The Wall of Awkward

Along with L'Alex's callback thread below above, it has also become something of a Nuts and Boalts tradition to share funny stories from the bizarre netherworld of OCIP during this time. The combination of hot days, dress clothes, nervous apprehension, tiny rooms, The Graduate posters, and struggling to maintain some semblance of professionalism through it all, makes for a potent cocktail of awkward. So share your best story below. I know you have one. I'll start.

At last year's OCIP, I was struggling to land a job after receiving a no-offer from my summer firm. (It happens to the best of us, OBVIOUSLY.) The one great lead I had was from the OCIP the year before, during which I had developed a rapport with the hiring partner at a major firm in Los Angeles that had continued via e-mail until that day. Even though I had not landed a scheduled interview, he had graciously offered to take me to lunch.

I had absolutely nothing else to do that day, as I had cancelled most of my plans to make sure I could prepare for the meeting. I thought it was probably my best chance to get a job in the foreseeable future. I even left the house an extra 30 minutes early, to give myself time to recover from the usual flop-sweat that develops when I wear wool outside. I was cleaned up, well-shaven, suit-clad, and ready to go with plenty of time to spare.

Then I tried to put my shoes on. I use the word "tried," because the effort was only half successful. After placing my left shoe on the left foot, I noticed that the other shoe was facing a peculiar direction--also left. Not only that, but it was an entirely different type of shoe than the one on my foot. Somehow, my shoe was missing its usual mate. I frantically searched the house for the Right shoe--eating up my 30 minute cushion--only to realize that my brother and I had apparently switched shoes when we packed up after my last trip home. The shoe that belonged on my right foot was somewhere in Salt Lake City.

So, what did I do? I did what any man would do. I jammed the other shoe on my right foot like that ugly stepsister from Cinderella and hoped no one would notice. I trudged down the hill and completed an entire interview and lunch wearing two mismatching dress shoes, both Left.

On the way to Durant, I stopped off in the student center to ask a few friends if they noticed anything strange about me. No one seemed to catch it, and I still don't know if the partner ever noticed. But at least I have something to blame for not getting that job, and a pretty good story to boot.