I've Got A Hitch In My Giddy-Up

Don't knock procrastination until you try it. 

As you know, I had an entire week to prepare a three-minute speech along with responses to 25 questions that will be asked at random.   I really needed all week to prepare because memorization is required in lieu of note cards, and that's about as long as it would take me to neatly store every word in my hippocampus.

With that in mind here's how wisely I used my time.

Day 1:  "I'll work on that later"

Day 2:  "..."

Day 3:  "(cough)(cough)"

Day 4:  "...ugh, there's that thing I have to work on"

Day 5:  "Ok, let's see. I've typed up the questions, played around with font styles and sizes.  Pretty good job, today"

I realized at this point I was having real trouble finding motivation. I was conflicted between feeling appreciative of my nomination -- but not caring about competing for a title -- and feeling determined that if I was going to stress out about it, then I might as well try my best to win.  

Day 6:  (panic mode is at full throttle)  "I've gotta get this done." (I spend the next 8 hours crapping out stupid words in response to stupid questions).

Day 7:  (D-Day has arrived) "Better write that speech". 

Yes, with only hours to go before my interview I had nothing prepared and therefore nothing memorized.  I wrote a basic draft and then decided to wing it.

I mentally rehearsed as a I wrote the draft, then rehearsed aloud while I got dressed.

I spoke to the panel of judges in the mirror as I removed the curlers from my hair. I went completely off track from any point I wanted to make while I put on my shoes. And, by the time I hung my blazer onto the garment hook in the backseat of my car, I was bitching about how I "didn't ask to be nominated".

I left the house barely prepared and spent the entire drive reciting my speech aloud as best as I could.  Thank goodness for cars with blue-tooth/hands-free capabilities, because at the very least it provides other drivers with the possibility that I'm not necessarily talking to myself...

I arrived at the main campus 20 minutes before I was to "arrive 15 minutes early".  When you're sitting in your car waiting for a light to change 35 seconds feels like 35 minutes.  But, when you're sitting in your car trying to trying to memorize words you haven't thought of yet,  35 minutes feels like 35 seconds.

I approached the entrance to the Conference Room building only to have a stupid piece of paper tell me the interviews were being held in another building.   This is where things went bad.

What I should have done:  walked over to the correct building.

What I did:  got back in my car to park in a closer lot.

I was already wearing my cream blazer when I approached the wrong building, so when I got back in my car I didn't take it off.   Last week, I took Cleetus to the vet.  (Feel free to do the math.)

I drove around twice and couldn't find a parking space anywhere.  I considered driving off and forgetting the whole ordeal.  I really just wanted to go home.  I hate it here.  But, I told the internet about today, and I didn't want anyone at my school to know I was that person -- the no-show.  So shame motivated me to keep looking for a parking space.  Unfortunately, I ended up parking much further away from my original  far-away spot.

At this point, I have five minutes.

I panic.  I hate the IDEA of my being late, let alone actually being late.  I could hear my thoughts in orbit:

"Actually, I was here 35 minutes early, but I just couldn't get to the right building in time.

Oh, you mean you were early, but just too slow and stupid to walk 500 feet? Excellent!  You are Student of the Year! 

Le Suit jacket

As I get out of the car I look down and I see the hair.  The hair is everywhere.  I grabbed the travel-sized lint roller I brought and started rolling.  

This is another critical moment where every ounce of me wants to hightail it out of there and end this ridiculous charade.  But, I kept rolling.

Somehow Cleetus' dog hair had magically woven itself in my Le Suit jacket (it's sounds French, but it's made in Thailand.  I like to sport the international threads from JC Penney so that I can feel worldly).  

The stupid lint brush isn't working fast enough. But, it's time for me to book it!


I am walking so fast and hard, my heels echo the hallways as I tried to find my way through the institutional labyrinth of lockers (lockers?) and stairwells.

I look at my watch, and I'm supposed to be walking through the door greeting the panel RIGHT NOW!   But I'm not.  I'm out of breath and just entered the reception area. It turned out to be a sanctuary.  I was welcomed, calmed, and photographed by various people while a kind woman gave me a pep-talk and told me I wasn't late. 

I met the woman who would escort me inside (and outside when its over).  After a quick pronunciation lesson on my last name, it's time.

When I entered the room, I was On.

Like a dumb bully, I pummeled my nerves without mercy until they gave me their proverbial lunch money. With "cash" in hand, it's as if I was never nervous.  

I pretended enthusiasm as each judge was introduced and then just went for it.

As far as timing went, I have no idea if my speech was too long or too short.  They said something about the timekeeper's clock being loud, but since I never heard anything, I probably went short.  I thought I handled the questions well, since I am always more comfortable in dialogue situations.

Afterward, my escort told the ladies in reception, "when she casually leaned against the side of the podium durin' questions, she looked like she had it goin' own".   I didn't even realize I leaned against anything.  The only time I was aware of my positioning was when questions began and I stepped from behind the podium to appear more confident. It was a total fake out.

I was elated as I left the campus.  Not only was the whole mess over, but I actually pulled it off pretty well.  I truly thought that I could be a finalist.  Of course, in true self-doubt fashion I had the entire drive home to over-critique my performance; by the time I pulled into the garage, mediocre was my final score.

I'm not sure when the finalists will be notified.  It would be great to be selected, since it could be a gold nugget on my resume.  Although, if I do win I'll have to compete against other college winners at the state level.

Yeah, I hope I don't win.

UPDATE:

just got a call with the bad news:  I am a finalist.  here we go.