The “No Questions” Interview (Princeton
University)
I was excited about this interview, dressed
sharply in my favorite maroon dress shirt and tie combo.
I was actually looking forward to an engaging conversation
with an alumnus of the school I’d been dreaming about.
I also felt pretty confident about my ability to drop little
facts about my achievements into conversation. I walked
into his office, shook his hand, sat down and looked at
him. He looked back. After what seemed like a good minute
of silence, he said, “So… tell me about yourself.”
Now, don’t get me wrong, I have an ego the size of
the former Soviet Union, but does he honestly expect me
to just start going down my list of accomplishments without
any discussion, questions or recurring theme? Yep. I talked
about my extracurricular involvement for about ten minutes,
then came to some conclusionary-sounding sentence, hoping
I had sparked some curiosity in him. He looked up from his
notes. “Anything else?”
Well, I wasn’t about to walk out after ten minutes.
I went on about my community service and hobbies for another
ten minutes, this time earning an occasional nod. I stopped
again and recognized a familiar silence. Figuring I’d
beat him to the punch, I continued on my own. After what
was probably an incoherent tangent about my philosophies
on student involvement in community, I decided I was done.
He stood up. “Well, best of luck to you.” Wow.
I walked out more confused than I may have ever been. Did
that go well? I just had a 30-minute interview for an ivy
league school and wasn’t asked a single question!
Note: This student was accepted
The Absentee Interviewer (MIT)
I’d been waiting for this interview
all week. I drove two hours up to office of this alumnus,
ready to strut my stuff like there was no tomorrow. I had
received a letter that told me where to go and when, and
he had called a few days later to confirm my arrival.
The office building was exquisite and I knew this man would
be the kind of scholar that I aspired to be. After some
difficulty finding parking, I walked up the steps of the
building, tablet and cross pen in hand, and asked for directions
to his office. The receptionist looked a bit miffed, but
directed me to the third floor. I just caught the elevator,
which already contained two other people. About half way
up, I realized these other people were kids my age…
each with tablet and cross pen in hand. I hoped they weren’t
heading for the same office I was. I thought this was a
one-on-one thing. Unfortunately, we all got off at the same
floor and walked directly to his office.
The lights were out. The door was locked. This didn’t
look good. So, here I was, all dressed up and nowhere to
go. “He must have gone to lunch or something,”
one of the other interviewees said. We all agreed to that
temporary relief, none of us mentioning that it was nine
thirty in the morning. I soon learned the three of us had
been scheduled for interviews fifteen minutes apart, and
two just so happened to get there early. As we talked, a
young intern about our age walked by and tapped me on the
shoulder. “He’s on a business trip, he’ll
be back next week.”
I was furious. This guy had even confirmed my interview,
but never bothered to call and mention he was going to be
out of town. We were a bit skeptical of the young intern,
so we waited another fifteen minutes just in case. After
that, I just left. I gave the one interviewee who wanted
to wait longer my name and number in case the guy actually
did show up, but it was a lost cause. He called me that
night to tell me that he waited over three hours before
he left. The guy never came. Not only that, he never called.
I left him two voicemails at the number he left me, but
I never heard back. The interview wasn’t rescheduled,
I simply didn’t get one.
Note: The student was not accepted
The Psychiatrist (University of Pennsylvania)
My interviewer was a psychiatrist in one
of the more wealthy sections of town. As soon as I stepped
into his office, it was clear he spent his days asking people
questions like “if your father were a glob of clay,
what would you sculpt with it?” I felt like I was
in a really bad movie, complete with all the props—
a diploma on the wall, one firm upright chair, and a long
leather couch. “Take a seat,” he said. Now,
I wasn’t my place to question the gentleman who might
write a nice enough comment to get me into his alma mater.
So, I sat.
Ever want to be really scared? Hire a psychiatrist to ask
you obscure questions, and then act like the answers may
dictate your future. I handed him my resume` and he looked
it over for a moment. “So,” he began, “how’s
your relationship with your mother?” I was tempted
to ask if I should just lie down and pay him $200 an hour.
How do I answer that question?
The interview continued for about another thirty minutes,
with topics varying from the classes I took to my feelings
about other members of my immediate family. I never could
tell if the guy cared what I said or was just having a little
fun. Unless I become a psychiatrist, I guess I never will.
Note: This student was accepted
The De-Coding Phone Interview (Columbia University)
Well, a phone interview is better than nothing.
At least that’s what I figured at the time. The decisions
were rolling up on me and I was eager to get any extra exposure
to the admissions committee that I could, even if it was
via an alumni over the telephone.
Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but I think a major
qualifier of allowing someone to conduct telephone interviews
should be the ability to speak English. Apparently, that
detail was overlooked. The interviewer was no doubt a qualified
scholar, but he talked like a poorly-translated video game.
I must have sounded like an idiot, asking him to repeat
such straightforward questions as “what is your activity
like?” and “You serve good?” I don’t
mean to discriminate based on this gentleman’s communication
problems, but I hung up feeling very disappointed about
how I was able to present myself. Maybe I should have just
gone without the interview.
Note: This student was accepted
