I came home on that Friday at around midnight, exhausted after taking my weekend guest on Gordo's The District Walking and Face-Stuffing Tour Experience: The Ride, Now in 4-D. My mail slot was still crammed with junk because neither of my roommates had been at home that day, presumably off doing actual adult things that required responsibility and pants-wearing.
"Trader Joe's Fearless Flyer...rejection letter from Buffalo...Papa John's coupons...damn, another rejection letter...what's this?"
I unfurled a crumpled white packet, simply labeled "Creighton University School of Medicine" in the upper left.
"Ugh, they did this crap to me last year. Sent me my waitlist letter in a nice big packet envelope like this."
I opened the envelope with a heavy heart.
And then I immediately called my mother.
"MA. MA. I GOT INTO MEDICAL SCHOOL."
"What? How do you know? Did they call you or send you an e-mail?"
"Neither. They just sent me a packet of stuff with an acceptance letter."
"I need you to do something for me."
"What?"
"Put the phone down and READ THE LETTER CAREFULLY. Make sure it's actually addressed to YOU and that it actually says you've been ACCEPTED."
And there, my friends, is Mommy Being Mommy. Leave it to Tiger Mom to have absolutely no faith in her own son's ability to achieve his goals. But what else is new?
---
It's always interesting to see a place you've visited once before through a different lens. My last experience in Omaha, which culminated in a failed attempt to get into medical school (but a hilarious adventure into the seedy underworld of Iowan freeway strip clubs), was okay. But my host was already a second-year at that point, and his focus was very different from mine. Studying non-stop? Boards? NOT DRINKING? It was a glimpse into the really difficult part of medical school, but his gun-to-temple lifestyle at that point in time was not particularly unique to Creighton. I wanted to see things through the life of a glassy-eyed, basically-still-in-college M1.
During my second foray into Omaha this year, I had the good fortune of being matched up with a first-year host who also happened to go there for undergrad. And this guy - we'll call him GingerWithFriendsAndASoul, or just Ginger for short - was geeky, sarcastic, apolitical, bacon-obsessed, and drank like an alcoholic camel. Basically me, but 6'5" with a shock of flaming red hair.
The interview day itself last year was unremarkable. I guess the Creighton admissions committee heard my thoughts and decided to throw in a wrench or two this year.
I finished my two interviews, both with jarringly nice people (yet again elucidating the fact that we city-slickers really are douchier) and returned to our morning conference room for lunch. Laid out before us was an incredible array of food - garlic butter mashed potatoes, roasted carrots julienne, asparagus spears, and best of all, roast beef tips. I loaded up my plate and took my seat among fellow no-longer-nervous applicants. I salivated while spearing a beef tip with my fork.
And then our interview day coordinator rushed in.
"Hey everyone, listen up. I'm really sorry to interrupt your lunch, but we have to evacuate the building NOW. Leave your things. Let's move."
We looked around, curious about the severity and sincerity of this warning.
"Is this for real?" quipped the in front of me as we filed out of the room. "Maybe they're just testing us to see if we can follow directions." Nervous laughter rippled through the line.
"Ha, maybe this is still part of the interview process to test whether or not we're actually competent."
We gathered in the central courtyard, huddling to fight the bite of the Nebraska winter air. Confused looks abounded. Finally, word from the top dogs started to trickle in. Apparently, there was a bomb threat in the building.
"Uh...what?" we collectively wondered.
In retrospect, I'm surprised I didn't feel more fear at the time. Instead, all I could do was laugh at the absurdity of someone wanting to bomb Omaha, Nebraska. What scares me is that my only reaction in the face of plausible death was, "How good would this story line be in my sitcom?" I'm going to win a Darwin Award someday.
The admissions folks were wonderfully flexible and ushered us to the hospital with vouchers for the hospital cafeteria. Upon seeing my voucher, I cringed. And the kvetch-ing began.
"Six bucks? What can you get with six bucks? Seriously?"
And there was, yet again, another Kodak moment in the Re-education of a Coastal City Slicker. It turns out that you can get a hell of a lot with six bucks in Omaha. I mean a huge sandwich, side salad, and soda. For $5.97. Including tax. You can't even get a drink in The District for that. The eye-opening moments never end.
The rest of the interview day was relatively normal, which is not to say that it was purposeless. My first foray into the Great Plains last year opened my eyes to an entirely different culture. My experience this year only further crystallized my impression of the Midwest: it's a good place with really good people. And awesome steak. But terrible seafood.
But wait, you ask. Surely a host as awesome-sounding as yours took you out for a bit of Omaha nightlife, no?
Yes he did. And man, was it ever a huge difference from the shady drive to the IowaPlayhouse.com last year. Midwest natives really do have the right idea when it comes down to killing a Friday night in freezing weather. Don't worry, that whole adventure warrants its own post. Keep your panties on.
And then our interview day coordinator rushed in.
"Hey everyone, listen up. I'm really sorry to interrupt your lunch, but we have to evacuate the building NOW. Leave your things. Let's move."
We looked around, curious about the severity and sincerity of this warning.
"Is this for real?" quipped the in front of me as we filed out of the room. "Maybe they're just testing us to see if we can follow directions." Nervous laughter rippled through the line.
"Ha, maybe this is still part of the interview process to test whether or not we're actually competent."
We gathered in the central courtyard, huddling to fight the bite of the Nebraska winter air. Confused looks abounded. Finally, word from the top dogs started to trickle in. Apparently, there was a bomb threat in the building.
"Uh...what?" we collectively wondered.
In retrospect, I'm surprised I didn't feel more fear at the time. Instead, all I could do was laugh at the absurdity of someone wanting to bomb Omaha, Nebraska. What scares me is that my only reaction in the face of plausible death was, "How good would this story line be in my sitcom?" I'm going to win a Darwin Award someday.
The admissions folks were wonderfully flexible and ushered us to the hospital with vouchers for the hospital cafeteria. Upon seeing my voucher, I cringed. And the kvetch-ing began.
"Six bucks? What can you get with six bucks? Seriously?"
And there was, yet again, another Kodak moment in the Re-education of a Coastal City Slicker. It turns out that you can get a hell of a lot with six bucks in Omaha. I mean a huge sandwich, side salad, and soda. For $5.97. Including tax. You can't even get a drink in The District for that. The eye-opening moments never end.
The rest of the interview day was relatively normal, which is not to say that it was purposeless. My first foray into the Great Plains last year opened my eyes to an entirely different culture. My experience this year only further crystallized my impression of the Midwest: it's a good place with really good people. And awesome steak. But terrible seafood.
But wait, you ask. Surely a host as awesome-sounding as yours took you out for a bit of Omaha nightlife, no?
Yes he did. And man, was it ever a huge difference from the shady drive to the IowaPlayhouse.com last year. Midwest natives really do have the right idea when it comes down to killing a Friday night in freezing weather. Don't worry, that whole adventure warrants its own post. Keep your panties on.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment