Monday, May 14, 2007

Quick Trip: Berkeley

First a little background: I'm applying to teach an MCAT review course for one of the bigger test prep companies. Part of the process requires me to fly out to the regional office in Berkeley for what was supposed to be a simple training weekend. It turned out to be a gruelling boot-camp-for-nerds, and only 50% of the people who are accepted are eventually offered the job.

I'm still not quite sure what possessed me to relive the hardest test that I've ever taken, but I decided to jump into the process after a letting a year's worth of dust settle on my anatomy books. And it showed.

The flight, meals, and spending money we all paid for by the company, so I was pretty happy flying into Oakland, CA. I strolled through the airport, hopped on the bus, and made my way to the train station. But by now you should know that I wouldn't be writing about the trip if there weren't at least a few hiccups along the way.

The first little snag came when I was forced to play the travel version of "Think Fast". It's a pretty common traveler's paradox: you enter into an unfamiliar train station and see a train closing it's doors. You quickly weigh your choices. 1) Let the train go so that you can get your bearings and catch the next one (the prudent option). Or 2) Sprint to the train and barely squeeze in past the closing doors (the Myles option). As soon as I got on, I went looking for the in-train map. Putting on my best "No, I'm not a tourist" face, I went up to the map that only tourists read. (After all, who's dumb enough to get on a train and not know where it goes?)

Yes, folks, it should come as no surprise that I managed to slip onto the wrong train. And let me tell you, there's no worse travel-related feeling than getting on the wrong train and having to wait until the next station to fix it. I speak from experience. Lots. By the way, any time that you realize you're on the wrong train, you will inevitably have to wait 30 minutes until the next station (even though all the other ones seemed to be spaced only a few minutes apart.

In my case, the next stop happened to be a transfer point, so I hopped off and watched the train glide away before I noticed that it had dropped me smack in the middle of Raider Nation. I was in my nice interview clothes, and I've never felt so white in my entire life. But I survived.

I made it to the first night of training, and it was relatively low key. They just explained who they were and what we would be doing. The next day kicked my ass. It was nine hours of teaching and watching others teach. The alternating cycles of stress and boredom had me pretty tweaked out by the end of the day, but I still had to prepare for the next round. So I appealed to both of my sensibilities and went to a quiet little pub to study. And drink. What I was studying wasn't very interesting, so I'll focus on the drinking part.

The menu featured their house specialty on the cover. No ingredients, no picture, just "Borneo Fogcutter". Being in a bit of a fog myself, I thought that this would be perfect. Here's what arrived:



I was already feeling pretty ridiculous, reading a stack of bio books in a bar on Saturday night, but this really put some color in my cheeks. I must say, though, pretty damn tasty! Downside: I'll have to snort three straight bottles of Whiskey to get my Man Card back. Oh well, it was worth it.

Day two: more of the same, but with a deadline. My flight left around dinner time, so I'd just barely have enough time to catch it, as long as we didn't run long. So every dumb question (yes, they do exist), and every kiss-ass comment tested my will power as I choked back a "SHUT THE F' UP AND KEEP MOVING!!!" But we did manage to end about on time, and I made it from Berkeley to Oakland in 45 minutes. Northern California public transit is, hands down, the best I've ever seen. And get this, their bus drivers actually avoid pedestrians!

The flight back was pretty uneventful, but I did make a stop-over in Vegas for a bit. If you've never flown into Vegas, this about sums things up:



If you're still trying to win back your money at the airport, you need to call somebody. Although I must admit, my pockets are a few quarters lighter.

So, after what felt like a year and a half of Biology, I still don't know if I got the job. But I did get a great trip out of the deal, and that's pretty much the only reason I work, anyway!

M