I have a love/appreciate/hate relationship with the school I went to for my undergrad degree. I loved the reasonably-low in-state tuition. I appreciated the underrated, quality education it gave me. I hated the head-scratching, brain-cell killing, sometimes moronic administration and staff.

Cue the back story:

1. This school once told me I had lost an academic scholarship my freshman year, only to tell me a semester later it made a mistake and I still had it.

2. This school once sent me a nice, polite, congratulatory letter. Why were they congratulating me? Because I had just graduated from their college. Two problems: One, I was only a sophomore. Two, I wasn’t even enrolled at their school at the time. I had transferred five months earlier.

3. This school once assigned me to an adviser who I question whether or not had any knowledge of the school, its courses, my major, what classes I needed, or who the heck I was. As such, he enrolled me in classes I later found out I did not need.

In the time since these above incidents, I have graduated from that school, gone on to another school for my graduate degree, and entered the work force. This school and its occasional acts of incompetence had not popped into my head for some time.

Until last week, that is.

Last week, I received a letter from the school. What did it say? Why, it thanked for me for inquiring about financial aid assistance for the 2007-2008 school year. To clarify: they sent me, an alumnus who graduated from the school years ago and has no reason whatsoever to re-enroll, a letter about financial aid for the upcoming semester.

That’s my school. And it gets worse.

At the top-left of the letter is my name and mailing address. At the top right is a social security number with all but the last four digits hidden. These last four numbers were not mine.

“Wonderful,” I thought to myself. “What have they done to me this time?”

With their offices closed during the weekend and on Monday (Columbus Day), I wasn’t able to call their financial aid office until this morning. Knowing the school’s history, I prepared myself for something truly stupid. The school did not disappoint.

Staff Worker: Good afternoon. May I please have your social security number or student ID?

Me: That’s actually why I’m calling. I graduated from the school in 20–, but I received a letter in the mail from your office last week thanking me for inquiring about financial aid assistance for the upcoming semester…

Staff Worker: …

Me: …also, even though the letter has my correct name and mailing address on it, it has someone else’s social security number.

Staff Worker: I understand. The number at the top of the letter is your student ID number, not your social security number.

Me: Then why is the number three digits, dash, two digits, dash, four digits – the same format a social security number would have?

Staff Worker: That’s just the format we use. Originally, your student ID and social security number were one and the same. Once we changed it, we thought it best to keep the same format for our systems.

Me: Okay. But why does it say “social security number” and not “student ID” next to the number?

Staff Worker: It should say “SSN” next to the number.

Me: Um, yeah…it does. Doesn’t “SSN” stand for social security number?

Staff Worker: No, it stands for “student ID number.”

(I thought about pointing out that this acronym didn’t fit, but moved on)

Me: Okay, just to be clear. The letter was intended for me?

Staff Worker: Yes.

Me: And even though “SSN” is universally known as social security number, (the school) uses the acronym for its student IDs?

Staff Worker: Correct.

Me: And the layout for student IDs is the same as that of a social security number, even though that’s likely to confuse people?

Staff Worker: I can see how that could be confusing, but yes.

Me: Okay. And even though I am a graduate of the school and had not applied for financial aid, I received the letter from your office…why?

Staff Worker: It is a form letter we send out periodically to former students in case they are thinking about coming back to school.

Me: Okay, that’s all I needed to know. Thank you for your help.

My head hurts. There’s not enough Advil in the world to help someone endure a phone conversation like this one. Are any other colleges like this?