On schmoozing

With one interview weekend down, I am a bit discouraged by the fact that I am absolutely sick of talking about my research. Sick!

Lucky me, I get to go through interviews again. Some people with whom I have spoken told me that interview weekends were some really great times. I mean, you get a free trip, the students always take you out and get you drunk at least once, and of course you get some free food out of it as well. How could this possibly be bad, right?

Well, I am an asshole. I like to set impossible goals for myself. Therefore, I apply to really tough schools that aren't so much trying to recruit - they are, in fact, trying to weed us out one by one. Slowly. Painfully.

The interview at my number 1 choice was this weekend, which of course meant it had to be first. It was fucking cram packed full of shit to do, and most of it involved interacting with faculty in some capacity. On top of that, I had to interview with five different professors. Ugh.

This meant that, one right after another, I had five nearly identical conversations - during which time each person took extensive notes. They squinted at me, studying me carefully as I talked, picking holes in my research to date. It's a horrible dance that always proceeds in the exact same manner where you are scrutinized from the moment you walk in the door, through dinner and faculty lunches, until you are taken, drunk and tired, to your hotel room.

Somehow, at dinner, I always get stuck sitting next to the department chair. It fucking sucks. He or she is typically in charge of admissions, and by the dinner I'm usually fantasizing about going home and sobbing uncontrollably and in no mood to turn up the charm. But there I am, in another fucking interview. It is worse than the worst of my worst dates.

So I am tired of talking about my research, since everyone is boring and can only talk about what shitty little thing he or she is studying. I am tired of asking questions and clearly getting evasive answers. And I am really fucking tired of wearing a suit.

I have five more weekends like this. Then at the end of the month, I had to schedule some interviews in the middle of the fucking week. This means that for 8 days straight, I will be wearing a suit, talking about my research, and asking the same questions over and over and over and over.

There is no wine that could possibly dilute my horror. I can't wait for it all to end.