Day one of my three day trip to Charleston, SC.
I was standing by the baggage claim in a daze, my medical school interview schedule at the Medical University of South Carolina (MUSC) in one hand, and my baggage ticket in the other.
My eyes were bleary from just having finished Christopher McDougall’s smash hit Born to Run. I watched bag after bag go by. Born to Run was a good read. I watched more bags go by. It made me excited to pull on my running shoes and go for a jog later tonight. At this rate I’d be at the hotel around 4 PM, I could catch the sunset shimmering off the Charleston coast. A relaxing way to usher in my interview tomorrow. The carousel stopped.
Wait. Did I miss my bag?
I went around the carousel looking for my bag. I took another lap, progressively growing more frantic until I bumped into two guys obviously trying to interrupt me.
“Ken, right? The green jacket guy?”
“Yeah, yeah. You guys must be Chris and Josh, for the MUSC interview? I called a cab over, should be here in ten minutes. … But uh, my bag might have gotten lost.”
“Damn dude, you should check out the baggage counter.”
I walked over, and chatted with a woman who was obviously new at the job.
“SO your bag was WHAT color again?”
“It was black.”
“OK, OK, hon, your bag is probably stuck in Denver. There’s another flight coming in, we should be have the bag today or tomorrow. You can spend up to $50 buying shirts, underwear, whatever. Oh, and here’s a complimentary toiletry kit. Good luck!”
“Uh, thanks. So when exactly can I pick up the bag?”
“Well, we’re not sure exactly. It’s not like FedEx where we can track your bag. We’ll call you.”
“Uh, ok, thanks anyways.”
I was not in the mood to deal with this.
It was Thursday night and I had just arrived in Charleston for a Friday interview at the med school. On Saturday I was flying to St. Louis for another interview. I was nervous enough as it was. I had the most expensive parts, my suit jacket and pants, but I was missing all the other goodies – socks, dress shirt, tie.
I reluctantly joined Chris and Josh in the cab.
“Hey man, don’t worry about it. I’ve heard of people interviewing in their jeans.”
Yeah, I love when my doctor shows up in jeans and tennis shoes.
And that’s how my trip to Charleston started.
On the ride to the hotel I learned a bit about my two new friends. Josh was from a up and coming neighborhood in LA, so he had that surfer hipster laid back attitude, but you could see the bags under his eyes. MUSC was his first interview, and he hadn’t been sleeping much.
Chris’s confidence was obvious from his arrogant tone. He was a seasoned vet who had applied last year but didn’t get in, so he was trying his luck again. This year was working out much better for him, he was at interview number seven, and had one acceptance already. In fact, he was coming from an interview in Chicago. I was jealous.
Chris, Josh, and I walked into the Holiday Inn we were staying at. Immediately we met a friendly face.
“Hey are you guys MUSC applicants too?!”
We learned that the friendly face was Kristin, another applicant, and she had forgotten a jacket. She perceptively recognized three young guys carrying suits were probably here for med school interviews. She would be a good doctor. The four of us joined forces and left the hotel in search of authentic Carolina barbeque, beers, and emergency dress clothes.
We checked off the first two items at a barbeque joint downtown. We politely and awkwardly tried to get a feel for each other. It felt like a blend between a job interview and a blind date, but the beers helped, and we loosened up as the dinner went on.
I always heard that gentleman don’t talk politics at the dinner table, but not being gentlemen, we couldn’t help but discuss the Republican Debates taking place in Charleston that weekend. Would we see Newt Gingrich? Could we ask him how he felt about funding biomedical research? After we scarfed down brisket, fried catfish, and tender pork, we were on the move again. Four pre-med type A personalities, we may have flaws, but we knew how to get things done.
Thanks to Kristin’s smart phone, we found the only store still open in downtown Charleston – Forever 21. Apparently, Charleston is no New York, but it worked out perfectly. I picked up everything I needed for just $50 – a steal, and a huge relief. At least I wouldn’t be the guy wearing tennis shoes with his suit.
With all three items crossed off our to-do-list, we nervously chatted for a second, trying to figure out what to do next. We reached the inevitable conclusion that we’d call for a cab home, and went back to what we had been avoiding the whole night. Our solitary hotel rooms. Left to face our nerves until the morning.
See you on the other side,
from ken
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