LAMuniv
Aug 21, 2013
Undergraduate / Conquering a Vacuum ; Common App Failure Essay [4]
455 Words. Responding to: "Recount an incident or time when you experienced failure. How did it affect you, and what lessons did you learn?"
Not sure if this matters, but applying to the University of Rochester, Williams College, Yale University, Worcester Polytechnic Institute, Boston University, Rochester Institute of Technology, and Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute. Prospective Russian, math, and physics major.
Thanks for reading!
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The Bissell Momentum stands, facing me, in the opposite corner of the empty family den. I can feel its condescending, almost mocking glare pin me down to the un-vacuumed Oriental rug beneath me.
My mother had chosen me to take on the task of fixing the family vacuum cleaner. I have absolutely no prior experience in dealing with the insurgences of common household appliances, so I was very much surprised when my mom came to me to fix her beloved but regrettably anarchistic vacuum. The task was even more daunting to me as I would rather spend a year in any circle of Dante's inferno than spend a minute in an enclosed space with a sick person. It is only with great discomfort that I fully touch public doorknobs, hand rails, or anything else that other people could have left teeming with germs. And I most definitely do not touch the undersides of filthy vacuums. Though, deep down, the knowledge of what I must do is slowly sinking in.
In a feeble attempt to make myself get the task over with, I tell myself that as an aspiring particle physicist, I will probably never be able to handle working with the Large Hadron Collider if I back down from working on a simple vacuum.
I turn on electronic rock songs by Kanako Ito to get myself in the mood as I tip the vacuum back and prepare for the challenge ahead of me. The underside of the vacuum looks like it had swallowed our grey tabby cat in one whole bite. Using the very tip of my index finger, I try to spin the spiral brush-it hardly spins. Looking around for a way to remove the brush from the vacuum, I see that there is no way for me to remove it without breaking the vacuum's plastic exterior. I begin to realize what must be done: I must clean the vacuum brush myself.
The task of cleaning the Bissell's brush is a difficult and lengthy task, and my perfectionist nature is not helping me. Several hours and panic attacks later, I've removed about ninety percent of the dirt. My mother enters the room and asks to try it out. We move in to the family room to test it out on the thick carpet. My heart is pounding as the moment of truth hits me square in the face:
After hours of toil and dedication, it does not work.
But even though my painstaking efforts ended up being fruitless, I can at least hold my head high when I explain to someone how I learned that can survive not only a brutal battle with a Bissell, but also a battle against my own instinct.
455 Words. Responding to: "Recount an incident or time when you experienced failure. How did it affect you, and what lessons did you learn?"
Not sure if this matters, but applying to the University of Rochester, Williams College, Yale University, Worcester Polytechnic Institute, Boston University, Rochester Institute of Technology, and Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute. Prospective Russian, math, and physics major.
Thanks for reading!
-----
The Bissell Momentum stands, facing me, in the opposite corner of the empty family den. I can feel its condescending, almost mocking glare pin me down to the un-vacuumed Oriental rug beneath me.
My mother had chosen me to take on the task of fixing the family vacuum cleaner. I have absolutely no prior experience in dealing with the insurgences of common household appliances, so I was very much surprised when my mom came to me to fix her beloved but regrettably anarchistic vacuum. The task was even more daunting to me as I would rather spend a year in any circle of Dante's inferno than spend a minute in an enclosed space with a sick person. It is only with great discomfort that I fully touch public doorknobs, hand rails, or anything else that other people could have left teeming with germs. And I most definitely do not touch the undersides of filthy vacuums. Though, deep down, the knowledge of what I must do is slowly sinking in.
In a feeble attempt to make myself get the task over with, I tell myself that as an aspiring particle physicist, I will probably never be able to handle working with the Large Hadron Collider if I back down from working on a simple vacuum.
I turn on electronic rock songs by Kanako Ito to get myself in the mood as I tip the vacuum back and prepare for the challenge ahead of me. The underside of the vacuum looks like it had swallowed our grey tabby cat in one whole bite. Using the very tip of my index finger, I try to spin the spiral brush-it hardly spins. Looking around for a way to remove the brush from the vacuum, I see that there is no way for me to remove it without breaking the vacuum's plastic exterior. I begin to realize what must be done: I must clean the vacuum brush myself.
The task of cleaning the Bissell's brush is a difficult and lengthy task, and my perfectionist nature is not helping me. Several hours and panic attacks later, I've removed about ninety percent of the dirt. My mother enters the room and asks to try it out. We move in to the family room to test it out on the thick carpet. My heart is pounding as the moment of truth hits me square in the face:
After hours of toil and dedication, it does not work.
But even though my painstaking efforts ended up being fruitless, I can at least hold my head high when I explain to someone how I learned that can survive not only a brutal battle with a Bissell, but also a battle against my own instinct.