Two weekends ago, I set out to take the GRE. Now, the GRE is a normal rite of passage for many a Liberal Arts grad. Upon realizing that his “Insert something abstract here Studies” degree makes him very qualified for living at home with his parents, the recent graduate begins to grapple with questions like “how will I feed and house myself?” The reality of the M.A. as the new B.A. begins to slowly dawn on him, and he chooses to partake in this placement test, all the while wondering if he is having SAT déjà vu. Now, this post-graduate season of life, as unromantic as it may appear, should not be scoffed at too quickly. As any liberal arts major knows, such seasons of pondering, homelessness, unemployment, and occasional bouts of depression J have sown the seeds for many a great poem and indie band. The world is quite thankful for that. However, the truth that at some point in time we must move on, replace our hoodies with stuffy things like “blouses”, and avoid becoming soup kitchen regulars hits each one of us, and we begin to search for means of financial stability.
In my own ponderings of “what to do with an English major,” I came to the conclusion, that grad school was necessary. So, I set out to register for the GRE. Now in the States, this is a relatively simple process. Not so, in the good ole PRC. After many failed attempts online we resorted to a stakeout at the Bank of China. After transferring funds into a special account that would then be transferred into another special account, the matter was settled. I could now choose a location and date for my testing. Mission accomplished…or, so I thought.
Enter, complication number two: no seats for testing available.
In all of China. Really, no seats? In ALL of China?
Apparently, even in the utmost reaches of the Earth, places National Geographic has never been and where no English-speaking foreigners are anywhere in sight, Chinese students are taking an English test to fulfill their employment dreams. It seems the market is putting ALL of us new B.A.-holders in a tight spot.
After much prayer and petition and many a “refresh page,” finally, a spot opened up at Beijing Normal University. I was set for August 6, 10:00AM. After a couple months of vocab memorization and algebra review, I set off on that fateful Saturday morning, arriving at the testing place with two hours time to spare (Overeager? Perhaps. But this is China after all, and one never knows when a collapsed bridge or crossing flock of sheep may render one’s destination completely unreachable).
If we arrived any later than 9:30 at the sight, we risked being shut out of the test. So, naturally, my five new Chinese friends and I began to grow nervous when, at 9:45, no one had shown up to administer the thing. At approximately 9:50, one test-taker and I decided to take it upon ourselves to see what the heck was afoot. After busting into a class in session, borrowing a student’s computer, making a couple of phone calls, and receiving an offer to help one boy “improve his oral English” (an offer which I politely declined with an “I’m sorry, I just don’t know how long I will be left in the country…cryptic though honest excuses such as these come in handy far more often here than one would expect) we discovered that THE TEST HAD BEEN MOVED.
Seriously?!?
But, not willing to give up, I embraced the skills that both Tiger Tunes and Tiger Traks had instilled within me. I, along with my new friend, led the pack of befuddled grad-school hopefuls in a race across campus. (I can now safely cross “Win the Amazing Race” as a potential strategy for financial security off my list. I was not, I regret to say, calm and collected). I held back the tears with the help of some paper fanning and a rolled down window as we proceeded to get stuck in traffic and then drive down a hutong, a type of road that is only suitable for bicycles and small mobs. We made it to the “correct” testing center around 10:30 where we were whisked away to the sign-in center by a sweet Chinese lady. As the only foreigner present, I received special attention in the form of being personally ushered around like a blind person throughout the entire process. For once, I was not offended that my inability to speak Mandarin beyond a four-year-old level was equated with mental illness and/or physical disability.
Though in the moment it felt like one of my anxiety dreams was coming true, I got to take the whole test. And I think that all the running across Beijing pumped extra oxygen to my brain, giving me perhaps, a better score than I might have gotten if the situation had been, well, less nightmarish. When life gives you lemons…
Though my GRE attempt was almost Shanghaied, I have to thank the good People’s Republic for giving me great material for both future applications and dinner parties. And if I am accepted for a program next fall, I know I will owe at least part of my “xie xie” to the country which has hosted me during this season.
