Death by Transcript Request
Earlier this month, I called Texas A&M’s Records Department to figure out how to get a transcript notarized. The student worker told me, “Just search transcript request TAMU.” Easy enough. I did, read the page three times, even had Mikey double-check. The instructions were clear: if you can’t drop documents off in person, just mail them. Great. On September 10, we mailed everything in.
Fast-forward to September 22. I get an email saying they can’t notarize my transcript because it wasn’t printed in their office. Funny—since nowhere on their website did it mention that little detail. Strike one.
The email itself? A lazy copy-paste job: first paragraph for current students, a couple paragraphs later for former students. Because obviously, my Bristol, Connecticut return address screams “local College Station resident.”
Fine. I regroup, log into MyHub, and start the ordering process. The delivery options ask where to send the transcript. Logic says “Texas A&M,” since they’re the ones who need to notarize it. Nope. A pop-up scolds me for sending a transcript back to the same school that issued it. Helpful. After digging through their useless bot, I discover I’m supposed to… send it to myself. Because that makes sense.
Next, delivery method. Express mail? $80. Standard USPS? $10.15. Okay, fine. Except now I’m paying for my transcript a second time. Then the form asks for my credit card number again. Wait—I just paid online. Confused, I call Records. The first woman was helpful; she found my transaction and explained I should’ve selected Hold for Pickup. Which, according to their own definitions, is for current grades and degrees—not notarization. How was I supposed to know “Hold” was code for “Notary”?
She transfers me to Snow, the notary, who basically suggests the problem is my inability to use a computer. Charming. After canceling and re-filling the form three times, I finally find “Hold for Pickup” hidden at the bottom of the delivery options. Because nothing screams intuitive like burying the most important choice.
Oh, and the faxing? We had to send the notarization request three separate times. Each time, our machine confirmed success. TAMU just shrugged until the third attempt.
Now, contrast that with the University of West Florida. On September 8, I emailed their Registrar’s Office. The next day, they replied with a link. Five minutes later, my notarized transcript request was done. No drama. No secret codes. No faxes from 1997.
So here’s my advice: Family, stop donating to the Association of Former Students. Friends, save your money. And if you’re considering sending your kid to Texas A&M—don’t. They’re too big, too bureaucratic, and clearly not bothered about helping their current or former students. Looking for a better school? Texas State University would be my number one pick.
If you want a hell of a laugh. Try to order a transcript. It is so much fun. Now if you will excuse me, I need to sweep up all the hair I pulled out.
