn. From a horrible automobile accident, I lost the use of three of my fingers. I could no longer play the piano and was a severely handicapped typist. Because could no longer be an effective music therapist, I chose not to enter graduate school, but got a job with General Mills Cereals as a taste tester. It paid the bills, and I got a free box of cereal a week—which took care of the breakfast bill.
For 18 months, I tasted one cereal and tested another. After a while, I could smell one Wheatie or Cheerio at a distance of 20 yards. I was sick of cereal. I donated my free boxes to charity.
On one especially dreary, long day, I sat in the General Mills factory on my lonely stool, testing each batch of cereal as it proceeded by me. It was hot in the factory, and I began to feel nauseous. Oddly, there was no diversity among the batches that day; each one was Cheerios. Batch after batch after batch. All Cheerios. In my horrible condition, I began to absolutely loathe its grainy, pale, circular taste. Finally, I could stand it no longer. As I caught sight of the 271st batch of Cheerios headed my way, I swore inwardly that I would not taste this batch, job or no job. It came closer, but I was firm in my resolve. If my omission was seen, maybe I wouldn’t be nominated Employee of the Month, but, hey, there was always next month. The batch was getting nearer. I wavered. I was being paid to taste the cereal, not to baby-sit it. I battled with my conscience fiercely, but the deep sense of duty Notre Dame had imbued in me prevailed. I sampled a Cheerio.
Nearly instantly, convulsions ran through my body and I began to scream with pain. Simultaneously stopping the cereal’s conveyor belt and reaching for the emergency telephone, I cried urgently for poison control. I was rushed to the hospital, where I was given medication to counteract the poison that had been secreted into that batch of Cheerios. It was discovered that the next 24 batches of Cheerios all contained that quite fatal poison. Within hours, the incident was known across the United States and a nation-wide panic ensued as men, women, and children burned boxes of Cheerios, while wearing protective gas masks. However, because I had discovered that tampered batch, the American public was quite safe.
Immediately upon my release from the hospital, I was swamped by the media. I became an international hero for my simple, dutiful act. I was extolled by the President, commended by the Queen of England, and praised by Prime Ministers across the globe. I have received every honor and recognition possible for an American female (except the General Mills’ Employee of the Month. Cheerios’ sales dropped drastically after the incident).
Although I did not become the music therapist I had hoped to be, Notre Dame still prepared me for my job. It strengthened my spirit and sharpened my mind so that I could make wise decisions. My education taught me to strive to do my best and as I thought was right always. What it did not teach me was that eating one Cheerio can have world-wide, life-saving consequences. I now eat oatmeal for breakfast."