A Journalist’s Triumph

Feeling embarrassed, angry, and on the brink of exploding, I dismally trudged down the halls, about to admit my defeat. Everyone stared at me, letting out a laugh as I passed. This was the worst interview experience possible, a complete disaster. This is the sort of thing that makes me want to quit journalism.

During my first year on the yearbook staff I was assigned to complete the freshman section of the album. I was excited because it was finally my turn to step up and train to be an editor for the following school year. By the second day of my assignment I had collected several interviews, but realized that although I had interviewed different groups, I had no male students. I therefore set my goal to collect at least five by the end of the day.

During my lunch hour I scoured the cafeteria, searching for possible candidates to interrogate. To my delight I quickly discovered a table that had about 11 male freshmen. I weasled my way into their huddled masses and politely began to ask my questions to the one student who was not eating lunch. His answers were not the least bit printable due to their provocative responses. With annoyance I was asking myself: "How hard is it to answer these questions?" Yet no matter the question, his responses remained distasteful. 

"If you could be any entertainer who would you be and why?" I asked. "Lance Bass because he gets all the ladies."

"What is your favorite book or magazine, and why?" I asked. "Playboy because of the fine cuties."

And finally, "If you could be any animal what would you be and why?" I asked. "A dolphin because they can have sex underwater."

These were three of the less off-colored responses. To save time and my own patience, I concluded his interview and began to question the young man next to him. This time the answers were more suitable. Between writing his responses on my note pad, I glanced at the other students, silently picking out my next target. The two boys sitting across the table appeared to be playing footsie or messing with something under the table, but I didn’t bother to think anything of it.

As I thanked the cooperative student for his time, the boys from across the table suddenly stomped their feet to the floor onto packets of mayo, ketchup, and mustard that they had been discreetly placing under their toes. Condiments flew into the air, splattering me from the waist down. I then felt the rush of water soaking my head and running down my face and back as the two students sitting by the one I had interviewed poured bottled water all over me.

Trying to keep my composure, I briskly strode away with a halfhearted smile plastered on my sodden face to disguise the wince I was feeling inside. I walked back to my journalism classroom looking like a wreck. I crept through the doorway, hoping to go unnoticed by all inside. My teacher noticed me immediately however, and began asking what had happened. I explained my story, very upset that an interview could go so wrong. Ironically, I was more upset with the fact that I didn’t get enough interviews from the miscreants that harassed me than the fact that I was painted with sandwhich sauces. I wanted more than anything to prove that I could be a good editor for the following year. My adviser said, "Brianna, it’s not your fault. Sometimes there are just people out there who are not meant to be interviewed. You just have to keep trying and not quit because of a bad experience."

Glancing around the classroom I could see the rest of the staff was staring at me in astonishment. A thought came to me: the way I could prove I was ready to step up and be an editor would be to get back out there and get the job done. Their faces then expressed pure amazement when I grabbed my pen, camera, and note pad and walked out, determined to get more interviews. I didn’t even call home for a change of clothes, and instead looked like a condiment bar for the rest of the school day. 

I have conducted many interviews throughout the years with much professionalism, interest, curiosity, and purpose. I have had instruction on how to complete an interview pounded into my brain since I was a freshman in Journalism I. I eventually came to learn that not every student has the maturity level that a coming-of-age young adult should have. These students are what make my job as a journalist both a stress and an adventure. 

As a journalist, you can’t let things shake you. Sometimes your ethics, patience, and sanity are tested. In the end, however, it’s the final product that matters, not the trials that were part of the process. Every hurdle you had to jump to get you to the finish line makes you stronger.