The Trouble With Guidance

I don’t know about you, but I didn’t have much luck with guidance counsellors when I was at school.  Here’s why:

Counsellor - “Good morning, how are you today?”
Me -     “Good thanks, and yourself?”
    “Oh, um…yes…I’m fine, thank you…for asking.”  She looked quite flustered and taken aback by my interest in her well being and general state of mind.  There was an uncomfortable pause as she gathered her thoughts.  I decided things would progress more smoothly if I took the lead in this.
    “So, I’ve been thinking of going on to college.  I’d really like to become a teacher - either in History or English Literature.”  I offered.
    “Oh really?  Why’s that?”  She blinked.
    I should probably mention at this stage that she was the kind of woman that was unbelievably un-self aware with thick coke bottle glasses, wiry hair with a mind of it’s own and always seemed to have more lipstick on her teeth than on her lips.  The kind of woman whose house was filled with floral patterns from the 1930s.  The kind of woman that had several cats with names such as Cuddles, Twinkles, Mr Snuffles etc.
    “Well, I’m really interested in those subjects and I would love to stay in an educational environment.”
    “Oh right.  What kind of subjects will you need to take at college to do that then?”
    I considered this carefully.  “Um, well I suppose History and English would be key.”  I watched tentatively as she bobbed her head up and down in a slow nod.
    “Mmmm,” she agreed, “you’re probably right there.”  She took a moment to look vacantly at her lap, then suddenly snapped her head back to look at me with a severe and slightly panicked look on her face.
    “You do realise you’ll have to go to University to be a teacher?”  She seemed to have to work hard to produce the word ‘University’ from her mouth.
    “Yes,” I replied, “I’d quite like to go to University.”  I was starting to worry I’d wandered into the wrong office.
    “Well are your grades good enough for something like that?” She blinked rapidly.
    “I’m predicted A* to C grades for my G.C.S.E.’s.”
    With her mouth hanging slightly open, she stared at me as if I had just given birth to a fridge door through my left nostril.

    “Oh” She said.  And blinked.

    “Mmmm” I said.  And swallowed too loudly.

    As she gave a longing lingering look to the phone on her desk, I got the impression that she was desperate to escape from this situation.  I resolved to move this on as quickly as I could, so I said,
    “I ordered some information and application details from my two favourite colleges.  They each sent me a prospectus with details on their courses.  This one looks really good - the booklet says they have a well established Arts and Humanities faculty and that they run yearly trips to Rome for History and Art History students.  I sent off my application to them this morning, so hopefully I’ll get an interview in the next couple of weeks.”

She blinked.

    “They have a prospectus?”

I sighed.

I escaped from her office as quickly as I could.