Sticking It to the Man

Now that my children are adults, I admit that I take perverse pleasure in seeing them deal with the craziness of the grown up world.

I’ve heard them rail at the ridiculousness of the tax code. My response, “Yes, my dear child, it’s convoluted mumbo jumbo. The government doesn’t want you to understand the IRS forms—it supports a whole industry known as H&R Block.”

I’ve heard them deal with telemarketers. “No, we really don’t need ADT. We have a dog.” After hanging up, I’ve heard a particular child mumble, “That person claimed that you could incapacitate a dog with hairspray—how stupid is that? Don’t they know that (chemicals A, B, and C) won’t bother a dog?!” Yes, dear, telemarketers lie.

I’ve had to have them sitting next to me so I could talk to the financial aid department about my tax returns—they have to get on the phone and give permission at every step so the financial department doesn’t violate their right to privacy even though it’s about my tax return. Yes, dear, this is a waste of your time. Sorry. Cope.

One of my college seniors thinks the exit exams are ridiculous. I pointed out that the exams are just another hoop to jump through in the bureaucracy of life. This particular senior contemplated marking all the answers “C.” My husband said, “So, would that be your way of sticking it to the man?” I burst into peals of laughter. “Sticking it to the man? Seriously?” My husband and I fist bumped and laughed until tears nearly streamed down our faces.

Our kids are now convinced that Cal and I are insane. I suspect that they’re wheeling and dealing to see who gets stuck with the crazed parents. Poor Ariel, I’m afraid she’s going to get the short straw.

Almost Worse Than Scholarships

Today I discovered something just as onerous as scholarship applications. Financial aid. Foolishly I imagined that once we turned filled out the FAFSA (Free Application for Federal Student Aid), which was pages of personal financial information and needs to done for each college student you have and for each school they apply to—at any rate, I thought we were done once we finished the FAFSAs. Guess what? I was wrong.

Instead, the school (University of Tennessee, Chattanooga) emails the student at an account they set up for the student to let them know that they need more information. This assumes, of course, that your child actually followed through in accessing that account (inputing all the new privacy numbers that they’ve been assigned—all of which came on separate papers) and checking it on a regular basis. Luke, who inherited his Luddite tendencies from me, didn’t bother to access and finish setting up the account since the system wouldn’t accept his numbers. He figured once he was registered he’d be able to do it. Thankfully, Ariel loves computers and eventually found the emails from Financial Aid. They were requesting multiple documents with which I was unfamiliar. So, I thought, “Hey, I’ll just call them and ask questions.” The solution seemed so simple. Having gone to a public university, I should have known better. But, I called anyway--you have to start somewhere.

Me: Good morning, my daughter received some emails about more paperwork that needs to be filed for her financial aid, but I’m not sure what I need to do.

Financial Aid person: I’m sorry but I can’t discuss your daughter’s financial paperwork with you.

Me, perplexed—clearly I’ve misunderstood something: What?

Finanical Aid Person: I can’t talk to you about your daughter’s financial aid situation—she has a financial privacy right.

Me (obviously she thinks my daughter is much older): My daughter is 16 years old. She’s a financial dependent. And this is my financial information I’m asking about.

FAP: I can’t talk to you about your daughter’s financial aid because of her right to financial privacy.

Me: (I think, “My daughter has no finances—how can they be private? Especially, when it’s my finances we’re talking about!!") But because I’ve done this whole bureaucracy thing before, I yell, “Ariel!!”

Ariel comes.: What?

Me: This financial aid lady won’t talk to me—she can only talk to you. So, you get on the phone. I’ll tell you the questions I need to know the answers to. You ask her, and then tell me what she says.

You can imagine how ludicrous this was. I sat next to Ariel and told her what to ask. She asked. Then she told me the answer. And we did this over and over with each question—not to mention the clarification that went on with each question. I'm glad it's over—at least until the next thing. Right now, I'm waiting for the math department to return my calls. They don't pick up the phone, so every day leave another message on their answering machine. I'm hoping that like the unjust judge, they will finally tire of my messages and return my call.

Guess what? The math department finally called back. They have all the information for the scholarships. Next thing I’m waiting to hear about is Housing exemption (i.e., authorization to live at home). Luke got his exemption weeks ago. But Ariel hasn’t gotten hers yet. Ariel called them the other day (I didn’t call because I was sure she had a privacy right-to-not-let-your-parents-know-where-you-will-be-living-next-year). They rudely told her they’d email her eventually and hung up the phone.

And we still haven’t heard from the Orientation people on which week they’re going to assign Luke and Ariel. Heavy sigh.

I was shocked and appalled when I first read that wealthy parents actually hire individuals to do the whole application/scholarship/financial aid thing for them and their kids. I’m not shocked anymore. Is it any wonder that poor kids without aggressive parents don’t get scholarships and financial aid?