Pardon My French!

A Farmer's Life

During my recent Internet excursions, between obsessively frequent Facebook updates and mindless e-Bay wandering, I found myself at the mercy of a horribly predictable personality quiz. Now, mind you, I am neither proud of my personality faults nor the fact that I was slowly being drawn into the screen by the penetrating personal questions.

But this quiz was not, as I had expected, created by some second-grader looking for “chicks” on Quizilla. Instead, it was a personality test given to me by my own school, sporting a very class title: “Naviance.”

The best part was that this short survey was guaranteed to make all of my important life decisions for me. I mean, of course I couldn’t make any of these choices now, not with my mind clouded by last week’s House episode and yesterday’s physics problems.

Believe me, I was thrilled.

With my whole life ahead, my only task was select the cyber-boxes, and eureka! My destiny would be clear—my life would finally have meaning, and my future would be within my grasp!

I clicked down the page, answering each question with confidence, excited to see my results. Five painless minutes passed, and my personality analysis was ready.

I would be … an agricultural scientist.

My dreams were instantly crushed, and I was left sitting in a puddle of self-pity. How could this be true?! All of my hard work for nothing! I apparently have and will always be a farmer at heart.

Denying the accuracy of my results, I took the test again with the hope that the system was flawed. But my attempts were fruitless as I searched within the computer for my destiny. Repeatedly the word “farmer” appeared on the screen, bringing tears to my burning eyes. The internet had officially tainted the little self-confidence I had left, and that the time spent on this ridiculous site was time wasted. I could be sitting in my counselor’s office, asking a real person about my future. But instead, she was somewhere else, staying busy until December when the deadlines will be near enough to taste.

So in three months, when my life is on the line, and the Fed-Ex truck is ready for my applications, I will be glad that my counselor knows my destiny as a farmer. I will be thankful that her sole perception of me is based on this unrealistic quiz, and that the time wasn’t used to meet Natalie Larsen the person, but rather Natalie Larsen the megabyte.