Some background about me:
I have a BS in Public Relations from a CSU. My GPA is weak, around a 2.8, as I worked full time to support myself and my girlfriend (now fiancée) through school. I had never taken a college math course until this past spring when I took Algebra I. My very first GMATPrep test I took in March after a visit to UCLA FEMBA (Fully Employed/Part Time MBA) open house (my #1 choice as I feel it is the best fit for me personally, as well as my future goals) and I got a 480.
The write-up:
Panic. That was the very first thing I remember when I woke up a little before 8 am on G-day. Immediately in a cold sweat, these months of preparation, sleepless nights, dreaming about triangles and data sufficiency came down to these last few hours. I took a shower, and headed to Starbucks for my quad soy mocha. I have been living off these for weeks. Sleep was infrequent at best, not more than 4-5 hours a night. I was studying from 6 pm until 1 am or so for the last month, getting up at 6am to head to work. Not easy. But the GMAT is never easy. As Greg Lemond once said “It never get’s easier…you just go faster!” I sacrificed a chicken for good luck the prior evening. I tried to keep any negative thoughts out of my head. The Crystal Method’s “Keep Hope Alive” was the theme song for the preparation and it played all morning.
I started by doing some DS and PS math problems from the end of the OG11. Did OK, missed a few, misread one completely. I then took a nap. Worked on some verbal questions and only missed one out of 30. The 45’s I was getting (except for that one 29 that I can’t explain outside of shear exhaustion) seemed within reach. On the way to the test center, I picked up a jar of tartar sauce. A peculiar choice, I know. I’m sure all three of you that read this will wonder what the hell tartar sauce has to do with G-Day. Well, gather ‘round the campfire boys and girls, I’ll tell you why. The greatest saying in the history of the human race is this:
“When facing a challenge, act as if it is impossible to fail. If you are hunting Moby Dick, don’t forget to bring the tartar sauce.”
This quote is the closest thing I have ever come to the gospel truth of life, on par with Master Yoda’s “Try not. Do or do not. There is no try” which is very close to the saying above.
So now armed with a jar of tartar sauce, I headed to the test center at 1641 N 1st Street in San Jose for my date with Moby Dick. I had been living on copious amounts of caffine, cigatettes, and chocolate for weeks, and that meant not screwing with the diet now.
I went in and the place is sterile. No noise, no lounge music. Nothing. The woman hands me a list of something to read, I glance and it and hand it back. Sign-in consists of my photo ID, a picture, and a finger print.
A nice Russian woman hands me my yellow packet of laminated paper and a pen. We head in. I’m on Machine 15A. This is bad. Odd numbers are bad, letter number combos are worse. In case anyone is wondering, I’m VERY superstitious.
I glaze though all the mandatory crap, wanted to harpoon this whale and get to the fight. My two essays were nondescript. I easily typed a page and a half or two on each. The essays let me settle into my element in the testing center, and do what I do best and that is writing. Nothing could possibly been better to calm the nerves.
I take the 10 minute break; grab a smoke and a can of diet coke. Splash some water on my face and head back into the fray.
The quant section starts. I get a few correct in the beginning, and run into some trouble. I know I’m not a 51Q score guy. What I do know, I’m nailing, what I don’t I’m getting down to two or three possible answers. I glance at the clock: right on time, strategy holding up, full steam ahead. I miss the last question. As soon as I said “finish” I knew it was wrong. Shake it off.
I take the 10 minute break; grab a smoke and a can of diet coke. Splash some water on my face and head back into the fray.
Verbal begins. I get the first two SC correct, and then the nightmare begins. VERY hard verbal, just as some others have reported. I’m stressing over time, spending huge chunks on some insane passage on some comet or something. I can honestly say that I never say anything as hard on the verbal as I saw on the GMATPrep software. I know I’m hanging on for dear life at this point. No double bold passages, but lots of inference questions. My one verbal weakness and this damn machine sniffed it out like a rat to cheese.
I click finish and watch the machine think.
650.
40 quant, 40 verbal.
I crack a smile. I’m pleased but not happy. I honestly felt a 680 was in me, but it was not to be. The hockey gods gave me a good score, but not great. In the end, satisfaction that I got my top result on the one that mattered will have to be enough.
Now that it has been a few days, I’ve had the opportunity for it all to sink it. I’m not a quant jock, but in other late breaking news: the sky is blue. I had improved 170 points, gone from having no chance anywhere to being in the conversation at all three schools I’m applying to. In the end, that is all a guy can ask for: the chance to hook the damn whale and fight.
I’m glad I brought the tartar sauce.
But I didn’t use it all; I’ll need some more for UCLA’s FEMBA application processes as well.
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12 Sep 2007, 16:22
