No, not the one with the Vampire, or the one where Barbara Walters made Ringo Starr cry when she brought up the death of John Lennon (Note to self: If you ever meet Ringo Starr – ixnay on the ohnjay ennonlay)…
I’m taking about a particular interview that I had several years ago… An interview that will go down as the worst interview… of all time.
And saying that it was the worst interview of all time is really saying something… because I’ve had a lot of bad interviews… (it’s also saying something because I’m making a statement).
There was the one where I wore my “lucky blouse” which had a button issue… in that the buttons refused to stay shut, and I may have (I did) flashed my “brassiere” to the Receptionist and the Human Resources Manager… which is super awkward when you’re interviewing for a job at a church…
Saying that, somehow I’ve managed to get all the jobs that I’ve interviewed for… including the one at the church (Luckily, I was wearing a conservative “brassiere” that day).
I’ve also been accepted into most* programs that I’ve interviewed for…
(And yes, I really do like ellipsis… those series of dots that indicate a leading statement… those ones… just there.)
Now the reason for the * back there… I’ve been accepted into most* programs, but not all programs…
There is one program at one school that did not think I would make an ideal candidate…
The program? A Master’s degree in Creative Writing.
The school? You may have heard of it… it’s the oldest and most prestigious educational institution in the English-speaking world? It’s called Oxford. Ring any bells?
So I applied to Oxford… and after they carefully considered my application, I was invited to have a telephone interview. The date and time were set weeks in advance.
I started to get excited… I started visualising how I would traipse** around Oxford with a heaving book bag and self-satisfied smile… and how proud my mom and dad would be, and how they would finally have a chance to brag about me (because to be honest I’ve not done much to merit much bragging).
Anyway, long story short… three days before the telephone interview I had to have emergency surgery because they thought that I had a tumor behind my eye (I didn’t).
They sent me home with 11 stitches across my eyelid, and several prescriptions… Vikes, Oxy, Blues, French Fries, Tranqs, Beans, Kicker, Percs… And while I’m definitely not condoning the recreational use of these prescription drugs, I will say that if you do have a surgery and use them responsibly, they are pretty f*%$ing awesome.
I spent the next few days as high as a kite.
Then, on Monday morning… the phone rang.
You know, the one with Oxford University with regard to your application.
Yeah… that one.
I took the phone receiver, and I tried my best to ignore the large purple dinosaur that was flipping pancakes in my kitchen (mmmm… pancakes!) and I carried on with the interview…
I have no idea what was said, how it was said, or the language in which it was said.
I do know that a very*** short time later I received an email from Oxford University stating that my application had been “unsuccessful”.
Sure, I was initially disappointed… Oxford University has a fairly decent reputation as far as post-secondary learning institutions go, and I had really hoped to traipse…
But then I thought about what a stuffy old institution Oxford was, and how I’m really the opposite of stuffy (I’m extremely breezy and informal), and then I was okay with it…
Oh, I also swallowed another Kicker, which may have helped.
EPILOGUE: I ended up moving to England, and took a Screenwriting program through the University of Oxford’s Department for Continuing Education, which looks good on a resume, but is really not the “Oxford” Oxford.
A few weeks later I had an interview with the University of London that went much better… and guess what? I ended up with a Master’s degree (with distinction!) in Creative Writing.
So suck it Oxford.
* Not all, but most
** Because one does not “walk” when one attends Oxford
*** Like, very… Like, within an hour