Interviews, Take Three

What happened to "take two"? We do not speak of this "take two." It does not exist. I mean, what are you talking about?

Okay, fine. Take two was my Penn interview, in which my interviewer said, "I have to write a paragraph or two about you to give to the school, so what do you want to talk about that you haven't mentioned in your application?"

Quite literally.

It's almost as bad as McGill's major scholarship's essay prompt #3, namely, "Write a letter of recommendation about yourself in 3rd person."

Ginny is a good student. Ginny does not like talking in 3rd person. Ginny thinks this is enough fooling around.

So onwards to take three, my MIT interview. Courtesy of MIT's "please contact your interviewer before Dec. 10th if you are applying regular decision," or something along those lines, I had a nice surprise when my interviewer contacted me in mid-October.

But anyway. We met at Starbucks, and luckily it was not as awkward as Ariadne had described it, namely because there was this group next to us who was talking animatedly and thus did not really notice us. We talked while my interviewer took notes, and then I waited while he took multiple phone calls (one in some language that I was pretty sure was not English, and two from his daughter who I think was close to missing some sort of deadline for applying to med school and was panicking—also, Gretchen, you should've gotten my interviewer, you could've talked so much more about med school and stuff).

All good stuff. I mean, what could go wrong during an interview? (Cue lots of little kids running up and down the cupcake display, screaming in delight every 20 seconds. Yes, this really happened.)

I had also asked Yuma to meet me at Starbucks (some time after my interview), so when I was done I looked around for him, but he wasn't there yet. So I went downstairs, bought a cup of hot chocolate, and went upstairs again to see if I had somehow not seen him.

Now imagine interviewer guy staring at me oddly. And me awkwardly going downstairs again, where, thank goodness, I found Yuma coming up the stairs (apparently he had gotten lost while biking down some street I have never even heard of before).

Later on, we (mostly Yuma) discovered that another guy was up there being interviewed. By my (well, I guess he's not mine anymore) interviewer. What fun.

To make up for the week of weird (I use the term loosely) interviewing, Yuma and I sat outside Starbucks for an hour actively confusing Brian, who was asking for senior write-up help. Which, by the way, I have decided I am not going to write. But I do need to order the yearbook soon.