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Last week’s column about my less than stellar experiences as a new graduate student at San Francisco State prompted e-mails from people recalling their own frustrations. 

It turns out that long lines, lack of seats and closed classes is just the beginning. 

Julie Lindow wrote, “I hate to tell you this but your tragic story about SF State is old news to ye alumni. Budget cuts or budget blooms, it’s State’s usual mode of operation. I spent seven years dealing with that level of Kafka insanity.”  

Someone else said, “Be patient. State schools seem to hire the same people who get jobs at welfare offices and DMVs. Their goal is not to educate you, but to survive each day, and the way they do that easiest is to ignore you, especially when you need them the most.” 

Doug Konecky had this to say: “Welcome to my sort of ex-Alma Mater. I went to State as a student in International Relations, specializing in Avoiding the Draft. They only gave us one year grad school deferment back then, so when the deferment ran out, I ran out. It was 1968 and I remember the Panthers with their chains and baseball bats and my professor throwing battery acid on typewriters in the admissions’ office and how we all got As even though we never went to class because there never was any class because classes were always suspended while they cleaned up the piles of rubble caused by the radical professors.” 

Well, with the way things are going, like Doug, I may never attend class. And I won’t be getting As unless they suspend school and start throwing battery acid around. That’s because I can’t get into the workshops I’m required to take in order to get a grade of any kind. 

It seems ridiculous that State would accept thirty new MFA students into the program and not have enough class space, but the truth is there are new students who have not gotten into a single graduate course. I am one of the lucky ones. I’m in three classes, none of them my first or second choice, but at least I’ll be receiving the proper credits and I didn’t quit a job or move here from somewhere far away like some of my less fortunate comrades. 

Last week I attended a Graduate School Creative Writing Department orientation where we were welcomed into the program and told what to expect. 

In a room that was bursting with new, enthusiastic students, there was once again not enough places in which to sit down. 

Each professor introduced him or herself and then most proceeded to apologize for the lack of space in their classes. They recommended that we talk to the instructors of undergraduate courses to see if they would allow us into their classrooms and help us develop extra credit projects that we could count toward graduate school. They suggested independent studies and believe it or not, enrolling in another school and transferring those credits to State. 

Too bad we would have to pay for those credits in addition to tuition for State but at least we would be moving forward. 

“Don’t worry,” they said. “It will get easier next semester after people drop out and you get the hang of what you have to do in order to get classes.” 

Then one of the professors added, “We want you to know that you are very special. Over 475 people applied for this program and, as you can see, most of them were turned away. You were accepted because we thought you were the best.” 

He could have added that he was sorry that even though we were special he couldn’t provide some of us with a chair, but maybe that was just too obvious. 

Actually, I felt kind of exceptional leaning against the wall, holding up the back corner of the room. 

Maybe, I thought, that’s why State so eagerly took my tuition check and cashed it. Somehow they knew I’d be extraordinarily good at propping up the building.