11/03/07

Thoughts \ Developed Thoughts \ Rants \ Raves \ Writing

29/10/2007 00:16 -0500 GMT

Interview Whorehouse

I am on Pediatric Surgery now, which is my last acting internship for my senior year in medical school. I chose this rotation because I really liked it during third year.

This is also interview season. Last week I attended a seminar by Drs. Shelton and Smith about how to best conduct a residency interview. There were valuable lessons. These lessons are reflected in this blog.

Now to present, it is Saturday. I arrived at the hospital at about 05:30, which was almost an hour later than is necessary than on weekdays. I did my part for about four hours, and it was good. The weekend skeleton crew powered through rounds; I wrote notes on eight patients, and got them countersigned by my third year resident, Ching-wei Zheng.

I was excited to get home and push on Maggie's butt as she rested in bed. She stirred, and I admired her as she rose to consciousness. I love my lovely wife, Maggie. She adds to the quality of my life in countless ways.

We went to Men's Warehouse for a suit that would suit my interviews. We approached the salesman that greeted us. He was a bearded man, a few years younger than I, with stylish glasses. When we got to his counter, I said, "I need a relatively inexpensive charcoal grey suit."

At the precise moment ending with my uttering "relatively inexpensive", the gentleman's smile faltered. Suddenly he was sub-optimally pleased with the sales transaction that I presented.

He called Hakeem to have us fitted. I was armed, given the bearded gentleman's reaction to my chosen words. You fucking salesman...

This is an aspect of America that I hate - the hard sell. I came for a suit, and I stated clearly what I wanted. Instead of aiming to please the customer, the Men's Warehouse chose the "hard sell" approach, and because of that, I will never shop there again.

Hakeem, also bearded, but with less hair adorning his pate, measured my chest, shoulders, and waist, and then directed us to a corner of the floor. He asked if we wanted a two-button or a three-button suit. Maggie and I opted for two-button, for no particular reason. He dropped a coat on me.

It fit, and I asked the price. He said, "$799," with a big smile.

"Just kidding," he said.

"No, it's only two hundred ninety-nine, and you can get two for five hundred." His tone rose at the end, as if he offered hope.

"Do you have anything less expensive?" I asked. "I am interviewing for jobs. Since I don't have a job yet, I am poor." He grabbed another coat. It was two-button, and fit just as well.

"This one is one ninety-nine; two for three fifty."

It was adequate, so we chose that one.

Hakeem directed us to a table with $30 turtleneck shirts and tried to be convincing as he said that I needed to try on the coat while wearing a light grey one. As I took the shirt, my mind knew that the white T-shirt and scrubs top that I had on would provide enough bulk to the suit coat to give the proper fit to the tailor. The guy was pulling a scam. What a sales whore this guy was.

I took the shirt and the suit to the dressing room, giving Maggie my phone and pager along the way. Hakeem stopped at the shoes to see if I needed dress shoes. I had thrown on my dress shoes before leaving the house, anticipating the need for getting a proper fit for the suit. My incongruent dress shoes threw the salesman off balance.

"I have shoes," I said flatly, but with silent glee, blunting his enthusiasm.

I tried the suit on. It fit. We knew that going in though, didn't we?  And, no, thank you very much, I don't need shoes.

While I was in the dressing room, I was mildly pissed off at the initial salesman's dropped smile at the hint of a low end sale. The fucker cared only about making money, and not about satisfying the customer. That, my friends, is the mark of a poor salesman. And that point, more importantly, will tie into the point of this blog, which is really about medical school interviews. You'll see that connection later.

I was also mildly pissed off at Hakeem for offering us the more expensive suit. And then the weak offering of shoes. And then the transparent turtleneck shit shirt. (If he wears the shirt while trying on the suit, he will think of it as his, and he will therefore buy it.) Come on, you fucking salesman pricks. Give me a break!

I said what I wanted when I got here, and you are pushing all this extra crap I don't need. Instead of endearing me to your business, you are alienating me. Dumbass salesman.

I got out of the dressing room and got in front of the anti-phalanx of mirrors so that the tailor could mark her marks. She did her job, and advised me in a way that didn't make me foolish when I chose cuff cuts and pantleg breaks that would have left my socks showing. Her contribution was the only honest interaction - apart from the wordless eye contact communication between Maggie and I - of the whole Men's Whorehouse experience. 

When I emerged from the mirrors, Hakeem had laid out belts, white shirts, ties - the whole barrage of extra dollars for his pocket that I had no interest in whatsoever.

"Yeah I don't need any of that," I said.

"You don't need a white shirt, nice tie? Do you ever wear sports coats?" was Hakeem's reply.

Did I say anything about wanting any of that crap? I thought. Of course I wear sports coats, you dumbass. What kind of dumbass question is that?

"Yeah, I don't need any of that."

All of that, I promise you, will serve as an example for what can make an effective residency interview, but I'm not done ranting because the salesmen and women at Men's Whorehouse were not finished being deceitful in their push to make money. I hope you will bear with me, just as I did with them.

We got to register and I filled out a form that included my name, address, and phone number. Before I completed the form, I asked, "You won't mail us anything?"

The lady at the register waved her hand dismissively, scoffed, and said "No."

She lied.

She lied, without conscience, without a thought, and in the interest of making money. What a whore.

As we worked through the transaction, there was a signature process required for the promotions the Men's Whorehouse would offer. I asked again, "You won't be mailing anything to our home?"

This time, when signature was required, her tune changed, and she equivocated. Maggie, who is much more gracious than I, accepted the contingencies. I signed against my better judgment, and the saleslady handed her the card and keychain tag that came with the "membership."

Yes, they would mail us unwanted offers, and yes, my readers, I will never, ever buy anything from Men's Whorehouse again.

And here, my medical school interviewer readers, is where I come to a head.

Drs. Shelton and Smith at the University of Alabama at Birmingham, during a recent interview seminar offered the following advice. We must sell ourselves on the points of intelligence, hard working, integrity, communicative, with good judgment, fitness, enthusiasm etc. However, the most effective interview is that in which we, the interviewees, sell these points while making the interviewers feel that this is a conclusion that they have reached.

That is, if I were the interviewer, and working as a salesman at Men's Warehouse, I would have acknowledged the customer's need, and listened with the aim of what I had to offer selling itself.

If I had walked in to Men's Whorehouse and asked for a relatively inexpensive, charcoal grey suit and they had obliged without the hard sell, I would have been much more likely to spend money on a white shirt, or a matching tie or belt.

Instead of spending too much for a suit, I would have been more likely to have noticed the white shirt, the nice ties, the shoes that would serve me well, etc.

I would have likely spent more if they had pushed the sell less.

The Men's Whorehouse has chosen the hard sell route.

Push the sale of the most expensive item at the expense of having a loyal customer. Push the extra turtle neck at the risk of alienating the focused consumer. Sell the shoes and the belt. Get the $75 shirt in on the package, and don't forget to get the sign-up for reminders for where they got their fine dress products as they hit the door.

I have a Master of Business Admin and one of the most important lessons I learned from that education is that those with money - those who are selling - are in a distinct position of power. When I learned that, I instantly developed a defensive posture when it comes to spending money. I have also learned the difference between need and want. Your definition of my needs is not equal to what I need. And my wants are not equal to your or my needs.

So, Fuck off with your hard sell.

When I hit the interview circuit, I will be who I am. I will offer leadership and passion, as well as medical competence. But I will not sell this as a loud commodity at the door. I will offer this in my conversation, and if those qualities fit with the residency programs with which I interview, then that will be a good fit. If the program doesn't meet the mark, then I will go elsewhere, and that will be for the best for both of us.

The hard sell as described above is an American quality that I despise. I think it illustrates a short-sighted point of view. It values making a few dollars now at the expense of consistent payment for quality products and services over decades from the loyal customers that you gain from understanding need versus want.