Working Title: Lice is as Funny as Necrotizing Faciitis - My Road to the Interview

[Disclaimer: Ok, I just took two advil PMs before writing this, so bear with me if I start to slide a little askew in this entry. Note for those concerned: sleeping on your side with one shoulder against your nose is a really stupid yet quite effective way to cause incredible neck and upper back pain the following day. So noted.]

So! My interview for the New York City Teaching Fellowship is less than a week away. I am in a strange state of mind about it; I am at once quite nervous and totally unconcerned. By all accounts I should be nervous - the interview process is slotted to take approximately 5 hours, and will include, in this order:

- A math exam (all fun, no calculators!)
- A 5 minute teaching demonstration from each candidate, wherein one must introduce, elaborate on, wrap up, and check for understanding on a single topic in...5 minutes.
- Lunch
- A prompted, observed discussion wherein all the candidates will be given a topic to discuss amongst themselves for an hour, all while being carefully watched by the interviewers.
- A written response to the conversation, to be completed in 5 minutes.
- A 30-45 minute long one on one interview.

So yeah! This is a pretty intense process. I suppose it has to be, because this is an incredible program, and they only accept 9% of their applicants. It's pretty cool I even got an interview.

I'm getting the job, though. Oh you bet I am.

But, obviously the part of this interview process that should be standing out for you is the 5 minute teaching sample bit. Yeah, you caught that? The website's blurb says things like, "You might want to cover something simple...like, similes! Or, how to convert an improper fraction!" Naturally, my ever supportive friends and family have been coming up with carefully thought-out and pertinent ideas for what I should do with my allotted time.

Do a quick synopsis of War and Peace followed by a brief analysis of its socioeconomic undertones, and then wrap up with a Q&A on the modern implications of the work given today's political climate!

Hmm.

Or.

I got it. You should perform a highlights only special edition of The Ring Cycle.

(And for clarification's sake, here, The Ring Cycle is a 4 opera series by Richard Wagner which, when performed in sequence, takes about 15 hours.)

...or.

A mind game, THAT would be awesome! Show them how the mind is a real pain in the ass! Because it is, man, it so is! We've all got these crazy brains, you know? Tell them that, for the whole five minutes, they are not allowed to think about penguins. No, seriously! Their minds will be so totally BLOWN! All they'll be able to think about is penguins!

So those were helpful.

The next hurdle is, of course, the interview outfit. This is one of those underappreciated stresses of the ordeal, I feel. And, having been gainfully employed by Starbucks for the past year plus of my life, I have exactly no clothing with which to impress, really, anyone, let alone an employer. So with grim, determined faces, Mom and I set off to the mall in search of an outfit that would make me look professional AND interesting AND responsible AND unique. Which is how we, logically, found ourselves in the Macy's women's section...petite. thankyouverymuch.

Now, I require a digression here. Why is it that as soon as a woman is labeled "petite" (which, if I do as well on this interview as I do at qualifying for the status of petite [5'3", 135lbs] I will be a shoo in...) it is assumed that her style consists of loose, ill-defined florals, pastel suits with gestapo shoulder pads and rectangular outlines, and 80's velour tracksuit sets? The poor little section slumps in the corner of the store like the cousin at the party who always smells a little funny and no one wants to talk to, mocked openly by the normal sized clothing right across the walkway which is filled to the breaking point with expertly cut power suits for women in charge. Small women can be powerful too! (She squeaks, swinging her feet from her chair, and then bursting into hormonal tears. Again.) Sigh.

Ok, anyway. From this, we managed to successfully find me a surprisingly nice chocolate brown suit jacket and skirt, with a stylish deep turquoise blouse to go with it. Quite acceptable.

But now the final hurdle: shoes. Originally I had been planning on wearing a pants suit, so shoes were important but, you know, not really going to be so obviously seen. Now, with the skirt, suddenly we're playing a different ballgame - and I have NO fancypants shoes. None at all. There is a valid reason for this, though...some years ago, I had extensive surgery on my feet, and as a result, I can't really bend my big toe. So: heels hurt. Another hurdle is that I've been a vegetarian for years, and I do everything in my power to avoid wearing leather. By these powers combined...shopping for girly shoes is a challange, and I have 8 pairs of crocs. (yeah, I made that a Captain Planet reference, what are you going to do about it?)

So we enter the shoe section with trepidation. But, to my delight, we find several really nice options, and when I try them on, they fit! I walked out the door with two new pairs of heels that are in the category, dare I say it, of the "power heel", sleek and sexy, yet completely tasteful and interesting. It was only when I texted Sean with my news (my life is pretty lame these days, btw...) did I get the shock of "OOoOOh...and they're not leather?" Whoops! I hadn't even looked. My feelings were somewhat conflicted on this. On the one hand, what's happened to my ironclad morals concerning my vegetarianism? I didn't even look?! On the other, I've aaaactually been sort of bad recently, but feeling sort of equally ok about it. I'm re-exploring everything in my life , so why not include fish? Still, I felt a bit guilty. But! I'd bought them - they were mine now. So I brought them home and showed them off and felt good about them. I continued not to look, happily ignorant.

It was only later in the privacy of my room did I have the heart to look for what I knew would be there to stare judgmentally at me when I searched. So I picked up the shoe. And I braced myself, had a quick pep talk, and looked in at the label.

What happened next is the stuff movies are made of.

I looked, grimacing, at the label of first pair of shoes...only to discover they were 100% man made! Surely, I thought, 1 out of 2 is pretty good. It couldn't be that the other ones...YES! Both pairs of my amazing new shoes didn't need to kill ANYTHING to come into existence!

I'm convinced all of my good karma was used up in one fell swoop in this moment.

Sean decided that this is probably not the case, but to be on the safe side, I should really rescue a boatload of infants from a burning orphanage sometime before my interview on Saturday to even things out. Just as a precaution.

His other suggestion was that I could always contract a good case of lice, which would do the trick quite nicely. But, he forgot (or perhaps didn't), that I had already had that pleasure in the last few years of life, and this back when my hair reached my elbows, and let me tell you something, world, having lice is about as funny as cancer. Or necrotizing faciitis. No, go google it, darn you, I've done all your work tonight. But seriously, I'd give the shoes back. My skin has been crawling all night since this conversation just from the memories. Incidentally, as long as we're on the subject, when you're working for a summer camp, don't let the girls play with your hair. I'm looking at you too, boys. It's just not worth it, I'm telling you.

On that note, I'd like to quickly remind everyone about the aforementioned disclaimer: Advil PM a clever blog doth not make. Goodnight.