If You Stare Long Enough into the Abyss, It Asks You a Quant-Comp Question

The GRE is officially over and done with. I took it yesterday afternoon on the sixteenth floor of 20 N. Clark St. in an office absolutely devoid of any markings. A room could potentially be more colorless, but I'm at a loss for how. There's an interesting kind of ritual to taking the GRE. I'm forbiddent to talk about the test in any explicit detail, so there will be no nudity in this post, but I can say that before you go into the testing room, you have to place everything on you into a locker. Bare of all cellphones, pagers, books, paper, pens, hats, jackets, little knicknacks that remind you of your mother, the photograph of the girl you left waiting for you like a war bride back home, you pass from the first room into a second room. A kind of holding area where they ask you if you are prepared--Is this your name? Did you leave all of your worldly possessions behind? Did we give you enough scratch paper?--and then they take your photograph and lead you into the room where you will take your test.

Not to romanticize it, but the whole ordeal is rather like the rites of manhood in some tribal cultures. The entry into a special area, the power relationship between priest and boy/proctor and test taker. It makes me think that Albee must have written Zoo Story just after taking his GRE.

Anyway, it's over. My score, for anyone interested, was a 1370. 690 verbal; 680 quantitative.
Afterward, I made a bonfire of my study materials and sat on my back porch drinking beers and watching them burn. Tomorrow, I leave for Asheville to visit with old friends I haven't seen in far too long.