A Standardized Test Told Me I Can’t Write, So I Should Probably Strip

When coming to Cal Poly I, like all the other incoming freshmen, had to choose to my major upfront. After an emotionally scarring experience with Pre-Calculus, it had become clear to me that mathematics was not my strong suit, so Engineering and anything of that sort was out.

I loved science, but science also involved a lot of math, and I just wasn’t about that life. My next thought was psychology, but I’m hopelessly addicted to the broken already, so me in a psych major would probably lead to me in a psych ward.

So I landed on Journalism. Writing, being aggressive, asking questions; it seemed perfect. For a while, it was. I even had major success with one of my articles. It’s been translated into two languages (German, Spanish), re-published a multitude of times on various sites and in independent magazines, gotten me several job offers, and even my own meme on Reddit.

I had people telling me to keep writing, to never stop, that I had a true talent, and then…

Screen Shot 2016-05-11 at 6.25.34 PM

Self. Worth. Shattered. I didn’t fit in the box. The random people assigned to grade my hastily written, 9am word vomit on “college grading” just didn’t think I was worth much. So consider this my official resignation from writing. If a standardized test tells me I have no talent, it’s probably right.

Forget all the words of encouragement and positive reinforcement. This 2-hour test defines me more than my accomplishments ever will. Like the SAT, I am not a human being without a number attached to me. That’s actually what I wrote the essay on…probably why they didn’t like it. Why am I such a fuck-up, MY GOD?!

So for all of you who enjoyed my writing, thought I was kind of witty, and maybe even thought I had a future, I am sorry. But like always, a test has chosen my future for me, and it has chosen stripping…or maybe drugs…or maybe I can be the homeless woman who screams at the walls outside of Dickey’s.

Just remember, kids: it doesn’t matter what you’re good at if that little piece of paper tells you you’re a fuck up. And for those of you who have talents that don’t involve books and calculators? I’m talking about the musicians, artists, mechanics, and the like…there’s no test for you, so obviously you mean nothing. The world can survive without music, art, culinary skills, and someone to fix the car, you damn peasants.

Because these tests, these scantrons, and these half-assed essays you write to prove you belong at a school you already got into once…they are who you truly are. And if you can’t memorize and regurgitate information in a way the system teaching it sees fit, who are you really? What could you possibly give society? The cure for cancer? Nutella? Dope ass rap music? HA. NO ONE LIKES THAT SHIT ANYWAYS.

So thank you, Cal Poly, for confirming that my only genuine talent is being able to take tequila shots straight, no chase. You were right, I can’t write anyways. 🙂

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