You utterly fail as a college counselor, and none of the high school students you advised get into the schools they applied to. An angry mob forms outside your office and you're forced to barricade yourself in, living off Life Savers and stale Sprite for seventy-two hours before the police come to your rescue.

You get into a shouting match with a parent over her unrealistic expectations regarding her child's college plans. The high school secretary later thanks you for introducing her to profanities she's never heard before.

The top ten graduating seniors at your high school—whom you've spent hours upon hours helping—all get admitted to Ivy League institutions. Not a one of them sends you a thank-you note.

You focus on assisting high school students who are smart but don't have any parental support with all of their application needs. Your heart swells with glee when many of them not only get into college, but receive significant financial aid.

You've spent ten years behind a desk at a suburban high school, advising kids and honing your college counseling skills. You finally ditch that gig to start your own college counseling firm, where you make lots and lots of money milking Harvard-hungry parents for every cent they've got.