Undergraduate / Completed Personal Statement; "Will we survive the preliminary round?" [5]

Is it ok so far?

"OK, please add a one pound weight to the mid section of your bridge!" says the announcer. I look nervously at my teammates. Though I don't speak, they can read my concerned expression clearly: "Will we survive the preliminary round?" As a set of anxious hands reaches into the box, scrimmaging through the multitude of one pound weights, our minds seem to engage in a silent service of prayer, hoping that we make it through. This was our first experience as contestants in the annual Bridge Building Competition held at Union County College. Though winning wasn't a priority, we at least wanted to place well.

Sure enough by the time we added the 8th one pound weight, we were left picking up broken Popsicle sticks off of the floor, consequently finding our way off the battle field and into the audience with our own personal trophy: the two halves of a formerly well developed bridge. Once the competition was over and the first to third placed winners announced, my curious group members and I made our way to the score board to see where we placed.

"Do you see it?" my group member Wura asked. "Yep" I replied. "Hillside High School Group A #27 out of 52." We looked at each other; afterward entering a state of uncontrollable laughter; we thought we had placed last. As our instructor, Mr. Kircher made his way over to take a look at the score board our thirty seconds of joy had rendered to a deadly silence. With his eyes staring over thin spectacles he read our placement aloud, "27th." Then he called us over. "Girls, though you did not place well this year, there is always room for improvement, you both worked hard to design a great bridge." "You dedicated your lunch periods to extra time on the drilling machine and your effort was apparent in the structure of your bridge." "I am truly proud, and hopefully next year you will do better."

While my group members and I were a little disappointed that our bridge was down so early, what had everyone bemused was the question, how? Beginning in October, we had endured in an intense research process, in search of a strong bridge design. All of the sites that we found stated that the strongest design consisted of the basic triangle but doubled for more support. So as a group, we concluded that the triangle method would be the best way to go. We even downloaded a program that enabled us to virtually draw the design and test it under various conditions and it was able to sustain everything. The only logical mistake that we could think of was that we had drilled too many holes in the sticks. In an eager attempt to make the Popsicle sticks lighter, we drilled four holes in the sticks instead of the standard amount of three, thus causing the design to be light but weak.

Undergraduate / Taking a nap, math, Tupac & Biggie, Violinist, Yale class - Yale Short Responses [5]

Please comment!!!
Do you think any of these should be adjusted?

1) What would you do with a free afternoon tomorrow?
- I'd take a nap; teach myself a new song on the piano; and beg my mother to drive me to the Recreation Center to shoot some hoops.

2) Recall a compliment you recieved that you especially value. What is it? From who did it come?
- "You draw very mathematical, you make sure every line is precise, I like that." - My Art Honors 1 Teacher

3) If you could witness one moment in history, what would it be and why?
- I would transport mysel to 1995 when Tupac & Biggie performed together at Madison Square Garden, this was a pivotal moment for the Hip Hop community.

4) What do you wish you were better at being or doing?
- I wish I were a better violinist; my sister plays the instrument and my love for music has influenced my decision to give it a try.

5) If you were choosing students to form a Yale class, what quesion would you ask here that we have not?
- Which character from a film, novel, or cartoon do you feel you are most like? Why?

Undergraduate / Common Application Short Answer: Basketball [7]

Please Comment!!!!!!!

I shoot the ball from the three point line; it drops in with a loud SWISSH the surrounding boys look in awe as the park lights illuminate the particles of dust being expelled from the hoop. "That's game", I say with smug satisfaction. "I win ten-zip." The boys who had all played me leave in disappoint insisting on a future rematch. I never understood why they were so upset they were beaten by a girl. As the seven o' clock darkness began to infest the sky, the park became uninhabited. The once populated park was now empty leaving me with the vestiges: 24 oz. Cotton Candy C&C bottles, empty Kisko freeze pop packets, and the stench of stale chips. This was always the best time for me to practice. At night alone free of other eager hands that want to shoot the ball. Practice for me can be summed up in a single regimen; layups, jump shots, and dribbling. But I don't practice as if I am alone; I practice with an imaginary player. Staring down the night I contemplate my future moves while questioning myself. How will I get this ball into the hoop? The ball travels through my legs and around my back tricking my opponent, forcing him to go the other way. Now I am open but I don't get the easy way out, my opponent has already recovered from his temporary tumble. With a spin and a couple of crossover tricks I am open once again taking this opportunity I gracefully lay the ball into the hoop. ALL NET, portraying the most sophisticated example of ghetto ballet. I run back to the foul line for a check up1 while yelling out, "One -Zip!"

1 The act of which the player who shot the ball will bounce pass the ball to his opponent and the opponent bounce passes the ball back. This is a way of clearing the ball.

Undergraduate / 'my brief nap abruptly comes to an end' - Yale supplemental essay [18]

This is the beginning of my yale essay and I want to get some feedback before I continue, I hate it and I want to know if its even worth keeping. BTW the essay is going to be about how I worked at my father's family owned restaurant since 2004.

Wakening as my brief nap abruptly comes to an end, I reach blurry eyed for the item making that earsplitting ringing sound. "Callaloo Café'", I wearily answer. "How may I help you?" The voice on the other end responds, "I would like to place an order for pick up." "I'll have a Large Jerk Chicken with Rice & Beans and Cabbage; I'll be there in 15 minutes." "Would you like anything else", I ask while covering the mouth piece to yawn. "No, that'll be all, see you soon." Rushing through the green halved door that is soon to fall off of its hinges, I place the order on the kitchen table. "Mommy, there's an order for pick up." After giving her the order I hurry back to my seat in hopes of continuing my nap for at least five minutes without any disturbances.

Just as I began to doze off, a man walks in. As he slowly makes his way to the counter, I stand up to greet him. "Hi, I called for pick up" "It's almost ready", I answer dismissing the fact that he just placed the order. "But, I'll take pay for it now." I made my way to the cash register ready to ring up the order. "Hold on, I want to get a soda", says the man while making his way to the soda box. He picks up a D&G Kola Champagne one of Jamaica's finest soft drinks. "Ok", I answer while proceeding to ring the order: 1 @ $9.95 Jerk chicken, 1 @ $1.25 Kola, Subtotal. After eight years of practice I no longer needed to look as I rang up orders. Like playing the piano, my muscles learned to conform to the movement. "Your total is $11.98 with tax", I said while taking the Styrofoam container from my mother. Resting the container on the counter, the customer hands me a ten and two singles, I walk over to the register and punch in 12.00 cash. The register flings open and my fingers scrimmage for two pennies. After handing the customer his change I reach for a bag that reads: Thank You & Have a Nice Day. I place the container, a fork, a straw, and some napkins in the bag afterwards handing it to the customer. "Have a nice day!" "You Too." The customer leaves the store and I retire back to my chair in another attempt of a snooze. I being to doze off while Bob Marley's; Buffalo Soldier drowns out in the background.

Since the fourth grade, I have worked at my father's restaurant as a cashier/waitress. It was his dream to have a Jamaican restaurant. The problem was my father did not have enough money to hire workers; he barely had enough to rent the building. So, at eight years old, I began working for my father for no profit. Right after school I would trot down to 1401 Maple Ave. have a snack and make my way around the counter to cater to the needs of the customers. As any kid would think, the job was not fun: inventory, stocking the soda box, midnight cleaning, sleep deprivation.(daddy didn't allow me to do my homework while I was watching the front so at midnight after I walked my dog, cleaned the house, and took a shower I would do my homework.) And there were rarely any breaks.(my father didn't like to close the restaurant; we were open everyday from 7:00 - 10:00(weekdays) or 7:00 - 12:00(weekends) all year round. Even when his mother died in 2005 he scheduled the funeral service early in the morning so it would be over early enough to open the restaurant.) But in reality (and I would never tell him this) by working at his restaurant from age 8-16 I learned skills that I may one day need in the future: how to handle the rude customer, how to make a tropical smoothie, and how to survive sleepless nights.