QUANTITATIVE REASONING: 35 MINUTES
You
have reached the quantitative reasoning section of the GRE. Congratulations. You may not look back at previous tests once this
portion has started, so too fucking bad if you’re still stuck on the question
about the contrasting arguments in the passage about the Navajo Indian remains
found in New Mexico, on which you just spent 7 minutes ruminating, and too
fucking bad if you missed the definition of ‘ruminating.’ In this portion of
the exam, we will ask questions that involve letters, numbers, pictures,
functions, formulas and charts, probably some of which you have never seen, and
we will give you an absurdly limited amount of time to finish them. We have designed quantitative reasoning to
allow left-brained, logic-zealots to look like glistening thoroughbreds in the
race to graduate school, grabbing the attention of Ivy League suitors who are
willing to bet on the favorites. For
those of you who are right-brained and have a nauseous aversion to logic and
reasoning and would rather spend hours with charcoal and easel or pen and paper
or camera and film, this section will parade your weaknesses like a Pekingese in
the Preakness. And don’t get your hopes
up that everything will ‘just click’ when you see the test material. This is not Good Will Hunting. And you
are not Matt Damon.
There are a total of 20 questions and
35 minutes for this portion of the test.
Don’t try to calculate how to pace yourself now; we know it’ll take all
the energy you can muster to figure out the conundrums beyond this page. We hope that 500-something page book you
bought over the summer works to your advantage, even if you completed (and by
completed, we mean skimmed) 4 out of 9 of the practice sections and retained none
of the lessons that the book offered.
Surely, you remember some material from high school math classes, because
despite your groans of, “I will never
use this is real life,” your teachers hammered it into you how important trigonometry
and pre-calculus become in your daily life, and you believed them, because who ever questions a high school math
teacher? We understand that it was your
choice to slack on GRE prep, because you were so busy chasing after three
children, because if you’re going to attend graduate school, you must have some
way to pay for it, preferably a full-time job that involves no paper
trail. Your choices were drug cartel or summer
nanny. You chose wisely and we applaud
your judgment, but we regret to inform you that you will not receive any points
for that on the GRE. Please remain seated
for the duration of the test and keep fidgeting to a minimum. Our monitors really don’t want to come out
from behind the glass window and tell you to stop adjusting your ponytail and
distracting the other test takers.
Relax; this is only one of the make-it or break-it factors for graduate
school.
Pressure
is measured by the equation PV = nRT; pressure multiplied by volume equals
amount of substance multiplied by the constant (8.3145 J/mol K) multiplied by
the temperature. Meaghan, Kathleen, and
Jessica are all sisters. Meaghan and
Kathleen both completed their undergraduate study at a small, private, liberal
arts college in Memphis, TN. Both
pursued law degrees at prestigious, top-25-schools-of-law in the nation. They received the same LSAT score, which
ranked them in the 98th percentile for all LSAT takers that year. Surely, they would have received near perfect
scores on the GRE, as well. No
pressure. Plump scholarship bundles
allowed them to reduce the amount of the loans that they would inevitably pay
back when both of them become partners at a firm and are making north of
$250,000. Jessica has never had the
desire to be a lawyer or a doctor or anything with a practical function. Jessica writes for enjoyment. In the dead of night, she can’t stop the
synapses that signal her right hand to pick up a pen or a keyboard or a phone
and start writing, typing, recording messages of words that have fallen so
deliberately and temporarily into place and beg to be remembered. She realizes most writers shiver in the
winter behind the paper-thin, smoke-stained walls of their “New! Refurbished!
Great Neighborhood!” apartments and eat canned ravioli out of calcium-crusted bowls.
No pressure. Graduate school no longer creeps up as an
option, but butts in as a necessity. If
the volume of the disappointed sighs is at its loudest and if the room temperature
constantly rises when the graduate school talk slips into conversation, then
how many people counting on Jessica does it take for her to fold under the
pressure?
Forty-one
thousand, three hundred and fifty marbles are put into a bag labeled, 'GRADUATE
SCHOOLS.' As your hand shakes and your
bowels clinch, you close your eyes and grab seven marbles, without replacement. What is the probability that you will scrape
by the application deadlines for all seven schools, and what are the odds that
each will require a hokey, get-to-know-you essay (most likely, given your past
ratio of luck to misfortune, all will have slightly variant prompts so you
can't write the same thing seven times), wherein you use the canned,
overwritten phrase that always comes to mind when you're asked to write about
your future: "Since I can remember, I've always wanted to write"? Because since you can remember, you’ve been
filling up cheap Staples notebooks with wordy passages that flow seamlessly
between pages and attempted screen plays you never had time or encouragement to
finish and the occasional catharsis with raw, impulsive emotion behind all the “fuck”s
and “shit”s and “what the hell am I doing?”s. Television writing became your
dream before you even knew what television writing was. When you were younger, MADtv would be dully
playing in the background during dinner, and you’d catch hints of laughter
every few moments and think to yourself, that
will be my job. These seven schools
represent your chances to emulate what you experienced during your childhood,
and perhaps make another starry-eyed six-year-old find her calling. What fraction of those schools is looking for
an acute little girl with exponential talent, but whose total sum is still
unknown because she's crass and stubborn like her father, but overly sensitive
like her mother, and can't find a way to balance either side of the equation?
There
are 3 points on a map: Boston University, Sacred Heart University, and Brooklyn
College, labeled respectively, A, B and C.
If point A is 151.3 miles from point B, and point B is 68.1 miles from
point C, when does it stop hurting that all hypothetical points revolve around
a relationship that ended in a text, saying "I love you but," and you
knew exactly what was coming, so instead of asking for a good 'but,' you just
asked for a goodbye? And as acceptance
letters rolled in, you ached to revel in the fact that you're going to graduate
school, but instead, you ached as you pictured the geometric shapes of his
face, and the 90 degree angles of the walls in the apartment you'd planned to
own, and the precise circumference of the coffee table in the living room that
bled into the kitchen, but you’d already established that it was okay if your
apartment was shitty and small, because all you'd need was one another. Too much time playing with imaginary numbers,
cubing them and squaring them and swearing at them until they would become real,
piecing together the factors that would never exist except in an alternate
reality. So much emphasis on i and -i and not enough on the I that you started to become the negative
I. Focusing so much on the unknown variable
that you forgot the formula. And the
structure. And you stood at the board
scratching your head wondering why your answers are always wrong. If you are 21 years old, and put all you had
into a six-year relationship, what percentage of your life did you waste living
it for someone else? Including
birthdays, anniversaries, Valentine’s days, and Christmases, how much time and
money did you put into a relationship that you and your therapist knew damn
well was too one-sided to ever last? At
what point do you move on, despite the proximity of the cities? At what point
will you be comfortable admitting that you are okay if your lives no longer
intersect, and at what point would a hypothetical glance on the subway not make
you fall to pieces?
Two
non-parallel lines with the midpoints of (NOW, -NOW) and (THEN, -THEN) on a
plane intersect at a certain point. If
you know that NOW= (THEN + -THEN)(-NOW), then NOW = 0, and this is your clean
slate, and the THENs cancel out because they don't matter anymore, and the -NOW
multiplied by itself only leaves a positive integer, because in this realm, two
negatives make a positive because you're pretty damn positive there's no room
for negativity now. Then, you couldn’t
withstand the pressure. You applied for
the wrong reasons. No one likes a
conformist simply going through the motions, no matter how educated she is. You had your dependent variables lined up as
you checked off each one: 1. make something of yourself and make your parents
proud; the disappointment in their eyes when you used the excuse “taking a year
off” was enough to shame any daughter into racking up more student loans and a
supplementary degree, because they knew (and you subconsciously knew, too) “a
year off” would turn into “a few years off,” which would turn into “I’m
comfortable with my bachelor’s degree.” 2.
delay life; you wanted to slow things down and put off responsibility, even if
you didn’t know what that responsibility would even be yet. You were so uncertain of what you even wanted
and you just knew it was too soon to pursue it without a graduate school buffer. Now, you realize looking back that you were
painfully attentive to all desires, except your own. Appeasing the dependent variables, you were
unable to establish the independent variable.
The variable that stands on its own.
The variable that is unaffected by outside forces. The variable that says, this is what I want, and all
of you can just sit on it. You
remember your first graduate school interview, and as soon as it was over, you
burst into tears and called your mother, because it was at that point that you
realized you were doing it for all the right reasons. You knew who you were, and you knew what you
wanted and where you were going and someone saw that in you. You want experience, you want gain, you want
day in and day out to be rooted in something you love. You will stand up and say
I am passionate about me, and only me, and going off on this tangent will be a
sine that you are not willing to cosine your life away with anyone else; the
point at which these lines intersect can only be (FUTURE, FUTURE).
Jessica, this is absolutely beautiful. Congrats on grad school :-)
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