Last spring I experienced something at Iowa State that I never thought I would.

I was preparing to interview for the editor in chief position at the Daily , and one of my application requirements was to supply a copy of my college transcript.

After writing a 10-page proposal, touching up my resume and securing a list of reputable references, this last task seemed like the easiest requirement on the list. But having dealt with the rusty bureaucratic machine of this campus for the past four years, I guess I should have known better.

My quest to acquire a copy of my college transcript began at Alumni Hall. I was sure it would all be pretty simple. Walk in, be polite, pay $5 and wait 30 seconds for the printout.

I walked through the doors and stepped up to the counter, and with a friendly smile I explained that I needed a copy of my transcripts. No sooner had the person behind the counter typed my Social Security number into the computer did I realized something was wrong.

“I’m sorry,” she said with a slight frown, “but you have a hold on your account.”

I asked her what exactly a hold on my account had to do with my college transcripts, but all she could tell me was that I needed to go to the treasurer’s office in Beardshear Hall.

So that’s where I went.

I was still feeling fairly positive about the situation. Whatever the problem, I was sure I could straighten it out. So when I walked into the treasurer’s office I kept my friendly smile and tone of voice. I explained to the teller that I was attempting to acquire a copy of my transcripts from Alumni Hall, and they had sent me here because there was a hold on my account.

Once again, my Social Security number was punched into the computer, which this time informed me that I had an outstanding bill of $463. I did a quick mental survey of my checking account, and I quickly realized that $43.25 wasn’t going to cut it. I tried to explain that all I wanted was my transcripts and that I planned to pay my bill off as soon as I could, but it was no use. Bottom line was, if I didn’t pay my entire bill ASAP, I wouldn’t get my college transcripts.

My teller suggested that I check in the financial aid office to see if I could borrow the money, so of course I did.

I realized that I was quickly becoming a fly trapped in the Beardshear financial web — an experience that many students seem to be all too familiar with: being shuffled from room to room with no real result. I knew this familiar pattern was happening once again, but I couldn’t turn back now. My potential job was depending on it.

I walked downstairs, and I explained to the financial aid teller that I was trying to get my transcripts, but I had a hold on my account, so I went to the treasurer’s office, and they told me to come down here for help.

My new teller looked a little confused as he punched my Social Security number in. A few seconds later he informed me that I was out of luck, since I had spent my year’s supply of Stafford Loan money.

What about an emergency loan? I asked. But my teller quickly informed me that it was out of the question, since I had no regular loan money as collateral.

I knew my options were getting slim. I once again asked my teller what he suggest I do. He promptly told me to go to Room 1 and see if I could bypass the hold on my account to get my transcripts.

I went to Room 1, and explained that I was trying to get my transcripts, but I had a hold on my account, so I went to the treasurer’s office, and they sent me to the financial aid office, but they of course referred me to this office.

I think the new teller could see the desperation in my eyes. She quietly punched my Social Security number into the computer, and then slowly told me that they couldn’t help me. With my voice shaking, I explained that I didn’t have $463 at the moment, and that I needed my transcripts to apply for my job.

My words were met only with silence, so I asked her what she suggest that I do.

“Maybe you could borrow the money from your friends,” she said.

I knew this was the end. The university that I had dedicated four years of my life to was turning its back on me for $463, and the job that I desperately wanted was going to remain forever out of my reach.

As I walked out of the office, my eyes began to tear up. In a rage I threw my sunglasses against the wall and sat down on a bench with my head in my hands.

To my surprise, I felt someone tapping my shoulder a few seconds later. I looked up to see a stranger holding my sunglasses.

“I’ll trade you your glasses for your story,” he said, and even though I didn’t know the man, I proceeded to tell him of the day’s events. The man listened intently and after I had finished, he asked me if I was capable of paying the university the money if they loaned it to me. I wasn’t sure what he was getting at, but I told him that I could pay my bill within a month, but I needed my transcripts in three days.

The stranger told me to follow him, so I did. He took me back to the financial aid office and told the teller to loan me the amount of money I needed and put it under his responsibility. And before I could even fully comprehend what was happening, he had left. When I asked who the man was, I was told it was Earl Dowling, the director of student financial aid.

The rest of the story is pretty simple, I guess. I got my transcripts, and I even got the job. In a sense, Mr. Dowling’s kindness and willingness to take a chance on an unknown student allowed me to get my job. On a campus of 25,000 students, it’s hard at times to not feel like a number. But directly witnessing Mr. Dowling’s actions last spring, it’s also hard to feel that the administration doesn’t care.

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Troy McCullough is a senior in journalism and mass communication. He is the Daily’s editor in chief.