The industry of higher education in the United States is a cult and don't let anyone else tell you otherwise.

I've been working at a university for about ten years now. Currently, I work in a residence life department as an Assistant Director. I live on campus with my pet fish, Alfred, in a two-bedroom apartment. Most people assume I am a resident assistant, community assistant, resident advisor, or some other derivative of the student role. The reality is that I supervise the people who supervise the RAs. Among other things. I've given up trying to truly explain my job to other people and have taken to saying "yes" to others when they ask me if teach.

I've been in this game for a while. I started as an RA, "fell in love" with the work, and completed a master's degree in Student Affairs—a fancy way of saying that I studied why college students do the things they do. Have you ever asked a student why they pooped in the drain of a shared bathroom? I have. Strangely, that's not the weirdest thing I have had to manage.

I'd love to say that I make a decent amount of money to have such conversations, but I don't. I suppose living on campus balances things out because I don't have to pay for rent; however, there are definitely downsides to this life.

Currently, I am interviewing candidates to step into a Residence Director role. Commonly known by their nickname which gets whispered when students try to hide their beer pong set up to avoid trouble, the "RD" candidates I am interviewing are graduate students who would assist with supervising RAs.

It's been about 3 and half hours of interviewing and I have another twenty minutes before lunch. I am tired and the last few sips of my coffee are as lukewarm as the meetings I had that morning. I try to stile a yawn while listening to my final candidate drone on about a group project they had in class last year where they struggled to communicate with their partner.

"Yeah, like, we tried emailing and stuff, but it just didn't work out?"

My pen hovers over my evaluation sheet and I looked up, waiting for her to say more. When she doesn't, I prompt, "And?" I smile,  knowing my direct style of communication might be intimidating in an interview.

"And...we failed the project?"

"What I mean to ask is: did you learn anything from that experience that could benefit your work in our department?"

"Oh. Yes!" A lightbulb moment. "Yeah, I learned that communication is key!"

"Okay. Thank you." I nod and smile. I drop my pen back to the paper and scribbled down a few more notes. The interview concludes. I am not surprised to find that the candidate had no questions about the job for me. I thank her for coming and walk her out of my office to the front door before heading out to walk around campus before lunch.

It was a brisk day in the middle of winter. The season had been mild so far and only small splotches of snow dotted campus. I walk in a specific way across the property, following a path I have outlined so that I walk for about thirty minutes before having to head back in time to eat before returning to work. My breath puffs in front of my face and I can feel my cheeks turning pink.

My walk takes me along the outskirts of campus. I pass the rentals where our students, who cannot afford to or might not choose to live in on campus, dwell. They're mostly multi-family homes and a bit run-down. Paint is actively chipping off the outside and lawn chairs dot the front yards. On the porch of one particularly dilapidated home, a stack of solo cups sits precariously close to the edge of the stairs. That house is known for the parties hosted there and I have adjudicated my fair share of conduct cases as a result.

I feel defeated. We began the year understaffed and it has been my task to hire people that would be good for our positions. "We want the best," my supervisor Max had said, "true community builders who can connect and engage well with our students." Since then, my work had been overwhelming. It's been hard to dedicate time to this specific project and now it feels a bit too late in the semester to hire someone who can step in and truly run with it. I hope that Sam interviewed someone worthwhile today.

I trek past University Police and continue on past the Student Union. I wave to a few students that I had helped with a program last year and briefly say hello to another student who had asked me for some relationship advice last week. As I walk past Lawrence Hall, the original classroom and administrative building, I pause to take in its austere grandeur. The red brick building was edged with white and the original, single-paned windows glinted in the sunlight. It was a textbook example for a college building; all it seemed to be missing was ivy growing up the side.

I suppose I feel in love with this. The elusive and transient college experience. I loved being a student during my undergraduate and graduate careers. I loved the bustle between classes, being in student organizations, becoming a student leader, going to parties, and waiting until the last moment possible to finish an assignment. And I truly loved working as an RA.

My cousin referred to me as a fun-sucker when I first got the job and, to be fair, there were days when I definitely was. However, there were also days when I know that I made a difference in another student's life simply by listening and helping them. The experiences I had as an undergraduate inspired me to pursue a master's degree in the field of study to become an administrator at a college so that I could help people full time. What no one in the field will ever tell a student is that helping people bear emotional weight full time is no easy feat.

Since then, I have spent so much time working and living on a university campus that I am not sure who I would be without it. They say those who can't do, teach. I wonder what they would say about those who work in university administration? Perhaps, those who can't move on, stay?

What I have come to realize is that there is an indoctrination process that occurs when one becomes an RA. The process continues for some who make the choice to go into this field full time and when they finally realize that they are emotionally spent, burnt out, and are still dealing with massive student debt, it feels too hard to move on. So, we stay, the cycle continues, and we find solace in our lunch time walks that supply just enough nostalgia to get up the next day and do it again.

I decide to stop by the central office for my department to check for mail before heading back to my satellite office in one of my residence halls. My mail gets delivered there daily since living on campus precludes me from having my own actual mailbox. Our administrative assistant greets me with a smile when I enter the front door. Peg has been here for years. She is an absolute pro and a full-time gem. A slayer of helicopter parents and leader of the No Bullshit Brigade. If I could erect a statue to Peg on campus, I would. For the holiday season last year, we gifted her a sign that reads "Though she be but little, she is fierce." In true Hermia fashion, Peg stands up for herself—and others for that matter—and stands at around five foot one.

My mailbox is, blessedly, empty. No work or personal letters in sight. I have been working to drive down my student debt and cancel out a few credit cards and I finally seem to be gaining some traction—at least on my credit cards.

I turn to head back out the door when Sam, another Assistant Director, and my counterpart at work, calls me from the break room.

"Hey. What's going on?" I ask. I've always heard about having a work spouse and Sam is definitely mine. He is six foot two and has long brown hair, today blown out and fanned away from his face. His crystal eyes shine with excitement as he leans in conspiratorially.

"I had an amazing interview today!" I chuckle at his theatrics. Sam could have easily been a star. He is charismatic and expressive. But he has one thing Hollywood doesn't have consistently: heart. I think Sam could have absolutely become famous, but I am not sure he would have been successful against the critics. Either that or he would adopt an unapologetic apathy toward them as he sped to success. Lucky me that I get him in my life instead of having to watch his unfold publicly from afar.

"I'm glad you did. Mine were kind of shitty. No one really stood out and the last person was kind of an airhead. I hope that's okay for me to say."

"Oh, it is," he winks. "Anyway, let me tell you about this candidate." He shuffles around some paperwork in his bag. Sam has a satellite office, too and it is fully normal to see us walking across campus to various meetings schlepping a heavy work bag. Finding a piece of paper, he brandishes it, shakes it lightly in front of my face and then places it on the break table. His hand is covering the name and I know that I am in for a bit of storytelling before I get to look over the resume. "This is the person I want working for me. Their name came into our candidate pool last night and I reached out to schedule a last-minute interview today because I had someone else cancel."

"Oh no, who cancelled?"

"The one you set up for me...Maureen?" Sam and I had been working on the search together. My whole team was staffed a few weeks ago, but we've struggled to find a good fit for his last graduate role. "Anyway, she sucks."

"She doesn't suck just because she cancelled."

"Maybe, but who would want to cancel on this?" He glances down and back up gesturing at himself, daring me to challenge him. I roll my eyes and smile, waiting for him to continue. "So, today's candidate. He wasn't able to come to the office and meet in person on short notice, but we did manage a Skype interview. He doesn't have a ton of experience, but I truly think he would make a good fit. At his undergrad he did work on campus, but not with a residence life program. I am willing to overlook that if you are because I am really confident about him."

"What department did he work for?"

"He worked summers as an orientation leader and during the academic year, did leadership programming."

"At least that's transferrable. So, what's his name?"

Sam slides the resume and lifts his hand away with a "ta-da!" I feel my stomach plummet and my knees go a bit weak as I stare at a name I haven't seen in years. The rest of the resume is blurry, but the name at the top is in crisp focus: James O'Brien.

I feel Sam's hand gently touch my shoulder. "Hannah, are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost. Sit down." I am guided to one of the chairs at the table and sink into it. I can feel my eyebrows are pinched together and I feel myself spiraling into denial. There are a lot of James O'Briens, right? This can't be my James. He was never my James. It has to just be coincidence. Sam's voice and the cup of water he forced into my hand bring me back, "Hannah? Hello? Girl, are you alright?"

"Y-yes, I am fine. Sorry. I just...knew someone by this name. But I haven't seen or heard from him in a very long time."

"Do you think it's the same person? I mean, look at the resume. You'd be able to tell, right?"

"That's the thing, I wouldn't. I didn't know too much about him when we met and then we didn't see each other ever again."

"Hannah! Did you have a one-night stand with someone named James O'Brien?" He whispers, leaning in close.

"Sam. You need to grow up." I push him away lightly and glare at him. "No, I did not sleep with James. I shouldn't even be freaking out. There is no way it's him. He wouldn't have just finished his undergrad. We are the same age so he should be done with school." Sam, who sat opposite of me, leans back in his chair and looks down at his hands like a dog who got caught going through the trash. "What? Sam...what?"

"Well, James isn't exactly a...traditionally aged graduate student."

"Please tell me he is forty-five."

"Obviously, I didn't ask him how old he is in his interview. But it's obvious that he isn't twenty-two. If I had to guess, I would say he is probably around thirty or thirty-one."

Shit. I close my eyes and take in this new information, trying to convince myself that it's not the same person. There are tons of James O'Briens in the world. Why would I assume that mine—not mine—is the one who Sam hired today. Wait, Sam couldn't have hired him yet. My eyes shoot back open and I reach across the table to grab Sam's hand. "Wait, you didn't hire him yet, though, right? So, we just won't hire him. We will find someone else. It'll be fine."

"Hannah, we both know there isn't anyone else. We have interviewed so many people and we need this role filled. My team is stretched too thin. You don't even know if this is the same person," he pulls his hand out of mine and reaches for the resume and says, "besides, I already spoke to Max. We are hiring James."

Sam won't look me directly in the eye. His brow is furrowed, and he is biting his bottom lip. Normally, we would keep each other in the loop about these decisions and make them together. I feel a bit of anger toward my work spouse, but that is diminished by another thought: Sam wouldn't have ever hired someone who we both wouldn't love. I would have preferred we had the chance to talk about it, but I trust him, and I know he trusts me.

"Hannah, I'm sorry."

"It's okay. Really, Sam. It is. I trust you and I am glad that you are excited to have this person join our team. Plus, you're right: it might not be the James I knew." I give him a reassuring smile and he puts the resume back in his bag. "Did he accept the offer yet?"

"I haven't sent it yet. I was planning to after lunch."

"Let me know if he does."

"I will," Sam assures. "Hannah, do you want to talk about it?" I know that he is asking about what happened between me and my James. I shake my head and wish him a good rest of the day.

As I walk back to my office, my stomach feels uneasy. There is no way I am going to be able to have lunch and have it sit well. I take out my phone to do a desperate social media search on James O'Brien. Even though I have done this a million times before, I am still disappointed to find that he has no social media presence at all. Not a tweet, not a post, not a thread of evidence that we are a part of the same generation.