Let’s face it — No one likes to deal with financial aid. Not even financial aid officers like to deal with financial aid. Do you think that they even wanted to be financial aid officers? Of course not. Their hopes and dreams were crushed long ago, leading them down a lifelong path of spreading their misery and sorrow to students nationwide. I’ll be honest — I was anxious to hear back from them. I left nothing to chance, and I even reported a snickers bar I bought in line at Target last September! But what if they overlooked my lavish expenses of my Yogli Mogli cashier lifestyle? They would without doubt punish me with aid reaching into the tens of thousands. However, somehow I pulled it off. For the third year in a row, I was granted less financial aid than the year before.
Don’t get me wrong, I love money. I’d take a nice, crisp ten dollar bill out to a gourmet Italian meal then share a stroll through the park before ultimately inviting it back to my apartment for the best 15 seconds of its federally regulated life. That extra aid could admittedly take a huge weight off of my parents shoulders as they struggle with two jobs each just to put me through college, and our dog through dog school. It just pains me to even consider taking that money when I know there are so many righteous divisions of Emory that are much more deserving than I am.
I mean, think of those freshmen who would never get the experience of having a brand new residence hall on campus every 3 years. How could little Timmy’s parents sleep at night if they knew their son will never experience the thrill of cramming 20 people into a single room for an epic pre-game? What will Mr. and Mrs. Brendall do when they discover that their Katie didn’t unleash a torrent of urine on the men’s room floor, in a postmodern protest against gender norms? Imagine the passive aggressive emails that will assault Emory administrators when Mrs. Lieberman learns that her Adam didn’t tell his RA to go fuck themselves while streaking down the hall in nothing but a makeshift sumo-thong made out of a songfest shirt. The experience of living in a brand new residence hall is a holistic and spiritual journey that should be extended to all. I’m certain that every little bit I can offer from my financial aid package will surely help.
Obviously an increase in financial aid would have devastating effects on the incoming freshman classes, but more importantly, what would would happen to our president, James Wagner? With the $3,000 grant Emory gifted me this year, this of course means that President Wagner’s salary potential will drop from $1.2 million to $1.197 million. How can the advisors let this happen, knowing that they’re depriving this humble man of his 14th elephant tusk tie clip? Wagner’s tie clips aren’t federally subsidized, so why should we be treated any differently? When we arrive at Emory, we must all check our privilege and think of those less fortunate than us who are unable to find funding for the most essential of living accommodations.
My heart goes out to the Wagner family, who must bear the brunt of the horrible news every summer. I can’t stand the thought of Mrs. Wagner, shivering in the night, forced to huddle in her mink coat. At the current rate that financial aid is skyrocketing, it will be no time before the Wagners will be forced out of their cozy 7,500 sq ft Lullwater mansion. The only thing to lull me back to a state of tranquility is the fact that the Wagners will never be required to pay property tax due to the generous tuition contributions of Emory’s students, most of whom are completely unaware of their charity.
Receiving my financial aid award is a great start to what I know is going to be a blessed year. After all, there’s so much to look forward to! When I pay full tuition in the spring, there’s no doubt it’s going to go to an earnest and hardworking composting bin that really deserves it. I’m so lucky to attend a university that cares so much.