Defying Expectations

Graduate School rejections thus far:
UCLA (Feb 12)
Cornell (Feb 16)
Princeton (Feb 23)
Yale (Feb 23)

Schools yet to answer (alphabetically):
Berkeley
Chicago
Columbia
NYU
Stanford
UPenn
UCSB
Virginia

Oft have I been told that (for one reason or another) it is exceedingly difficult for a student to be accepted into a graduate program for the same university he attended as an undergrad. The rejection from UCLA was, thus, while disappointing, not terribly surprising; Cornell's "regrets" were a double whammy. Not to be outdone, Princeton and Yale teamed up to deliver their twin no thank you's simultaneously (both yesterday, both via email). Princeton dean William Russel was so gracious as to make the following offer in his email:

We apologize for the informality of this email, knowing that past practice would have you receiving a formal, signed letter from my office (I would, of course, be happy to provide such a letter if you so desire).

"No thank you", was my mental reply to his kindly proposition. One rejection per school seems entirely sufficient both to assure me that I am undesired, and to cast a melancholy shroud over my life. The graduate programs needn't drive me to depression with a second, more 'formal' declaration of the opprobrium with which they view me; they needn't provide a demonstration of their disdain by making the extra effort to reject me with the payment of postage and sending a hard-copy "nay."

This is view, however, is not shared by one person we'll call "Friend D."--as in the grade I would bestow upon him for the facility with which he provides solace. "Heck yeah, I'd want a 'formal, signed letter'," he began. "What kind of school is this 'Princeton,' anyway? Can't even afford a stamp? You went through all the trouble to apply there, and they don't have the decency to reject you properly. Write 'em back and tell 'em you want that second rejection in the mail."

Hoping to extract a modicum of sympathy out of Friend D, I confided in him that the dynamic due of Ivy League emails, which had arrived in quick succession, made a grand total of four "negatives"--and zero affirmative replies. This attempt failed.

I moved on to what I considered might be a more effective technique at milking him for some commiseration: a pity party. I said that I was academically worthless, that I was the intellectual equivalent of...something without value, that most likely no school would accept me, and I was destined for a sad, miserable future of under-employment. He took no effort to contradict any of this.

Finally, I decided I would make it as easy as possible for him to console me: I would say something positive, and let him agree. A simple "That's true," or even a monosyllabic "yes," would have been good enough at that point.

"Stanford was supposed to have come in late February, and it's already late February. Their deadline was the earliest, so they've had the longest time to make a decision. Do you think they're taking so long to reply because they're deliberating among me and some other candidates? Maybe I'm on the short list for Stanford! Maybe Stanford will accept me," I said longingly.

In complete and utter defiance of all I had anticipated and hoped for, Friend D. countered, "No, maybe Stanford is just less efficient at sending out its rejection letters."