It was after 4 o'clock that Friday afternoon and there I was sitting in the admission office of the local university nervously waiting for my 4:30 interview with an admission counselor. The room had that fake homey quality that adorned most colleges these days; sofas instead of chairs; end tables instead of countertops; soft lighting instead of fluorescent bulbs; live plants scattered throughout. A good attempt as the place was built to give the appearance of comfort even though there was no denying the clearly utilitarian and corporate feel of the place.
I left school right at 3:00 and came straight here for my 4:30 interview. I had debated whether to try to go home and change out of my school uniform, but there wasn't really enough time. I attend a private coed Catholic school in Arizona, and if you had to guess what kind of uniforms they made us wear you'd be painfully right. We all wore matching white polo shirts with our schools crest on them, and, to give you some real choices in your day, we had the option to choose between a plaid and a khaki skirt. I went with the plaid. My skirt was a bit on the shorter side, which was fine at school when I was just around other leering high school boys; but, in this more formal environment, surrounded by adults, it made me a little self-conscious. It didn't help that a few minutes earlier a girl emerged in a full on pinstripe pantsuit. I couldn't help but second-guess my decision not to change clothes.
I looked at my iPhone to check the time: 4:27 pm. My heart skipped in my chest. Why was I so nervous? I was supposed to be there. Ever since I was a little girl my parents talked about this University like it was the only one out there. Never mind that there are thousands of colleges in the United States, I was meant to go to this one. Now, I admit it is something of a family tradition: both my parents went here; three of my four grandparents, my older brother, an uncle and not one, but two cousins. It was just what my family did. I was meant to be the next. And I really did want to be next.
The problem was that I was pretty sure I wouldn't be able to get in.
I'm not stupid. I've seen the rankings and the guidebooks and even talked to my college advisor. With more and more students applying to more and more colleges I knew my odds were slim on a good day. Add that to the fact I knew I wasn't the best student, and it was enough to make me very worried. I needed a new plan, a way to set myself apart and was hoping an interview would present that unique opportunity.
"Ashley Alexander?"
The voice snapped me from my nervous thoughts and brought me back to reality. It was a time. A surprisingly young and attractive man was standing at the entrance of the hallway holding a black portfolio with gold corners looked in my direction.
"Hi," I responded bubbly, jumping up quickly and walking in his direction, "I'm Ashley."
"I'm Josh," he offered shaking my hand, "I'm an Admission Counselor here and will be the one interviewing you."
"Nice to meet you, Josh."
"Do you need anything before we get started? Coffee? Water?"
"No, I think I'm good actually. I had a smoothie on my drive over here."
"Great, come on back to my office and we can chat."
He led me down the hallway past office after office of identical rectangular rooms. Small plastic placards adjacent to large wooden doors announced their occupants.
"How's your day going so far," he asked, making small talk on the way.
"Not too bad," I replied, "glad it's Friday."
"I couldn't agree more. In fact, not only is it Friday, but you're my last appointment before the weekend."
"Nice," I responded, unsure of what else to say.
His office was the second to last at the end of the hall. It looked like all the other offices we had passed with a light colored wooden desk, ergonomic chair behind it, and a small sitting area to one side that had four chairs surrounding a small square coffee table. He ushered me to one of the chairs facing the window, his second floor office facing a picturesque view of the main quad.
"Wow... nice view," I remarked taking my seat, fixing my skirt and crossing my legs.
"I know, right? Sometimes it can be hard to focus with such a distraction."
He smiled at me and I saw his eyes quickly gaze down at my legs before he recovered and took the seat across from me. Was he just flirting with me? I had the incredibly vain thought that he was referring to me when he said a distraction but I quickly realized how silly I was being and disregarded the thought almost immediately.
He started in with his interview questions and I did my best to seem charming and interesting. He asked me the sort of questions you'd expect in a college interview: how I was enjoying high school, what classes I was taking in the fall, what my favorite subjects were. All of it was pretty basic. Then he started asking me questions that I was less confident about answering.
"So, do you happen to speak any foreign languages?" he asked.
Really? This was an interview question? How many kids does this guy interview that are bilingual? Apparently, there were enough to justify asking it in an interview.
"Ummm.... I took two years of Spanish, does that count?" I offered.
He smiled and then wrote a note in his portfolio. That clearly wasn't a great answer.
"What about outside of classroom or outside of school? What sort of stuff do you do? Community service? Internships? Any, cool, international travel experiences? Anything like that?" he probed.
