"Your interviewer likes to play devil's advocate. Don't worry though, he's ultimately fair." This was the warning I received before my worst medical school interview. It was 5 minutes past the scheduled start time of my interview, and a spry older man walked into the lobby, past me, and into my interview room. As I look across the room, the admissions officer who had offered the warning mouthed "that's your interviewer," pointing at him. A few minutes later, as the door to the room opens, I thought "here goes."
I stood up to meet him, extending my hand for a shake. As I did this, he gave a confused look and waved me back into my seat. He walked past me, and made some casual conversation with the receptionist. After this, he walked past me again, back into the room, and shut the door. Confused, I look over at the admissions officer, who gives a puzzled 'I-don't-know' gesture. As another five minutes ticked by, I nervously thought to myself: did I do something wrong?
Again, the door to my interview room opened. This time, though, I sat and avoided eye contact. My interviewer said: "So you learned your lesson?"
"Yes, sir. I will not stand until you acknowledge me," I replied, surprised by my formality. "Good then, come on in," he said.
At this point, I would have to lie if I said I didn't have my guard up. As I sat down at a table across from him, before I had a chance to settle in, he launched his first question: "So you were an illegal?"
I felt my eyes widen in surprise. I took a deep deep breath before answering, "Yes, but the preferred term is undocumented."
As I took another breath to elaborate, he cut me off: "What do you mean by that?" he asked with a cocked head and questioning tone.
"Well, 'illegal' is a dehumanizing term. It connotes lower worth to the whole person, and promotes discrimination." Having studied and taught this topic, the answer was almost second nature to me. I explained further, even managing to cite a linguistics book titled Brown Tide Rising that analyzed the political rhetoric used during California's gubernatorial race in the 1990s. My interviewer was unimpressed.
We went back and forth on the relative merits of the terms 'illegal' and 'undocumented.' In the end, I was surprised and proud of how I had answered his questions. After all, just three years prior, as I was in the midst of fighting to stay in college as a Dreamer, I would have been paralyzed at just the thought of someone knowing my status. Fear of deportation and harming my family shackled me with fear. I remembered this, and thought of how awful this experience would be for someone who was still caught up in this struggle.
As these thoughts swirled in my head, my interview took an even steeper dive for the worst.
Here are some highlights: When I talked about returning to my home country for medical research, this interview responded: "Well, I'm from [insert low-income country] and I think we should blow the place up and start over." I asked if he meant this metaphorically. He said no. When I differentiated between the work I was hired to do in my lab, and what I did out of my own initiative, he asked: "So do you want to keep doing clinical trial work,” referencing the work I was hired to do. I said "No, I actually prefer the health disparities work I am doing on my own." His response: "So you're a whore. You're doing something for money that you don't want to do."
Any and every topic I brought up, was met with this type of aggressive and stupefying response. I tried to salvage these topics by conceding points and asking for clarification, to no avail. Near the end of our time together, I would learn his motives: "I was trying to get you back after you won that first argument," he said to me as I stood up to leave the room.
What happened outside our room though, was the worst to come. As we left our interview, twenty minutes past our scheduled end time, a nervous interviewee made the same mistake I had made: he stood up to greet our physician interviewer. "Why does everyone do this?" he stammered when seeing this. "You have to be like a woman at a dance. You have to stay seated until you're asked to dance!"
To everyone's misfortune, there was music coming from the receptionist desk. Upon hearing this, he said "wow, I like this song." As he tapped his foot and snapped his finger, he made eye contact with a nervous female interviewee and said: "Honey, if I ask, will you dance with me to this song?" With a nervous gaze, she said: "No sir, but thank you."
"Well, what if I said I would get you into this school if you dance with me" he replied. Laughing nervously, her eyes darting back and forth, she finally said "I... I guess."
At this, the physician stopped dancing, stood up straight, and while looking me straight in the eyes said: "You know what I'm thinking?" The only thing my mind could go to was that he was calling this interviewee a "whore," as he had called me. I was shocked. Trying to keep my best composure, I let out a scoff-turned-chuckle, as I shook my head and sat down.
As the interviewer went into the room with his next victim, I looked across the room at my female colleague. She was turning her foot into the ground, seemingly lost in thought as she tried to make sense of what had just happened.
I stood up to meet him, extending my hand for a shake. As I did this, he gave a confused look and waved me back into my seat. He walked past me, and made some casual conversation with the receptionist. After this, he walked past me again, back into the room, and shut the door. Confused, I look over at the admissions officer, who gives a puzzled 'I-don't-know' gesture. As another five minutes ticked by, I nervously thought to myself: did I do something wrong?
Again, the door to my interview room opened. This time, though, I sat and avoided eye contact. My interviewer said: "So you learned your lesson?"
"Yes, sir. I will not stand until you acknowledge me," I replied, surprised by my formality. "Good then, come on in," he said.
At this point, I would have to lie if I said I didn't have my guard up. As I sat down at a table across from him, before I had a chance to settle in, he launched his first question: "So you were an illegal?"
I felt my eyes widen in surprise. I took a deep deep breath before answering, "Yes, but the preferred term is undocumented."
As I took another breath to elaborate, he cut me off: "What do you mean by that?" he asked with a cocked head and questioning tone.
"Well, 'illegal' is a dehumanizing term. It connotes lower worth to the whole person, and promotes discrimination." Having studied and taught this topic, the answer was almost second nature to me. I explained further, even managing to cite a linguistics book titled Brown Tide Rising that analyzed the political rhetoric used during California's gubernatorial race in the 1990s. My interviewer was unimpressed.
We went back and forth on the relative merits of the terms 'illegal' and 'undocumented.' In the end, I was surprised and proud of how I had answered his questions. After all, just three years prior, as I was in the midst of fighting to stay in college as a Dreamer, I would have been paralyzed at just the thought of someone knowing my status. Fear of deportation and harming my family shackled me with fear. I remembered this, and thought of how awful this experience would be for someone who was still caught up in this struggle.
As these thoughts swirled in my head, my interview took an even steeper dive for the worst.
Here are some highlights: When I talked about returning to my home country for medical research, this interview responded: "Well, I'm from [insert low-income country] and I think we should blow the place up and start over." I asked if he meant this metaphorically. He said no. When I differentiated between the work I was hired to do in my lab, and what I did out of my own initiative, he asked: "So do you want to keep doing clinical trial work,” referencing the work I was hired to do. I said "No, I actually prefer the health disparities work I am doing on my own." His response: "So you're a whore. You're doing something for money that you don't want to do."
Any and every topic I brought up, was met with this type of aggressive and stupefying response. I tried to salvage these topics by conceding points and asking for clarification, to no avail. Near the end of our time together, I would learn his motives: "I was trying to get you back after you won that first argument," he said to me as I stood up to leave the room.
What happened outside our room though, was the worst to come. As we left our interview, twenty minutes past our scheduled end time, a nervous interviewee made the same mistake I had made: he stood up to greet our physician interviewer. "Why does everyone do this?" he stammered when seeing this. "You have to be like a woman at a dance. You have to stay seated until you're asked to dance!"
To everyone's misfortune, there was music coming from the receptionist desk. Upon hearing this, he said "wow, I like this song." As he tapped his foot and snapped his finger, he made eye contact with a nervous female interviewee and said: "Honey, if I ask, will you dance with me to this song?" With a nervous gaze, she said: "No sir, but thank you."
"Well, what if I said I would get you into this school if you dance with me" he replied. Laughing nervously, her eyes darting back and forth, she finally said "I... I guess."
At this, the physician stopped dancing, stood up straight, and while looking me straight in the eyes said: "You know what I'm thinking?" The only thing my mind could go to was that he was calling this interviewee a "whore," as he had called me. I was shocked. Trying to keep my best composure, I let out a scoff-turned-chuckle, as I shook my head and sat down.
As the interviewer went into the room with his next victim, I looked across the room at my female colleague. She was turning her foot into the ground, seemingly lost in thought as she tried to make sense of what had just happened.
