A Shot at Vet School, Part 1: Welcome to Aggieland.

Somewhere between sleeping on the floor of the lab for the third night in a row and being pulled over by the police while riding my bike home, I realized that I wasn’t ever going to fit in at Texas A&M. Aggies have some sort of radar that can detect an outsider, and I was the proverbial stranger in a strange land. Sure, I was used to feeling isolated, but actually being flat-out rejected by people? That was a new one for me.

I moved to College Station under the naive assumption that getting into vet school was somehow a guarantee. I had degrees in both Biology and Biochemistry with the top-notch grades and test scores. Plus, my letters of recommendation made it sound like I walked on water. How could they not accept me?

Unfortunately, I had missed the Fall application deadline, but I figured that I could use the year to make some money and gain the “animal experience” that vet schools put such a premium on. Under that theory, I rented a U-Haul and trucked myself from Houston to Aggieland. And entered one of the largest cults on the planet.

The job hunt was the first hint of the difficulties I would face. First, I went on A&M’s jobsite, and applied for every available position in the college of veterinary medicine. But as a state entity, A&M had to keep the applications open for some set amount of time, so I wasn’t counting on hearing from them anytime soon. I next applied to every vet clinic, pet store, and dog groomer in town, which was on the order of twenty or so different places. I received exactly two responses.

The first was from one of the Banfield Clinics, the type you find in Petsmart stores. They were looking to hire a receptionist/occasional vet assistant. No sweat, I could answer phones and handle dogs and cats.

“What was your degree in now?”

“I have two: Biology and Biochemistry. I know its kind of redundant but...”

“But not animal science?”

“No, UH didn’t offer that as a degree.”

“UH?”

“The University of Houston.”

“So you didn’t go to A&M?”

“No, but I applied to vet school and hope to start next year.”

“Why do want to go to vet school?”

And the interview just spiraled down from there. Next.

The other response was from a laser surgical center for pets. Now they would better appreciate my science degrees.

“We looked over your resume and think you’ll be a useful addition to our team. But before we go any further, you’re going to need to take our applicant test. Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

Applicant test? I’m handed test packet that’s at least 10 pages.

“Oh, almost forgot. Here’s a calculator for when you need it.”

Crap.

Question 1: A German Shepard, weighing 75 pounds, requires arthroscopic surgery. If the surgery is scheduled to last 3 hours, what type and how much pain medication should be administered pre-surgery.

It was worse than high school latin. At least there I had the excuse of not knowing the language beforehand.

An hour and a half later, I brought the test I had “taken” up to the front desk.

“We’ll look over it, and give you a call when you can come in for an interview.”

Guess what? I never got that call.  

Getting desperate, I started applying for every job opening I could find. But this was a college town that took care of its own. In competition with a couple of thousand local co-eds, I always came in last.

After two months of trying, I finally landed a job. I was an early morning stocker for Target, part-time of course. And by early, I mean 4 to 8 AM. It’s okay, I’m a morning person; I just need to go to bed a little earlier.

I wanted to quit after the first day.

Do you know what kind of people work the early morning shift at Target? These are the people that take sleaze to a whole new level. I heard more penis jokes in one shift than I ever had or have had since. Yet these same people were among the most homophobic bigots imaginable. I’m not gay, but I felt like I needed carry around an issue of Playboy just so they wouldn’t get any ideas to the contrary.
Fortunately, I only had to do this a week, because that Thursday I got a call from A&M. It was the head of the veterinary gastrointestinal lab, and they wanted to interview me on Monday. Throwing caution into the wind, I quit working at Target on Friday.

“I’m really sorry, but I’ve been waiting to hear if I got this job at A&M and they finally called back and said I was hired. See, I applied to vet school and this is really going to help my chances of getting in. Thanks so much for giving me a chance though. It was great working here.”

I'd never had an easier time lying before in my life.