I took the Mensa admissions test today, and it was a lot like dealing with Uncle Rico from Napoleon Dynamite. You think your life is pretty sweet, but then Uncle Rico shows up and throws a raw steak at your face while you're riding your bike. You may wonder why I chose to spend two hours of my Saturday (before noon no less) having an intellectual steak thrown at my face just for the opportunity to join an organization that appears pretty pretentious. Well, somehow I got the idea in my head that it would be interesting to meet intelligent people outside of my industry. I must be out of my mind because I have no evidence that members of Mensa are the least bit interesting. I also made the grand assumption that my IQ is in the top 2% of the US population, and that taking this test was simply a formality. Not smart.
Let's back up. Mensa is running a very special deal on testing fees this month, which they are referring to as a "two-fer". The testing fee is normally $40, but this month you can bring a friend and take the test for $20 each. I wasn't sure if it would be worth the $20 savings to make one of my friends hate me, but I did my best to recruit a partner for the "two-fer". I didn't get a single taker. You see, all of my friends are smarter than I am and know that getting up at 8 in the morning on a Saturday to take an IQ test is idiotic. Friends: 1. Jen: 0.
Ok, back to the test. I walk into the room this morning and find two people there: the proctor and a 20-something girl sitting in the front row. I approach the girl and introduce myself. I ask her if she came alone. She did. Then I ask her if she would like to be my "two-fer". She agrees. Things are going well. I already saved $20. That should count as an extra point on the test. I radiate smugness as I stroll to the front of the room to pay my $20 fee and grab a free Gatorade that is the color (and flavor) of toxic waste.
A few minutes later, the real fun begins. The proctor explains that there are actually two tests administered, and you need only score in the top 2% of the population on one of them to qualify for membership. This knowledge boosts my smug factor to dangerous levels. The first test of the day is the Mensa Admissions Test, which Mensa specially commissioned to make people feel like idiots. The test is composed of 7 sections, and each section is designed to make you feel like an imbecile in a slightly different way. Before we begin, the proctor announces that she is going to read a story that we will have to answer questions about later. It turns out to be one of the most boring stories I've ever heard, but I manage to stay awake. I probably shouldn't have had so much vodka last night.
The task in the first section is straightforward: identification of things that are opposites. Each question provides a picture of something, and you have a choice of four pictures, one of which is the opposite of the thing they showed you. The practice question shows a picture of a cowboy hat. The four choices are pictures of something like: baseball hat, top hat, folded newspaper hat, and beret. I understood perfectly well what I was expected to do, but I had no inclination as to which of those four things was the opposite of a cowboy hat. Meanwhile, the proctor is explaining the practice question and says something like, "obviously the newspaper hat is the opposite of the cowboy hat because the cowboy hat is a real hat, and the newspaper hat isn't." Ok, yes, that makes sense now that you explain it, but 'real hat' isn't the first thing that comes to mind when I see a cowboy hat. I start to sweat. The previous aura of smugness has completely evaporated. I frantically look around for a window that I can sneak out of, but there isn't one. Fuck.
The test begins. What is the opposite of a tree? What is the opposite of a diamond? What is the opposite of a battery? Good God, I can't even tell what some of these pictures are. Is that the sheep field from the Settlers of Catan game board? I start to get pissed off because I can rationalize why two of the different options for the opposite of a tree could be true. The proctor announces that we have one minute left. I'm totally screwed. I start going with my gut, with absolutely no conscious idea of why I am selecting certain answers. I think I'm just selecting the prettiest pictures. I'm filling in the last bubble when she calls time. Not good.
The next section is essentially analogies, but with pictures. I vaguely remember something like this from the SAT, and I breeze through the section fairly easily with the exception of a couple of questions where I see absolutely no conceivable relationship between the pictures given and revert to my previous strategy of selecting the picture that makes me happiest. I chug a little toxic waste Gatorade and hope that it is an intellectual stimulant.
I don't recall the order of the sections that followed, presumably because I now have test-induced PTSD. There was a section where all of the questions revolved around making a certain amount of change with a given number of coins. Are you kidding me? People use debit cards these days. I'm pretty sure most kids under the age of 12 have never even seen real coins. Nevertheless, addition is pretty easy. I was excited for the math section because that is where I felt sure that I would excel. Wrong again. You have to be a PhD in literature to comprehend some of these math problems. By the time I get to the end of reading the problem, I've already forgotten what they told me at the beginning. When she announces that we have one minute left on the math section, I still have several problems left to complete. I get through two of them and end up having to pick the answer that looks the most reasonable on the last two.
Finally, there is an oasis in the desert: antonyms. My vocabulary is pretty decent, and I finish the section with a ton of time to spare. There was only one word I didn't know, and I've already forgotten what it was because it is obviously a stupid word that nobody needs to use.
The test wraps up with a series of questions about the horribly boring story we heard at the beginning. If you were awake during the story, you can easily answer every question. I even notice a couple where they are obviously trying to trick me. Nice try. Despite a horrifying start and some embarrassments in the middle, the test ends on a high note.
The second test that was administered was called Wonderlic, and I laughed out loud at the name because I have the maturity (and probably the IQ) of an 8 year old. I had never heard of this test prior to today, but I discovered this afternoon that NFL players have to take this test to predict their career performance. I seriously doubt that knowing which of four words means the same thing as idiosyncrasy is going to help you get more yards per carry. On the other hand, maybe it wouldn't hurt to include this information in my fantasy football draft matrix next year.
The Wonderlic test is 50 questions long, includes numerous different types of questions, and you have 12 minutes to complete the test. The instructions on the front page proclaim that you will not have enough time to finish the test, and I'm immediately annoyed by how presumptuous they are. I quickly do the math and determine that you have ~15 seconds per question. That ends up being enough time to read the question and go with your instincts. That's why I was incredibly annoyed when they asked me some question about how long a family could live off a hunk of beef given a fixed consumption rate. I don't have time for long division, assholes. It took me 12 seconds just to read the question. Also, the sour feeling in my stomach induced by the discussion of a hunk of beef has left me severely mentally impaired. Perhaps this is part of their plan. It turns out that I only completed 47 of the 50 questions, but that seems close enough that I'm sure some people are able to complete all 50.
Mensa doesn't tell you your scores on these tests; they only tell you whether you scored in the top 2% since this is what is required to qualify for Mensa membership. Personally, I think this is a little bit rude. If I pay $20 to take some tests, I deserve to know what my scores were. Maybe they're trying to save my family the agony of listening to me cite my IQ out of context in future conversations:
Mario: I think we should have enchiladas for dinner.
Me: I think we should have spaghetti.
Mario: Really? I had pasta for lunch, and I'm really in the mood for Mexican food.
Me: My IQ is 140.
To be honest, it's probably for the best that they aren't going to tell me my score. If I don't qualify for membership, I'll just go ahead and assume that I was in the top 3%. I won't have to be faced with the reality of my average (or worse) IQ. I'll find out whether I managed to squeak by sometime in the next 6 weeks. For now, I'm going to relax and enjoy the rest of my weekend... without Uncle Rico.
Let's back up. Mensa is running a very special deal on testing fees this month, which they are referring to as a "two-fer". The testing fee is normally $40, but this month you can bring a friend and take the test for $20 each. I wasn't sure if it would be worth the $20 savings to make one of my friends hate me, but I did my best to recruit a partner for the "two-fer". I didn't get a single taker. You see, all of my friends are smarter than I am and know that getting up at 8 in the morning on a Saturday to take an IQ test is idiotic. Friends: 1. Jen: 0.
Ok, back to the test. I walk into the room this morning and find two people there: the proctor and a 20-something girl sitting in the front row. I approach the girl and introduce myself. I ask her if she came alone. She did. Then I ask her if she would like to be my "two-fer". She agrees. Things are going well. I already saved $20. That should count as an extra point on the test. I radiate smugness as I stroll to the front of the room to pay my $20 fee and grab a free Gatorade that is the color (and flavor) of toxic waste.
A few minutes later, the real fun begins. The proctor explains that there are actually two tests administered, and you need only score in the top 2% of the population on one of them to qualify for membership. This knowledge boosts my smug factor to dangerous levels. The first test of the day is the Mensa Admissions Test, which Mensa specially commissioned to make people feel like idiots. The test is composed of 7 sections, and each section is designed to make you feel like an imbecile in a slightly different way. Before we begin, the proctor announces that she is going to read a story that we will have to answer questions about later. It turns out to be one of the most boring stories I've ever heard, but I manage to stay awake. I probably shouldn't have had so much vodka last night.
The task in the first section is straightforward: identification of things that are opposites. Each question provides a picture of something, and you have a choice of four pictures, one of which is the opposite of the thing they showed you. The practice question shows a picture of a cowboy hat. The four choices are pictures of something like: baseball hat, top hat, folded newspaper hat, and beret. I understood perfectly well what I was expected to do, but I had no inclination as to which of those four things was the opposite of a cowboy hat. Meanwhile, the proctor is explaining the practice question and says something like, "obviously the newspaper hat is the opposite of the cowboy hat because the cowboy hat is a real hat, and the newspaper hat isn't." Ok, yes, that makes sense now that you explain it, but 'real hat' isn't the first thing that comes to mind when I see a cowboy hat. I start to sweat. The previous aura of smugness has completely evaporated. I frantically look around for a window that I can sneak out of, but there isn't one. Fuck.
The test begins. What is the opposite of a tree? What is the opposite of a diamond? What is the opposite of a battery? Good God, I can't even tell what some of these pictures are. Is that the sheep field from the Settlers of Catan game board? I start to get pissed off because I can rationalize why two of the different options for the opposite of a tree could be true. The proctor announces that we have one minute left. I'm totally screwed. I start going with my gut, with absolutely no conscious idea of why I am selecting certain answers. I think I'm just selecting the prettiest pictures. I'm filling in the last bubble when she calls time. Not good.
The next section is essentially analogies, but with pictures. I vaguely remember something like this from the SAT, and I breeze through the section fairly easily with the exception of a couple of questions where I see absolutely no conceivable relationship between the pictures given and revert to my previous strategy of selecting the picture that makes me happiest. I chug a little toxic waste Gatorade and hope that it is an intellectual stimulant.
I don't recall the order of the sections that followed, presumably because I now have test-induced PTSD. There was a section where all of the questions revolved around making a certain amount of change with a given number of coins. Are you kidding me? People use debit cards these days. I'm pretty sure most kids under the age of 12 have never even seen real coins. Nevertheless, addition is pretty easy. I was excited for the math section because that is where I felt sure that I would excel. Wrong again. You have to be a PhD in literature to comprehend some of these math problems. By the time I get to the end of reading the problem, I've already forgotten what they told me at the beginning. When she announces that we have one minute left on the math section, I still have several problems left to complete. I get through two of them and end up having to pick the answer that looks the most reasonable on the last two.
Finally, there is an oasis in the desert: antonyms. My vocabulary is pretty decent, and I finish the section with a ton of time to spare. There was only one word I didn't know, and I've already forgotten what it was because it is obviously a stupid word that nobody needs to use.
The test wraps up with a series of questions about the horribly boring story we heard at the beginning. If you were awake during the story, you can easily answer every question. I even notice a couple where they are obviously trying to trick me. Nice try. Despite a horrifying start and some embarrassments in the middle, the test ends on a high note.
The second test that was administered was called Wonderlic, and I laughed out loud at the name because I have the maturity (and probably the IQ) of an 8 year old. I had never heard of this test prior to today, but I discovered this afternoon that NFL players have to take this test to predict their career performance. I seriously doubt that knowing which of four words means the same thing as idiosyncrasy is going to help you get more yards per carry. On the other hand, maybe it wouldn't hurt to include this information in my fantasy football draft matrix next year.
The Wonderlic test is 50 questions long, includes numerous different types of questions, and you have 12 minutes to complete the test. The instructions on the front page proclaim that you will not have enough time to finish the test, and I'm immediately annoyed by how presumptuous they are. I quickly do the math and determine that you have ~15 seconds per question. That ends up being enough time to read the question and go with your instincts. That's why I was incredibly annoyed when they asked me some question about how long a family could live off a hunk of beef given a fixed consumption rate. I don't have time for long division, assholes. It took me 12 seconds just to read the question. Also, the sour feeling in my stomach induced by the discussion of a hunk of beef has left me severely mentally impaired. Perhaps this is part of their plan. It turns out that I only completed 47 of the 50 questions, but that seems close enough that I'm sure some people are able to complete all 50.
Mensa doesn't tell you your scores on these tests; they only tell you whether you scored in the top 2% since this is what is required to qualify for Mensa membership. Personally, I think this is a little bit rude. If I pay $20 to take some tests, I deserve to know what my scores were. Maybe they're trying to save my family the agony of listening to me cite my IQ out of context in future conversations:
Mario: I think we should have enchiladas for dinner.
Me: I think we should have spaghetti.
Mario: Really? I had pasta for lunch, and I'm really in the mood for Mexican food.
Me: My IQ is 140.
To be honest, it's probably for the best that they aren't going to tell me my score. If I don't qualify for membership, I'll just go ahead and assume that I was in the top 3%. I won't have to be faced with the reality of my average (or worse) IQ. I'll find out whether I managed to squeak by sometime in the next 6 weeks. For now, I'm going to relax and enjoy the rest of my weekend... without Uncle Rico.
Did you qualify for Mensa??
ReplyDeleteYep! It was a miracle.
Deletehttp://jennifersmiller.blogspot.com/2012/10/you-dont-have-to-be-genius-to-see-that.html