February 21st, 2014: A Day That Will Live On In Infamy

Get Jazzed

I dropped my backpack to the floor, tore open a yogurt, and amped up some tunes as I tried to get all hyped up for my practice interview.

I danced like a moron around my room in the hopes of it helping time speed up so that I could just leave for the interview already. (I got back from Spanish at noon something and had to wait until at least 1:15 or so to walk over to Lucina. I had major ants in my pants.)

Somehow, I managed to not go crazy waiting to leave and then I finally trekked across campus in eighty-four mile an hour winds (or so they seemed) to meet my fate. 

Well..."fate." This was still just a practice after all.

Oooohhh, professional-y.

Sweat is the New Oil

I got to the interview about twenty minutes early so I could change into heels and go over things again before having to head to the interview room.

Man, if sweat were gold, I would have been RICH. 

Not only was I sweating from nerves, but also from walking over in blustery/coldish-but-not-really conditions. 

It was gross and not consoling. And the longer I waited, the worse it got.

THANKS, BIOLOGY. 

Polar Vortex

I should have legally changed my name to "Polar Vortex" before this whole interview thing.

BECAUSE I FROZE LIKE A POLAR AIR MASS.

That's right, son. Throwin' down them mad metaphors.

But okay, okay, don't beg. I'll clarify.

I'm not one who likes to talk about herself, or often in general, unless I feel comfortable enough.

"What?! But you're a WRITER! You MUST be a good speaker!"

No.

Unless I have some sort of script or prepared speech, I cannot speak to save my life. I'm not kidding. I ramble, I stutter, I don't make sense. I fall flat on my face.

I hear myself saying stupid things that don't make any sense and I can't stop.

And then, maybe even worse than rambling, though maybe just as bad, is the freezing.

Oh yeah. I froze.

At least two or three times. 

Except less bears and more me

I knew I had to think of something, say something but I had nothing. Like, I just sat there with my hands poised, frozen as well, while my mouth and brain did nothing.

At that point, I really just wanted my hands to talk for me. But I sadly know all of ten ASL signs, most inappropriate.

That's when your saddened protagonist, aka me, started to feel utterly hopeless.

Life Was Hard and She Sucked At Interviews

That, ladies and gentlemen, is going to be inscribed upon my tombstone.

If I were going to actually have a tombstone. No, I've got a whole death monument planned. But, I digress...

I don't know. It's not like I haven't had interviews before. I've had multiple ones but this was the worst I've ever done. 

I left the room completely shaken, rattled, and rolled.

After filling out an "after interview survey" or whatever you want to call it, I changed back out of my heels and called my mom, basically nearly crying the whole walk back to my dorm. (The only reason I didn't cry was because I was in public. Otherwise, I would have sobbed until mascara trails were burned into my cheeks.)

I was just so frustrated, pissed at myself.

It's talking. TALKING. Not rocket surgery. But, I can't do it. I suck at it.

And I guess that's kind of the conclusion I've come to:  it's just one of those things for me. Like math or physics. I just don't get how to do it. 

Sure, I can eventually bullshit my way through a calculus or physics problem, so hopefully the same applies to interviews but I'm not so sure.

I honestly would rather sing in public than go through another interview. And that's one of my worst fears.

Sadly, I can't just opera my way through an interview.

Super Rad

Now that this blog post is long enough, I'd just like to say that my interviewer was a wonderful man. He was very relaxed, laid back, and talked to me about some really cool things that weren't even a part of the interview.

That being said, I really hate that I'm going to leave him with that impression of me. Because the girl that was in that room was not who I really am. She's a moron. The one typing right now may also be a moron, but at least she's lively and hides her moronic tendencies.

Interviews are hard. I know they're hard for everyone, but man, are they difficult for me.

It was a learning experience, no matter if what I learned was positive or negative.

And now, I'm just going to go back to quietly hiding, enjoying the fact that I don't have to worry about this interview anymore.

My spirit animal