You sit across the desk from someone and try to smile and try not to fidget. It is 8 a.m. and you woke up thirty minutes ago, threw on a nice-ish shirt that might have been washed last sometime in mid-May and sped to the interview, half-aware that your car might be illegally parked.  In suit and tie- or some fabulous lavender pantsuit- they judge you with the pained eyes of a thousand forgotten gods and begin their torture.

                “My name is…” and they end with a five-syllable name that you not only did not fully hear, but could not spell if asked.

You nod quietly and hold back the sobs that scratch at the back of your throat. This person is the one deciding your worth, the one who holds your resume in their hand. They will decide if you spend the next four years as a well-employed college student or an aimless wanderer with nothing to your name but a parakeet called Joey and a loaf of bread you stole from a picnicking couple at the park. This person could ruin you.

How do you keep your cool? How do you bounce back from this horrendous start to secure such a key part of your livelihood as college or a job? How do you plow forward with the strength of a Spartan warrior?

How do you save yourself?

You must first remember that these people, well-versed in the behaviors of those whose embellished resumes are only half-a-page long, can smell your fear. To distract them from the obviously overwhelming mixture of funerary thoughts and debilitating stress, look them in the eye. Stare them down. Convince both them and yourself that if you break eye contact, the universe around you will shrivel into oblivion. Meditate on how this disaster would affect your friends and family. Shake their hands the way you would shake hands with a pro wrestler: firmly enough to let them know that there are, in fact, bones in your hands, and they do, in fact, function. Smile. Do not show fear. If you show fear, they will take it as a sign of submission.

 Open your dialogue with the entire summary of your accomplishments, including that time that you punched your brother so hard that three teeth came loose. Make sure you tell this story several times, just to highlight the truer merits of your iron fists.  If you can produce several copies of your resume, feel free to leave them scattered around the office as constant reminders of your mid-level qualifications. Produce every construction paper certificate of achievement you ever won from participating in menial elementary school contests, including that time you won “Math Student of the Month” by cheating off of your second best friend who now sells drugs.

Follow up with your previous job experiences and important extracurricular. Begin to make up clubs to magnify your involvement. Claim that you were nominated SGA president, but turned down the position to instead begin an advocate group for children with more than three siblings. Do not mention the time you were fired from a fast food job, or the time you were arrested because your cousin set fire to the shed and blamed you. You know what they say: Embellish, embellish, embellish!

Finally, conclude with your motives and particulars. If applying for a job explain why you think you are the most qualified applicant, how much you expect to be paid and what hours you absolutely cannot work. Stress that you expect to receive over minimum wage for your efforts, but do not expect to work over 10 hours a week, since your gentler sensibilities cannot withstand prolonged toil. Suggest a redesign for the company, since orange clashes with your skin tone, and perhaps that your cat could be the new mascot. Laugh in the face of your superior when he or she says no.

If opting for a college experience, spill the beans on anyone and everyone else that you know is applying to the university of your choice. That time that Bill Shreinider failed an Algebra test and cried? Include that. That Susan Bund ran into your car sophomore year? No one wants a dangerous driver on campus! Be sure to include that you would never do such a thing, that you are a perfect student and that absolutely anything you can do to spare the campus of such ruffians, you will.

When you leave your interview, shake the hand of your future employer or dean and bask in the glory that is you. You have done it, you lucky son or daughter of a gun. You have had the perfect interview. Drive home and await the call that will secure your place in the life about which you have only, up until this point, dreamed. Congratulations.