Most of mine were in a dark room that had the heat turned up to about 100 degrees, so that sweat was pouring from my forehead as I tugged at my shirt collar. A single naked lightbulb hung from a cord above and swayed slowly back and forth-- strange because there was no breeze at all. I sat in a hard metal chair that creaked each time I shifted, and my lone interviewer paced in front of me, but just beyond the shaft of light and mostly covered in shadows. I would watch him pause, tip back the brim of his hat and rub his hands against his barely shaven face. His hands were huge and well manicured except for one very long, sharp thumbnail. He would turn quickly in my direction and bark questions about insurance, medicine or why I wanted to be a DO....and he would scream at me if I fumbled for an answer. I could hear moaning and wailing coming from the other nearby interview rooms and an occasional slap against flesh that echoed from between the wooden slats on the floor. I was so thirsty that I wanted to faint, but my interviewer quickly found a vein in my right arm, shoved a line into me and pumped me full of normal saline so that he could continue the brutal interrogation. I asked for a bathroom break; he offered a bedpan. I requested food; he pointed to the NPO sign on the door....
All my interviews were pretty much like that..........ok, maybe not.