Page 92 of Better Than Gelato
Dang Isa and her peer pressure!
“UC San Diego College of Visual Arts, this is Lottie.” The voice on the other end of the phone reminds me of sweet tea.
“Hi, Lottie, this is Juliet Evans.” I’m so nervous it’s coming out Scottish. I take a deep breath before continuing. “I recently applied to the photography program, and I wasn’t accepted. And I was wondering if you could tell me…um…or give me any information about…why not?”
I can almost but not quite hear a sigh.
“I’m sorry, I’m not the one who makes those decisions.”
Yeah, Lottie, I was under no illusions that the lady answering the phones was the one making those decisions.
I channel the most professional version of myself I can find.
“Of course, I understand. I was just wondering if there was any information you could give me. Any notes anyone left on my application.”
“Well, it is a very competitive program to get into,” she says. But she asks for my name again and says she’ll look through the stack. “Are you sure you made the deadline? Because we only look at the applications and photo samples that made the deadline.”
“I made the deadline,” I say.
By the time Lottie comes back, my shirt is soaked through with sweat.
“Okay, your application did make the deadline,” she says, in her honey-sweet voice. “But it did not have any photo samples.”
My heart plummets.
“There’s a Post-It note on it saying that there are no photo samples to go with this application,” Lottie continues. “You were supposed to submit six different photo samples. Did you know about the photo samples?”
“I know about the photo samples, Lottie!” I bark. I take a deep breath. “I submitted the photo samples.”
“Well, they’re not here.”
“Well, maybe whoever was supposed to print them, forgot to print them,” I say.
“Iam the one who prints out the photo samples. And I didn’t forget. We didn’t have any to print this year. All our applicants dropped them off in person.”
“Well, at leastoneof your applicants is living in Italy at the moment and couldn’t make it to your office to drop off her samples.”
Isa looks delighted by my rude tone, and I take a long, deep breath.
“I emailed my photos to the address listed on the application page,” I tell Lottie.
I pull up my email and look through my sent messages. Panic courses through me. Did I somehow forget to attach them? But no, there it is. The email with six photos attached.
“I have it right here,” I say. “I emailed the photos to [email protected].”
“That’s not the right email address,” Lottie says immediately. “It’s college of visualarts. With an “s” after art.”
My heart folds in on itself like a dying flower. How could I have made that mistake?
I pull up the application page. I stare at the email instructions.Please submit all photo samples via email to [email protected].
I gasp. “You have it wrong on your application page.”
Lottie doesn’t respond, but I can hear fast typing on the other end. “Oh!” she says in a surprised voice.
I want to yell “Aha! It’syourfault, not mine!” But I don’t. I just wait.
“It looks like Kyle the intern put the wrong email address on the application page,” she says, nearly under her breath.
