San Antonio Interview
Not that anyone cares, but I think I'll review my interviews at each school from now on. I don't know why. I'm just that bored I suppose. Let us begin.
The trip began with a drive to Austin to drop off my mom - we were planning to attend my brother's white coat ceremony on Monday. We arrived in Austin around 2:00 PM and manuveured through the throngs of incoming Fish flopping about the drag - you can always recognize them by the distinct look of "freedom vs. fear" in their eyes, which consequently, makes them look a bit like lost cattle grazing the fields. The herds of college students were everywhere, walking about aimlessly, touring with parents that they secretly wish would go home, chatting freely with friends as if their world faded quietly away outside the 4o acres of burnt-orange bliss. I was lime-green with jealousy.
After grabbing a bite to eat at Kerbey Lane, the 24 hour queso fountain of my heart, I drove to San Antonio at 3:30 PM.
I was staying at Sibo's place for the night. She lived in a charming little townhouse near the medical school. The complex seemed to be inhabited by families, as there were groups of Hispanic children staring into my car as I drove by. Her house had two floors and was, in my opinion, a very large place for just one person. I could imagine one getting quite lonely there, so it was a good thing she had a dog. Personally, I think I would need a place small enough to where the sound of the television could reach every corner of the walls. The noise would be soothing.
We went to eat at Macaroni Grill for dinner. It had been so long since the last time I had eaten Italian food that I ended up finishing everything on my plate. Now I can go another 4 months without eating Italian food and another 6 without eggplant parmesean. Still, full as I was, I had to have a Shiner when we arrived at the "Pre-interview social". Group social situations are no longer comfortable for me without a beer in my right-hand, and sometimes my left as well. The people there were friendly and looked much more relaxed than the ones at UTSW. I also bumped into my old Captain from the Marathon Team, whom I hadn't seen in about 2 years - not that I ever saw much of him other than his back. I could never keep up with Dave after around 2 miles. The bastard has the stamina of a Saharan camel.
And so came interview day, suit, tie, dress shoes, the works. I donned my battle gear, had a quick breakfast with Sibo, and together we left for school. I sat in on her morning lecture that showed a movie on "The Right to Die", a documentary on the Nancy Cruzan case. Most people weren't really watching, but I've been told that it's a blow off class. After the lecture, I headed out to the foyer to register and lo' and behold, I see Jocelyn Liu. As can only happen by sheer coinidence, we have had every single interview together this year. From Houston on 8/2 to Baylor on 9/8, we had seen each other everywhere and always in the same set of clothes. The universe is bizarre that way.
The pre-interview tours and lectures were very well organized, although the Q&As were a bit overdrawn, if you ask me. The dean made it very clear that they chose their students based on personality and the potential ability to make great doctors someday. Obviously, that's what all schools say, but for some reason, I was actually convinced here.
My first interview was a Ph.D. I was SOL and was scheduled with two doctors instead of a doctor and a student. This Ph.D, like most, was a stiff fellow. Rarely cracking a smile, he proceeded to pick his nose and yawn while I spoke. He drilled me with a list of questions and didn't seem to be at all interested in my answers. I'm not even sure if he fully understood my answers, as he was not an English speaker of the native level. So what could I do? I just kept up a smile and asked him about his research, which he seemed at least remotely interested in discussing. In hindsight, I also should have asked him about his kids. Old people love to talk about their kids, where they graduated from, what rank, that Ph.D in quantum-physics, and their dissertation that should have won the Nobel. Old people love that stuff, especially old Asian people. It's all about the face.
The second interview I had was a trauma-surgeon who had been stationed in the Far East during the Vietnam War. In his words, "I love the Far East". His wife and he spent their honeymoon in Hong Kong. My immediate diagnosis: this was a man with a war-induced case of the "Yellow Fever", which so many old Vietnam/Korea vets seem to be suffering from. He also noted to me that he loved to "help those people", which he later clarified as being the Vietnamese. I asked him how medicine had changed since he had been in school. He told me that the training had gotten longer but that it would change in a few years. I asked him why and he said that part of the reason was because "The ladies are coming to town". The male-chauvinistic pig in me couldn't help but laugh a little. Overall, during our conversation, I tried not to judge, as we're obviously individuals from two different generations with very different ideologies. He was a good guy. One of the few that really seemed to love what he was doing because he chose to do with he loved. I admired that about him. Maybe that'll be me in 35 years.
The trip began with a drive to Austin to drop off my mom - we were planning to attend my brother's white coat ceremony on Monday. We arrived in Austin around 2:00 PM and manuveured through the throngs of incoming Fish flopping about the drag - you can always recognize them by the distinct look of "freedom vs. fear" in their eyes, which consequently, makes them look a bit like lost cattle grazing the fields. The herds of college students were everywhere, walking about aimlessly, touring with parents that they secretly wish would go home, chatting freely with friends as if their world faded quietly away outside the 4o acres of burnt-orange bliss. I was lime-green with jealousy.
After grabbing a bite to eat at Kerbey Lane, the 24 hour queso fountain of my heart, I drove to San Antonio at 3:30 PM.
I was staying at Sibo's place for the night. She lived in a charming little townhouse near the medical school. The complex seemed to be inhabited by families, as there were groups of Hispanic children staring into my car as I drove by. Her house had two floors and was, in my opinion, a very large place for just one person. I could imagine one getting quite lonely there, so it was a good thing she had a dog. Personally, I think I would need a place small enough to where the sound of the television could reach every corner of the walls. The noise would be soothing.
We went to eat at Macaroni Grill for dinner. It had been so long since the last time I had eaten Italian food that I ended up finishing everything on my plate. Now I can go another 4 months without eating Italian food and another 6 without eggplant parmesean. Still, full as I was, I had to have a Shiner when we arrived at the "Pre-interview social". Group social situations are no longer comfortable for me without a beer in my right-hand, and sometimes my left as well. The people there were friendly and looked much more relaxed than the ones at UTSW. I also bumped into my old Captain from the Marathon Team, whom I hadn't seen in about 2 years - not that I ever saw much of him other than his back. I could never keep up with Dave after around 2 miles. The bastard has the stamina of a Saharan camel.
And so came interview day, suit, tie, dress shoes, the works. I donned my battle gear, had a quick breakfast with Sibo, and together we left for school. I sat in on her morning lecture that showed a movie on "The Right to Die", a documentary on the Nancy Cruzan case. Most people weren't really watching, but I've been told that it's a blow off class. After the lecture, I headed out to the foyer to register and lo' and behold, I see Jocelyn Liu. As can only happen by sheer coinidence, we have had every single interview together this year. From Houston on 8/2 to Baylor on 9/8, we had seen each other everywhere and always in the same set of clothes. The universe is bizarre that way.
The pre-interview tours and lectures were very well organized, although the Q&As were a bit overdrawn, if you ask me. The dean made it very clear that they chose their students based on personality and the potential ability to make great doctors someday. Obviously, that's what all schools say, but for some reason, I was actually convinced here.
My first interview was a Ph.D. I was SOL and was scheduled with two doctors instead of a doctor and a student. This Ph.D, like most, was a stiff fellow. Rarely cracking a smile, he proceeded to pick his nose and yawn while I spoke. He drilled me with a list of questions and didn't seem to be at all interested in my answers. I'm not even sure if he fully understood my answers, as he was not an English speaker of the native level. So what could I do? I just kept up a smile and asked him about his research, which he seemed at least remotely interested in discussing. In hindsight, I also should have asked him about his kids. Old people love to talk about their kids, where they graduated from, what rank, that Ph.D in quantum-physics, and their dissertation that should have won the Nobel. Old people love that stuff, especially old Asian people. It's all about the face.
The second interview I had was a trauma-surgeon who had been stationed in the Far East during the Vietnam War. In his words, "I love the Far East". His wife and he spent their honeymoon in Hong Kong. My immediate diagnosis: this was a man with a war-induced case of the "Yellow Fever", which so many old Vietnam/Korea vets seem to be suffering from. He also noted to me that he loved to "help those people", which he later clarified as being the Vietnamese. I asked him how medicine had changed since he had been in school. He told me that the training had gotten longer but that it would change in a few years. I asked him why and he said that part of the reason was because "The ladies are coming to town". The male-chauvinistic pig in me couldn't help but laugh a little. Overall, during our conversation, I tried not to judge, as we're obviously individuals from two different generations with very different ideologies. He was a good guy. One of the few that really seemed to love what he was doing because he chose to do with he loved. I admired that about him. Maybe that'll be me in 35 years.
posted by Peter at 9:58 AM
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