Interview Woes

I swear, there's an "interview gene" and I don't have it. I can be perfectly personable, and make some facsimile of witty, intelligent conversation when I'm talking to Joe Shmoe coming through my line at Wegmans, but during one of the few times in my life when someone's actually judging me on the basis of my ability to conduct such a conversation, my vocabulary shrinks to that, charitably, of an mildly illiterate 12-year old. Normally, words take the freeway out of my mouth, zooming off my tongue so quickly that they cause some head-on collisions on the way out, but during my interview, they seemed to be content with dawdling along on the back roads. Apparently they had better things to do than help me in my time of need...traitorous little things, they are.

But if you think a few errant words are bad, then you should see the state of so-called ideas! When they're entirely unnecessary and gratuitous (i.e. my contemplating what a great reality show could be made out of an on-campus scholarship competition...I mean, really, bring that many type-A personalities together, offer money and academic opportunity, and watch the sparks fly) and those mischievous little buggers are the equivalent of mental weeds -- they pop up everywhere. During interviews, however, I guess they decided to spite me, hiding just beneath the soil with only their googling eyes tantalizing me from above the ground- giggling at my floundering misfortune.

If I start sleuthing around in search of a silver lining, I suppose I could find one in just how SPECTACULARLY I bombed the interview...at least I went down with a full-throated laugh line in the back ground. Within the first 60 seconds, I somehow managed to misunderstand the stock market, mispronounce one of the interviewer's names, and unintentionally misconstrue the benefactor of the scholarship as deceased, when he's still very much alive and kicking (probably in my direction, not that I blame him) at 72.

Next week, I have a series of interviews, these ones on-campus, at a school I absolutely love and would give (almost) anything to be able to attend. Maybe another silver lining of this cringe-worthy experience was that now I know my own weaknesses, and, hopefully, can avoid these rookie pitfalls next time.

The Inescapable Affliction (or "What I Do Instead of My Lit Essay")

Even as a staunch advocate of comprehensive health care reform, I realize there some contagious and startlingly pervasive diseases that even a publicly proctored insurance option can't help to treat.

Diseases like senioritis.

Yes, I know, it's a cliche. But take it from the horse's mouth here, people (despite my distaste of having to fit into that particular equine metaphor): it's real, and it's threatening the work ethic and productivity of previously top-notch students all across this great nation.

Once, we were the proud nerds of the school, the ones who looked to be in training for some sadistic marathon that would necessitate our dragging 30 pounds of dead weight across distances ranging from 100 feet to 1/2 a mile, and still get to class in under 6 minutes.

Once, we regarded the most minuscule, meaningless tests as no less than a defining moment within our academic careers, our own personal Waterloos, as it were. I swear I occasionally caught bars of epic John Williams music tinkling in the background.

Once, we didn't just get papers done on time, we got them done a week ahead of time, and spent countless hours fiddling with sentence structure, as our half-closed eyes flitted between the 5-page word document flickering in our eyeline and the red digital clock proclaiming it to be "1:34 AM" taunting us from our bedside table.

Once, we were snotty little juniors who proclaimed that only slackers got senioritis, and that it would, of course, NEVER happen to perfect students like us.

I have watched the greatest minds of my generation fall waste to indulging in beloved childrens literature, and semi-legally watching 90's era television. But, you know what? Maybe that's not such a bad thing. After all, we've worked our collective ass off spilling our souls into college essays, and in 7 months or so, we'll doubtless be back to our old, slightly anal-retentive selves. So, for awhile, let's just prop our feet up on our pile of barely touched textbooks and relax.