Harvard, it turns out, wasn't that different from Hollywood. At 8 a.m. on a Friday, 15 applicants were seated around a huge, oval conference table and handed what looked like a TV network's press kit. While other schools included course listings, curriculum information, research news and financial aid forms in their packets, Harvard's shiny folder featured a brochure with the cast of "ER" smiling on the cover.

Before we went off to our respective interviews, the associate dean asked us to take out a pencil. "I want each of you to tell me what you're looking for in a medical school, and I'll tell you if Harvard has it," she smiled confidently. "And if Harvard doesn't have it, should we just leave?" I joked from the other end of the table, but she pretended not to hear me. The other students smiled surreptitiously, probably because they figured I had just hurt my chances of getting in. A fierce sense of competition permeated the room, especially when the associate dean announced that all admissions committee meetings would be taking place at the very table around which we were seated. At this, the student next to me placed both hands on the table, closed his eyes, and moved his lips in silent prayer. He blushed sheepishly when he noticed me staring.

Like most schools, Harvard gives each student two interviews: one with a faculty member and one with a student. "Student input is highly valued at Harvard," an admissions staffer announced to our group. "Your student interviewer will be responsible for 50 percent of your interview evaluation." Throughout the day, it was stressed how seriously the faculty at Harvard takes student voices. On the way to my first interview, however, a current medical student saw me in uniform (black suit, white blouse, sensible shoes) and asked if I was interviewing. "Yes," I said, and I mentioned how impressed I was by the fact that the faculty claimed to be so inclusive of its students. "If you want my advice, don't believe a word they say," she said. "But hey, have a good interview."

I arrived at the neurosurgery suite and waited for my interviewer. Then I waited some more. Half an hour later, I had just finished reading the part in my folder about how Harvard's interviews are "low stress" and "an opportunity to get to know you" when I heard a clipped voice say, "OK," and I looked up to see a man with white hair and a scowl on his face. Instead of introducing himself or saying "hello," he simply cocked his head toward an examination room to indicate that I should follow him.

"Well," the interviewer grumbled as he leafed through my file, "I don't know what to make of your application, and if I don't know what to make of it, I don't know who the hell does."

I remembered what the associate dean had said about the interviews being "relaxed conversations," and wondered if there'd been a mistake. I told him that yes, I have an unusual application, and I'd be happy to go over it with him. His response was a grunt.

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