In the bathroom of a small Italian eatery right off 5th street, as disco music played on outside, Grismath gazed into the mirror. With his sharp brown suit, MacKellar tartan tie, and industrious air, he could not go wrong. He popped back a mint chew from the day before to mask the scent of a herd of gnocchi that had just migrated down his throat in a power lunch that had been not too much but not too little. He had pored over articles and journals for the past two nights, and now he considered himself relaxed, confident, and most importantly: ready.
He paid the bill, left a tip, and strutted back on out into the big city past the quintessential creepy Mafiosi go-between and on towards that imposing edifice across the street. The lively tunes of America's martial tradition celebrated that Veteran's day carried over the traffic and sirens of a hustling and bustling city to Grismath's ears as he too marched towards his destiny.
As he walked into the revolving door, he passed a large bronzed plaque that read: OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS.
Taking a seat in the waiting lounge, it occurred to the ever-enterprising Grismath that it would be especially clever of him to be found reading up on the fellow whom he was about to meet. As this was the University Press, and the professor had been published through the University, Grismath sprung into action and checked every single book on that wall, as they curiously seemed to be arranged in no logical fashion whatsoever. He found nothing.
As he returned to his seat, he bemoaned his lack of a watch (which was probably lying out on some Floridian beach catching some rays); he thought it an opportune occasion to don his gigantic class ring. A true beacon of 'please-mug-me' essence, it stood as a great reminder of academic challenges both overcome and still remaining.
He decided to while away his time by observing the competition and seeing what made them tick. There was a tall, thin fellow with blonde hair at a side table, all the posh couch seats being taken already, on whom some lady working there took pity and tried to make pithy conversation. He wore a green sweater, khakis, and... white sneakers. No contest here.
Some vagabondish girl slept under her jacket to Grismath's right, and she looked like she was just taking shelter from the street. Again, things looked good.
But then, then! In strode a tall aquiline youth who didn't look all that youthful in a flowing black greatcoat who radiated who knows what but it's better than you, with some relation and an absolutely dazzlingly gorgeous blonde girlfriend. The relation and the dreamgirl wished him luck, they shared an intimate I have no idea what in the lobby obscured from my sight by a pillar, and then departed. Grismath ground his teeth, clenched my first, and squinted his eyes.
At long last, after a maddeningly long wait, a lady finally came in to call Grismath up to the *top floor*. The two other men came with me (that random girl was probably carted back off to the streets), and we entered the elevator. Grismath tried to make conversation, but when he introduced himself to the sneaker fellow, he gave Grismath a weird look. Oh well, I suppose most people wouldn't know what to say in the presence of so mighty a savant.
They went through several security doors and into the inner sanctum, which was little more than an impromptu sitting area next to the secretary's desk. Two girls were already there, and they were scrutinizing laminated pages with rather consternated expressions. It turned out that the two men with our hero were being considered for the sciences, and with that, Grismath was relieved.
The laminated sheet set before Grismath, an Economics and Management hopeful, began with such dense verbiage that Grismath's eyes suddenly blurred and his comprehension of the English language suddenly seemed at question. As the lady had said that no prior knowledge of the disciplines was necessary, Grismath had no idea what to make of the sheet when he saw that the essay was entitled 'Wilt Chamberlain'. He asked to go to the bathroom.
In the bathroom, which was behind even more security doors, and required a passcode (2-4-5 for you spies) to enter, everything suddenly clicked. It all made perfect sense, and Grismath rushed back to the reading area with a mind lush with ideas. These he scribbled down intently as the clock for reading time ticked down. So full of the worth of his ideas was he, that he didn’t think a second read-through necessary.
As Grismath read it, the article presented a proof of the supposed shortcomings of a lassiez-faire system, in that a hypothetically just distribution of wealth would, by the nature of the system, be offset into a seemingly unjust distribution. Grismath completely disagreed, and found many holes in this argument, as it lacked scope and depth.
Suddenly, a gentleman dressed in a rather ridiculous pink and blue pinstriped shirt with a yellow and blue striped tie and pink suspenders entered and spirited Grismath off to the inquest room, more commonly known as his office. They settled themselves, and the professor asked Grismath for his passport photo. erm...
Grismath returned with the photo. The first questions were, as the undergraduate prospectus reassured, merely intended to warm the interviewee up. First, why Economics and Management, and why Oxford?
"Well...", Grismath began, as he stumbled though a loosely tied littany of personal experiences. Somehow, although he was looking somewhere in the vicinity of the professor, he couldn't see him, but he realized that he was getting bored, and Grismath was probably cut off before he could even explain why Oxford.
An interpretation of the mystery essay was next on the agenda. Grismath's conclusions for the first fundamental questions were praised and the interview began to proceed a lot more smoothly. The hopeful student and potential teacher worked in harmony. Advance two spaces. Suddenly, Grismath fouled up and failed to see something. Go back one space.
Suddenly, woe of all woes, it turned out that Grismath failed to detect the fact that the main point with which he disagreed was a rhetorical question, and that the last paragraph was a counter-argument that was then discarded. So in fact, Grismath was agreeing with the author when he thought he was instead ripping him apart.
Grismath tried to throw in an analogy. The professor liked it. He mistakenly rephrased and repeated a question instead of answering it. The professor did not like it. Although the professor gave Grismath a few prompts and helped him think it through, things did not appear to be going well. Grismath felt like he was being treated like a child. Then again, he was completely dwarfed. And then, Grismath brought up the question of the purpose of government and immediately remembered in response to the professor's sly smile and desire to pursue that course of reasoning, that the professor was in fact a professor of law.
Now that all the questions that could possibly be asked of him had been asked, Grismath was presented with the opportunity to ask some questions of his own. "I understand that Oxford is a premier research university. What research opportunities are available to undergraduate students?" In short, NONE. (fist on hand) "Are there any study abroad options?" Yes, but not for your major, you insolent boy. "How is professor or tutor availability?" You clearly do not understand how our system works. "How does medical insurance work for students studying abroad at your institution?" You're asking the wrong person. In short, each of your questions has further proved that this is not the university for you even though I have not presented you with an opportunity to qualify yourself. You are the weakest link - GOODBYE.
This is the part where he hits the red button and the seat dips and Grismath plummets into a back alley into a dumpster full of his kindred intellectual rubbish.
In truth, our hero felt like he was being ushered out when he left, and dejectedly took the elevator back down. His head was throbbing and his mind exhausted. He was humbled - crushed. He took a train home.
___________________________________
Then again, he possibly might have done better than the other candidates. Oxford interviews are notorious for their nefariousness.
Ah, but the missed opportunities that are not worth dwelling upon but refuse to be ignored regardless. If only I had remembered that it was alright to realize that I didn't know an answer. If only I had specified a college to apply for instead of being swept into the application pool for some previously feminist cranny. Perhaps I'll have a better chance getting in there. But would I even have a good time there?
He paid the bill, left a tip, and strutted back on out into the big city past the quintessential creepy Mafiosi go-between and on towards that imposing edifice across the street. The lively tunes of America's martial tradition celebrated that Veteran's day carried over the traffic and sirens of a hustling and bustling city to Grismath's ears as he too marched towards his destiny.
As he walked into the revolving door, he passed a large bronzed plaque that read: OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS.
Taking a seat in the waiting lounge, it occurred to the ever-enterprising Grismath that it would be especially clever of him to be found reading up on the fellow whom he was about to meet. As this was the University Press, and the professor had been published through the University, Grismath sprung into action and checked every single book on that wall, as they curiously seemed to be arranged in no logical fashion whatsoever. He found nothing.
As he returned to his seat, he bemoaned his lack of a watch (which was probably lying out on some Floridian beach catching some rays); he thought it an opportune occasion to don his gigantic class ring. A true beacon of 'please-mug-me' essence, it stood as a great reminder of academic challenges both overcome and still remaining.
He decided to while away his time by observing the competition and seeing what made them tick. There was a tall, thin fellow with blonde hair at a side table, all the posh couch seats being taken already, on whom some lady working there took pity and tried to make pithy conversation. He wore a green sweater, khakis, and... white sneakers. No contest here.
Some vagabondish girl slept under her jacket to Grismath's right, and she looked like she was just taking shelter from the street. Again, things looked good.
But then, then! In strode a tall aquiline youth who didn't look all that youthful in a flowing black greatcoat who radiated who knows what but it's better than you, with some relation and an absolutely dazzlingly gorgeous blonde girlfriend. The relation and the dreamgirl wished him luck, they shared an intimate I have no idea what in the lobby obscured from my sight by a pillar, and then departed. Grismath ground his teeth, clenched my first, and squinted his eyes.
At long last, after a maddeningly long wait, a lady finally came in to call Grismath up to the *top floor*. The two other men came with me (that random girl was probably carted back off to the streets), and we entered the elevator. Grismath tried to make conversation, but when he introduced himself to the sneaker fellow, he gave Grismath a weird look. Oh well, I suppose most people wouldn't know what to say in the presence of so mighty a savant.
They went through several security doors and into the inner sanctum, which was little more than an impromptu sitting area next to the secretary's desk. Two girls were already there, and they were scrutinizing laminated pages with rather consternated expressions. It turned out that the two men with our hero were being considered for the sciences, and with that, Grismath was relieved.
The laminated sheet set before Grismath, an Economics and Management hopeful, began with such dense verbiage that Grismath's eyes suddenly blurred and his comprehension of the English language suddenly seemed at question. As the lady had said that no prior knowledge of the disciplines was necessary, Grismath had no idea what to make of the sheet when he saw that the essay was entitled 'Wilt Chamberlain'. He asked to go to the bathroom.
In the bathroom, which was behind even more security doors, and required a passcode (2-4-5 for you spies) to enter, everything suddenly clicked. It all made perfect sense, and Grismath rushed back to the reading area with a mind lush with ideas. These he scribbled down intently as the clock for reading time ticked down. So full of the worth of his ideas was he, that he didn’t think a second read-through necessary.
As Grismath read it, the article presented a proof of the supposed shortcomings of a lassiez-faire system, in that a hypothetically just distribution of wealth would, by the nature of the system, be offset into a seemingly unjust distribution. Grismath completely disagreed, and found many holes in this argument, as it lacked scope and depth.
Suddenly, a gentleman dressed in a rather ridiculous pink and blue pinstriped shirt with a yellow and blue striped tie and pink suspenders entered and spirited Grismath off to the inquest room, more commonly known as his office. They settled themselves, and the professor asked Grismath for his passport photo. erm...
Grismath returned with the photo. The first questions were, as the undergraduate prospectus reassured, merely intended to warm the interviewee up. First, why Economics and Management, and why Oxford?
"Well...", Grismath began, as he stumbled though a loosely tied littany of personal experiences. Somehow, although he was looking somewhere in the vicinity of the professor, he couldn't see him, but he realized that he was getting bored, and Grismath was probably cut off before he could even explain why Oxford.
An interpretation of the mystery essay was next on the agenda. Grismath's conclusions for the first fundamental questions were praised and the interview began to proceed a lot more smoothly. The hopeful student and potential teacher worked in harmony. Advance two spaces. Suddenly, Grismath fouled up and failed to see something. Go back one space.
Suddenly, woe of all woes, it turned out that Grismath failed to detect the fact that the main point with which he disagreed was a rhetorical question, and that the last paragraph was a counter-argument that was then discarded. So in fact, Grismath was agreeing with the author when he thought he was instead ripping him apart.
Grismath tried to throw in an analogy. The professor liked it. He mistakenly rephrased and repeated a question instead of answering it. The professor did not like it. Although the professor gave Grismath a few prompts and helped him think it through, things did not appear to be going well. Grismath felt like he was being treated like a child. Then again, he was completely dwarfed. And then, Grismath brought up the question of the purpose of government and immediately remembered in response to the professor's sly smile and desire to pursue that course of reasoning, that the professor was in fact a professor of law.
Now that all the questions that could possibly be asked of him had been asked, Grismath was presented with the opportunity to ask some questions of his own. "I understand that Oxford is a premier research university. What research opportunities are available to undergraduate students?" In short, NONE. (fist on hand) "Are there any study abroad options?" Yes, but not for your major, you insolent boy. "How is professor or tutor availability?" You clearly do not understand how our system works. "How does medical insurance work for students studying abroad at your institution?" You're asking the wrong person. In short, each of your questions has further proved that this is not the university for you even though I have not presented you with an opportunity to qualify yourself. You are the weakest link - GOODBYE.
This is the part where he hits the red button and the seat dips and Grismath plummets into a back alley into a dumpster full of his kindred intellectual rubbish.
In truth, our hero felt like he was being ushered out when he left, and dejectedly took the elevator back down. His head was throbbing and his mind exhausted. He was humbled - crushed. He took a train home.
___________________________________
Then again, he possibly might have done better than the other candidates. Oxford interviews are notorious for their nefariousness.
Ah, but the missed opportunities that are not worth dwelling upon but refuse to be ignored regardless. If only I had remembered that it was alright to realize that I didn't know an answer. If only I had specified a college to apply for instead of being swept into the application pool for some previously feminist cranny. Perhaps I'll have a better chance getting in there. But would I even have a good time there?
