I squirmed in my seat. My borrowed suit jacket hung over the headrest of the passenger seat allowing me a greater range of motion, but my pencil skirt and black pumps were not ideal driving attire. I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the most tolerable song I could find on the radio. The early morning sun beamed through voluminous clouds, reflecting off the lake beneath the bridge. The morning had started overcast and dreary, but I took the parting clouds as a sign of a promising future and a successful day. My blue Mustang and I were headed to New Orleans for my first medical school interview.
I feared rush-hour traffic on that plate of linguine New Orleans calls an interstate system, so I left my house in Hammond at the crack of dawn. As it turned out, there was very little traffic, so I ended up arriving at my destination nearly an hour early. If there was anything I feared more than traffic, it was the task of trying not to look awkward for forty-five whole minutes.
I maneuvered my way through the parking garage, construction, and endless hallways and found myself in a Starbucks right outside the admissions office. Many thanks to the kind stranger who took pity on a poor interviewee and helped me find my way. I bought a tall hazelnut latte, sat down at a table by myself, and Operation: Look Casual commenced. First order of business, pull out my cellphone and text my mom. No one else has to know I’m texting my mom, I just have to look busy with a phone. My mom and I have a nice chat. She tells me she’s happy my drive was uneventful and wishes me good luck on my interview. I successfully used up three minutes. I pat myself on the back, metaphorically speaking.
I start running through interview questions in my head; Why do I want to be a doctor? (Can’t say “helping people,” that’s too cliché.) Why do I want to go to this medical school? (Uhh….it’s cheap). What is professionalism? (Don’t say “wearing suits.” The goal here is to appear deep and intellectual.) What would you do if you don’t get in? (Cry.) Why should we want you, anyway? (I can knit and bake bread. Really good bread). My head started spinning with concocted questions and contrived answers, so I turned my attention back to my latte.
I took a long, slow sip like the ones you’d see in a commercial for some overpriced Belgian coffee or the slow-motion scene of some romantic comedy (“Oh, look at the way she sips her coffee! Every little thing about her makes me fall more in love….”) I checked the time on my phone – I was ten minutes into Operation: Look Casual. I did my best to blend in with the other people milling about. After all, I told myself, I could be one of them! Look at those medical students! Why, the only thing separating me from them is my suit! Oh, and my lack of back-pack, stacks of flashcards, venti black coffee, and dark circles under my eyes. But basically, we’re exactly alike! I noticed another suit sitting by himself at a table across the room. The only thing on his table besides a tall coffee was a cell phone. He checked the time. He was definitely another interviewee.
Moments later The Suit was standing by my table. “Hey, are you here interviewing, too?” (Gasp. How could he tell?) “Do you mind if I sit down? My name’s Michael.” I told him he was welcome to sit and introduced myself. Having someone else to talk to would definitely help me not look too awkward while waiting for the interview process to begin. I was running out of ways to look at my phone and sip my coffee (Slow sip while checking phone; hold coffee cup while gazing contemplatively out of window; leave phone on table and absentmindedly check time; rinse, repeat).
