Kellhugg

Some of you probably know that I had opted for the off-campus Kellogg interview. Here is a brief rundown of what happened. Maybe the whole purpose of my life is to serve as an example to others of what not to do for a b-school interview.

Relentless, Hard Training
I have been told that a great interview hinges on communication, on body language actually. I shot off an e-mail to a current student asking what should be my first step towards preparation. Answer: "Get a mirror, practise in front off it." Mirror, definitely. After intense googling for "mirror" several days at work, by the end of the week, it became apparent that no ordinary mirror would do for the task at hand. You see, it had to be a mirror that brought out the inner me, not the Bed, Bath & Beyond ones that brought out my zits. So off I go shopping, scrounging San Francisco's Jackson Square antiques district for the mirror. While floating from shop to shop, it did bother me that I had not felt the need for a full-length mirror before. Was I losing the touch? Was I getting any less narcissistic?! Heck no, these days I even blow a kiss at myself before I leave the house - I'm good. Anyway, I finally settle on a nice Belgian number that smelled of stale makeup. I bring her home and prop her up against the love-seat and proceed to uncork a bottle to celebrate my recent conquest. Then the preparations begin in earnest. Day after day for the next two weeks I practise hard - uncork a fresh bottle, get nicely hammered, make faces at myself in the mirror until my jaws hurt, pass out, repeat. Thus chillaxed, I was ready to take on whatever Kellogg had planned for me.

Night Before Launch
I judiciously avoid any wine and stick to cheap beer. Anyway, I turn in at 11, big day tomorrow right? I drift off for all of five minutes before a soul-raking whining noise pierces through the silence of the night! My barefooted, bead-wearing, whale-hugging, left-of-ACLU neighbors upstairs have decided to shaft OPEC and drill for their own oil! In a pleasant conversation involving bad things that could befall their beloved terrier, I silence the Greenpeas. I go back to bed in hope of catching my 40 z's. Smug are we? Not so fast. A new accoustic phenomena is taking shape right below outside my window - something that sounds very soulful. Thinking it is one of my hottie neighbor's suitors performing some new-age serenade oustide her window, I look out. I see no spanish guitar or sombrero, but it is definitely gut-wrenching. Three skate-boarding teenagers have triangulated the sidewalk right outside my window as the only spot in this whole wide world to throw up their night's excesses. I gently persuade them to take their regurgitations elsewhere; you see, I had my own tomorrow. It is 2 AM and I have had enough excitement for the night - I pop some melatonin and toss and turn and finally drift off into sleep. Unhuh, not so fast champ. In a symphonic coda, a new fast paced rhythmic noise punctuated with oedipal lyrics and disconnected references to a female dog, assault my ear drums. I wait for it to go away thinking it must be a passing car at the stop sign. Fuck me hard, this thing gets louder by the minute. I storm out of my bed. In PJs, bail money in hand, I go hunting for the source of this art form, fully committed to performing the vile acts suggested by the lyrics. Turns out a few kids are undergoing a rite of passage involving drinking beer from a bong. Sensing the sanctity of the occassion, I settle for calling the cops. By 3 AM silence has finally fallen over my digs; spent, I pass out.

Morning After Pill
You guessed it right - a six pack and four hours of sleep is typically the stuff that 'A' interviews are made of. Making a quick mental note that I didn't have to face the skirt vs. suit dilemma that had kept up many female MBA bloggers, I stuff my face with a fistful of morning-after-pills, jump in the shower and take off for my Kellogg rendezvous. Enroute I fortify myself with two double (friple?) espressos.

Climax
My three golden rules for an interview are the same as my three golden rules for well, dating:

• Go local - the long-distance thing, nah never works


• Go with someone of the opposite sex - unless ...


• Go with someone who understands your background - any girl who understands why I hate b-week forums can eat samosas in my bed anytime

I lucked out on all three counts! My interviewer worked in the marketing division of a valley outfit. The interview itself was such an anti-climax - I guess I was running low on adrenaline after last night. I just remember that my interviewer had beautiful eyebrows, absolutely smashing eyebrows, eyebrows to have children for and pass them along to posterity. When I said something ridiculously stupid, they like twin gazelles springing away from a marauding lion, leapt and descended. I was like, whoa!! Needless to say that was a repeat act for most of the morning. Why Kellogg, Why MBA, Why now and goals short and long term just flew by to the graceful leaps of gazelle brows.

In the end, I think the pills kicked in or something. I couldn't stop at the handshake, I had to hug her good-bye - you see I had to.

Now in trepidation I wait for Wharton and Chicago!