Today I was answering phones in the admissions office. Generally people pick up, ask a few questions about the summer interview program or campus tours, I answer their questions, and then we’re both on our merry ways. This afternoon was a bit different however…
Me: “Hello and thank you for calling the College of William & Mary’s Office of Undergraduate Admission. My name is Casey. How can I help you?”
Caller: “Oh sorry. I was waiting for a beep. I thought you were an automated voice system or something.”
I’ve been told that I come off as robotic or rehearsed every so often, but this level of cyborgery hasn’t happened to me since I was in seventh grade and someone thought that my reading aloud for class was actually an audio-tape.
For me college has always been about coming to terms with my own imperfections. Sometimes I’m quick to judge, sometimes I let myself get over-involved, and sometimes I let me own sense of morality get the better of me to the point where even I can tell that I’m being self-righteous. Other times apparently I come across as being so calculated that I sound like an actual robot.
I think that this for me means that senior year will be all about reconciling the desire for perfection in applying to the work force with the necessity of remaining humanly imperfect. Especially having worked as a senior interviewer, I know that it’s my quirks and imperfections which make me interesting, but that’s still sort of a hard concept to integrate into my general functioning as a subdued perfectionist.
I suppose that not being able to accept imperfection is an imperfection in and of itself. Whatever the conclusion may be about the necessity of imperfection and reconciliation, I’m still going to be the guy who honks when he laughs, who trips when he walks, and who falls asleep at the breakfast table. That’s just going to have to be okay with me, and for the time being it really. Hopefully I’ll be able to remember this when I’m sitting in my own job interviews in the coming year.
Hey, maybe some people will actually like talking to what could easily be mistaken for the bizarre love child of an admissions intern and the Moviefone operator. To each his/her/hir own imperfection.