Counselor as Customer Service

by Patrick O'Connor, Ph.D.

It wasn’t exactly the way I wanted to start my morning. I had an email from the day before I wanted to look at and respond, when, for reasons I still don’t understand, my computer asked for my password. It’s been so long since I last logged in, I couldn’t really remember it, so I made my best guess. Nope. I then hit Forgot my Password.

And that’s when my morning took a long turn.

Since the provider couldn’t email me my password (yeah, I know), they told me I had to call customer service, an experience I wish on no one, since, in order to actually fix the problem you have, you first have to give them your name, your email address, your street address, and the last four digits of your credit card on file. 

And then. In order for them to give me the code, I needed to get to the screen to make a new password, I had to hang up so they could call me back on the phone I was using, that was on file. I did this, they called me back, and finally, the procedure was finished. I was admonished for not having an alternate email on file where they could send a link, and had to answer a “Is there anything else I can do” question three times, but then I was as free as Red in The Shawshank Redemption.

Incredibly enough, this experience reminded me of going to high school. More than one author has said what I’m about to say, but it bears repeating—we expect our kids to do an awful lot of things in high school that have nothing to do with learning:

• They have to get up at a time that simply goes against their nature. Study after study shows high schools should be starting at 9 and elementary schools at 7, but most districts realize that means sports practices would go until 7 at night, and that just doesn’t work. So off our teens go, literally sleeping through three classes before they really understand what’s being done to them. It’s a good thing my first period was band class, since that made sure the flow of oxygen prepped me for the rest of the day.
• They have to go through six different environmental structures in a typical day. Adults often talk about the atmosphere they have to work in, reminiscing about the ones they liked the most, especially if their current atmosphere isn’t one of them. That’s a walk in the park compared to what our kids endure, six rounds of take-your-seat-take-attendance-make-uncomfortable-small-talk-talk-about-what-we’re-going-to-do-then-FINALLY-engage-in-learning. Thrown in the social hurdles of high school lunch, and it’s a miracle they remember to get on the bus, let alone get on the right one.

All of this should serve as a reminder to us that, if a student is brave enough to come to our office and ask for help, we want to make it as easy as possible for them to do so. Sure, appointments help keep things orderly, but if there’s a way for them to talk directly to you to make sure this isn’t a quick fix, that could go a long way to raising your reputation among students. It also beats requiring the student to tell your admin what their problem is, which goes a long way towards confidentiality.

It’s easy to say the kids come first. When it comes to resetting their passwords to happiness, this might be a good time to make sure our processes for helping do exactly that.

The Essence of College Counseling

by Patrick O'Connor, Ph.D.

The number one reason adults don’t return to college is math. Most of them have jobs, many have families, and college isn’t typically free, all good reasons. But the number one doubt in the eyes of 29-year-old community college students is the ability to do math.

Enter Mr. Nelson. A retired professional, Mr. Nelson worked as a tutor at the community college. When a diffident math student showed up in counseling during registration, the counselor walked them to Mr. Nelson, who would pull out a blank piece of paper, and write a math problem at the top. “Can you do this?” he’d ask, sitting down.

If that problem was a breeze, Mr. Nelson had a second, more challenging one. If the student just sat there for a while, Mr. Nelson had a follow-up designed both to test the student’s math acumen and give them reassurance. After about ten minutes of providing problems, Mr. Nelson would stand up and say “Math 115” or the number of the math course the student should take.

And he was never wrong.

* * *

The floor of the local hardware store was fairly worn everywhere, but there was a special indentation in the linoleum that led to the service counter in the back. With great regularity, especially on Saturdays, homeowners would bring used grocery bags filled with rusted, torn innards of toilets, vacuum cleaners, garage doors, and more, and march straight to the counter, where Dale awaited them. 

Dale solemnly unwrapped the bag’s booty, flipped over each part a couple of times, and headed out from behind the counter. He’d periodically throw a question over his shoulder—“Hoover?” “Kenmore?”— until he arrived at just the right spot in Aisle 6, or 3, or 13, pulled three items off the pegboard in front of him, and handed them over, along with the reminder “WD-40 is in Aisle 9.”

* * *

I had just spent more money for a suit that I loved than I had any real business spending, living off of one income, with a small child at home. The excitement of having something this nice almost made me forget how nervous I was buying it, until the salesperson said, “OK, so now we go see Frank.”

Nattily dressed in his own right, Frank had shocks of grey hair on either side of his bald pate, grey half-spectacles perched on his nose. He draped my soon-to-be-suit over the display case, sighed, then quickly produced about a half-dozen ties in his right hand. 

As I saw the ties, my competing thoughts were:

• I can’t afford the suit, let alone a tie
• Is he insane, none of these ties go with this suit

And then he flopped them on the suit, one at a time, each one melting harmoniously with the fabric, bringing something different but wonderful out in the pattern. I could only afford one, but I wore that tie until it was threadbare.

* * *

This is why I insist counselor graduate programs teach counselors a separate course in college counseling. Knowing how to register for the SAT isn’t college counseling; knowing what Berea College and Curtis Institute of Music have in common is; so is knowing the three things to do when a college waitlists a student, and the four things they never write about in a college essay. 

College is the mighty expensive suit students buy to dress themselves for life, and you’re Frank. Life is the game students need to add up, and you’re Mr. Nelson. And Dale can look at your bag of parts and make something new out of it.

Can you?

Working With the Mystery Student

by Patrick O'Connor, Ph.D.

Last week, we talked about one group of students that keeps counselors awake at night in the fall. The second group? That’s easy.

You have absolutely no idea who these kids are.

This isn’t about high caseloads or not enough time. Once they’re actually in the office and it’s just them and you, there is no counseling technique that lights up their eyes, encourages them to share their dreams, or gets them to answer any open-ended question with anything but “OK”.

Three problems here. First, you have absolutely no idea if their plans for life after high school have any grounding in reality. Yes, many students make plans at 17 that are bound to change. But if the student is becoming a veterinary tech because they aren’t good with people, and you don’t know they aren’t good with people, that’s a problem, because pets have owners. They need to know this, and we need to talk about it with them.

Second, many of these students head to college, and colleges want to know the person behind the grades and test scores. If all you can really tell them is “Nice kid, good teeth”, you aren’t just not helping the student get into college—you are hurting their chances of admission. 

Third, believe it or not, these are students who will go home, go online, and go to class reunions and complain about how awful their school counselor was. Right—you end each session asking them about how the team is going, or how their pet chinchilla is, but they don’t quite get that’s an invitation to, you know, relate. Since they don’t respond, you don’t want to insist they have a relationship, so off they go—only to make conversation at the dinner table all about how they don’t have a relationship with you.

What to do here? Three things.

Fix the source Adjust your counseling services offered in grades 9-11 so you end up with fewer seniors who feel this way. This can be hard, since getting to know students takes time.

You already meet with these students for career presentations, mental health exercises, scheduling. Trim out a minute or two for real conversation in these activities, that has nothing to do with these activities. You’ll be amazed the difference it makes.

Hand the meeting to them You need to know them better, but they aren’t really getting that. So, have them back in.

“Suzie, a big part of landing a job (admission to college) can be an interview, so I thought we might do some role playing, where you provide detailed answers to questions, so your interviewer can get to know you better.”

Then, off you go:

• Memorable high school moment, and why
• Memorable life moment not in high school, and why
• Where are you five years from now?
• The one thing you’d want to know from a roommate
• You have a free hour. How do you spend it?

If you get these, a good college recommendation is possible. Be sure to pay attention to nonverbal cues as well. Five minutes tops.

Don’t take it personally I have a number of students I didn’t click with for one reason. I want them to go to college so they can explore more about themselves and the world around them. They want to go to college to go to college. That’s two different planets, and when they collide, I do the best I can to write the best letter I can. It isn’t going to glow, but it’ll support, and that’s more than plenty for most colleges to see.