Dear Mr. Williams,
Two years ago, it was our privilege to offer you admission into the Yale College Class of 2021. We had faith that, as a Yale student, you would arrive ready to engage our astonishing intellectual, cultural and scientific resources. We were delighted at the prospect of you joining this diverse, talented and aspiring company of peers. Unfortunately, the committee has grown concerned with your performance over the last semester and it is therefore my duty to tell you that your attendance at Yale is in serious jeopardy.
As you may recall, in your application to Yale College, you were considering a double major of computer science and molecular biophysics and biochemistry. In your words, “My strong commitment to the fields of biotechnology and user experience combined with my ardent desire to make a difference in the medical industry makes this the clear choice for me.” What happened to that, Mr. Williams? According to our records, you have changed your field of study on three separate occasions and are now listed on SIS as an archaeological studies major. Appropriate, as your time at Yale is very close to becoming ancient history.
The committee was deeply moved by your Common Application essay, “The Lemon Trees of August,” which demonstrated both your stunning grasp of the English language and your immensely nuanced understanding of the world around you. The intellectual curiosity shown in your prose was emblematic of the community that we seek to cultivate here at Yale. Last week, however, you submitted a final paper with the title “Cae(sar) You Later,” in which you argued that “shortening all the names” would have prolonged the reign of the Roman Empire by centuries. Rome, it appears, is not the only thing has fallen, Mr. Williams.
On your Yale supplement, in an answer to the question, “What are you passionate about?” you wrote about your enthusiasm for the culinary arts and your family’s long history of homemade, organic recipes. We had high hopes that you would pursue your love of nutritious, home-style cuisine at Yale. These hopes, Mr. Williams, were shattered when you were spotted leaving the Pierson Dining Hall with a Dixie cup full of peanut butter and Nutella. There was no fruit to dip, no pastry to spread it on. You didn’t even have a spoon, you just licked it out of the cup like an animal. You disgust this committee, Mr. Williams.
Didn’t you play soccer for three years? Weren’t you second chair clarinet in the Delaware All-State Concert Band? Weren’t you an avid participant in your high school’s musical theater program? I was rooting for you. We were all rooting for you.
You were going to be our Mark Zuckerberg, you know. You were going to make the next Facebook, but for medicine stuff. Healthbook or something. Look, we didn’t have all the details figured out, that’s why we got you. Or so we thought.
You should’ve seen the applicants we rejected instead of you. There was a kid in your region with a 4.5 GPA who could play the cello with his toes. His toes, Goddamit. There was a girl with no limbs who overcame her hardship and built hospitals in underprivileged neighborhoods. We could’ve had Obama’s daughter for God’s sake. Of the more than 32,000 individuals who applied to Yale during your year, most were fully capable of doing outstanding work and making a unique contribution to a campus community. And then there’s you. Last month, your admissions officer watched you spend an entire Durfee’s swipe on fruit. We have fruit in the dining halls, Mr. Williams.
We hope there is a satisfactory explanation for how much shittier you’ve become over the last couple of years. Please do not feel free to e-mail me. You’d better not have any questions. If these trends continue through the end of the year, we will have no choice but to rescind your admission to Yale College.
I brought you into this school, and I can take you out of it.
Michael Holmes | email@example.com .