FOR PROFIT U
by Aaron “Calafato” Collier
Originally published in Pluck Magazine
Adapted into the award-winning monologue “FOR PROFIT”
I wasn’t looking forward to the admissions meeting that afternoon. Our director loved to pass out spreadsheets of everybody’s numbers for the week and spend time picking them apart. I would shrink behind my desk as she scanned the room with her eyes looking for somebody to chastise. My numbers were down, and that was a problem.
When you work in admissions at a For Profit U we refer to students as numbers. Why? Well, I guess if you give students a human identity, it makes it harder to take advantage of them. If you turn people, into numbers, their futures are easier to add and subtract.
I spent a year meeting with hundreds of students who thought “higher education” was their ticket to freedom. I remember one of my students very vividly. His name was James, and he was a recovering meth addict. His eyes were kind - almost remorseful - and his smile would light up the room as he read our college brochures. “I’m forty years old,” he said as I interviewed him. “This is my last opportunity to do something with my life.” This particular opportunity, an associate degree in computer science, would run James close to thirty thousand dollars.
James had been laid off from his job, was about to lose his apartment, and was considering going to “college” for the first time. Despite his optimism, I knew that James needed to get his personal life in order before he started classes. Without some structure in his life, he could easily fall through the cracks and be stuck with thousands of dollars of debt. If he could get a roof over his head and rally some support from his family, he could eventually start school. I believed in him, but I also knew it was not the right time for him to go after his degree.
That said, enrollment was low that semester and our admissions director needed to hit her goal immediately, even if that meant James putting himself in a precarious position. Enrolling James at a later date was not an acceptable policy at this school. The encouraged policy was to urge someone like James to enroll “NOW!” no matter the costs.
You see, at For Profit U, I didn’t actually serve as a guide for students making one of the most important decisions in their life. That assumption was naive. My real job was to serve as a screener for the best possible candidates for financial aid. Making a profit was the only priority of this institution; education was just a consolation prize. Advising students isn’t important when you’re trained to only enroll them and punished when you don’t.
When I began to open my eyes, I caught a glance of a world where all education is for sale. Knowledge and innovation took a back seat to debt and conformity. I didn’t like living in this world. Moreover, I didn’t enjoy being the gatekeeper for the next generation of young professionals entering into modern indentured servitude. Millions of students across the country will be paying off their loans for the rest of their lives, and for what? For the chance of getting a job that will hardly pay them off?
So there I sat.
Face to face with James.
My job on the line.
His life on the line.
I was in the wrong profession and I knew it. I needed to find a way out.
-
Aaron “Calafato” Collier is a Storyteller, Podcast Host, Public Speaker and Social Communicator
More at:
aaroncalafato.net
When you work in admissions at a For Profit U we refer to students as numbers. Why? Well, I guess if you give students a human identity, it makes it harder to take advantage of them. If you turn people, into numbers, their futures are easier to add and subtract.
I spent a year meeting with hundreds of students who thought “higher education” was their ticket to freedom. I remember one of my students very vividly. His name was James, and he was a recovering meth addict. His eyes were kind - almost remorseful - and his smile would light up the room as he read our college brochures. “I’m forty years old,” he said as I interviewed him. “This is my last opportunity to do something with my life.” This particular opportunity, an associate degree in computer science, would run James close to thirty thousand dollars.
James had been laid off from his job, was about to lose his apartment, and was considering going to “college” for the first time. Despite his optimism, I knew that James needed to get his personal life in order before he started classes. Without some structure in his life, he could easily fall through the cracks and be stuck with thousands of dollars of debt. If he could get a roof over his head and rally some support from his family, he could eventually start school. I believed in him, but I also knew it was not the right time for him to go after his degree.
That said, enrollment was low that semester and our admissions director needed to hit her goal immediately, even if that meant James putting himself in a precarious position. Enrolling James at a later date was not an acceptable policy at this school. The encouraged policy was to urge someone like James to enroll “NOW!” no matter the costs.
You see, at For Profit U, I didn’t actually serve as a guide for students making one of the most important decisions in their life. That assumption was naive. My real job was to serve as a screener for the best possible candidates for financial aid. Making a profit was the only priority of this institution; education was just a consolation prize. Advising students isn’t important when you’re trained to only enroll them and punished when you don’t.
When I began to open my eyes, I caught a glance of a world where all education is for sale. Knowledge and innovation took a back seat to debt and conformity. I didn’t like living in this world. Moreover, I didn’t enjoy being the gatekeeper for the next generation of young professionals entering into modern indentured servitude. Millions of students across the country will be paying off their loans for the rest of their lives, and for what? For the chance of getting a job that will hardly pay them off?
So there I sat.
Face to face with James.
My job on the line.
His life on the line.
I was in the wrong profession and I knew it. I needed to find a way out.
-
Aaron “Calafato” Collier is a Storyteller, Podcast Host, Public Speaker and Social Communicator
More at:
aaroncalafato.net