When I went to my first interview, I was understandably nervous. It was a volunteer position for the Democratic Party’s Reelection Committee during the Oct. 2012 election season. I felt like I was burning, sweating bullets from the humidity that was so thick you could collect it in a bottle. I had combed the room 15 times: dull gray walls, water-stained and asbestos-made ceiling tiles with florescent lights that shone like the sun on the Mojave and a secretary who was taking tallies every time I gulped. She reached 38 by the time I was led into the manager’s office.

In the office, a sweaty, balding man donning a moustache and glasses fit for Ronald Reagan – the man who would be my manager – sat behind his desk. Pictures of Jackson, FDR, JFK, LBJ and Obama – as well as some minor Virginian politicians – stared at me as I shuffled to my seat. He looked over my résumé, and then, with a smile and folded hands, asked me the question I hope no one ever asks of me: “So, tell me more about yourself that I haven’t gotten from this résumé.”

It’s a panicking question. Humility is a form of pride where I’m from, and to talk about yourself is not only bad etiquette, but also a form of bragging which leads to hubris. To talk about oneself is something that is so often deflected that when one must do so for a job, the feeling is similar to digging a ditch with a grapefruit- spoon.

I tried my best, but after three sentences, I was forced to deflect to my résumé to save myself the embarrassment and possibility of not getting the job based on that embarrassment. I was hired as a telemarketer for the Committee to campaign on behalf of the President, our current junior senator, Tim Kaine, and Representative of the 11th District of Virginia Gerry Connelly, all of whom won their elections.

During the entire election, the most pressing thing on my mind regarding the interview was not why the place smelled like frogs or why the people hated telemarketers or why the coffee, even if freshly made, was ice-cold; it was this: why did I panic?

There is no logical answer. I’m not the best person in the world, but I haven’t committed any genocides or hate crimes recently, so I don’t think I’m the worst either. Going into an interview, we expect our résumé to say everything for us. How we’re educated, where we’ve worked before, what we do for our communities, how to contact us; it even conveys qualities that we have already said about ourselves. The best part of it? It’s prepared. Every word is calculated, every bit of ink is placed just right on the paper. There’s no stumbling with writing, no “ummm”s, “err”s or “I don’t know”s. If there is an error, it is either edited out or strategically placed. We tell as much as we need and hide what we don’t.

Interviews aren’t like that. The employers do this to make sure you mess up. While this sounds cynical, it is a fact. If you misspeak and then correct it, it can show that you’re going to correct mistakes in work. If you release information that you wouldn’t on your résumé – either because it’s irrelevant, like how much you watch Glee, or it’s a quality you didn’t want them to know, like that weekend you streaked across campus – it shows that you might release sensitive information.

In life, especially in an individualistic country like the United States, we are forced to express our strengths. A major problem with this is that the question posed by my manager is too big. It overwhelms people. It rewards whoever is most self-confident, not who is most qualified. I’ve met many people who are far smarter than me but quiet, shy and extremely reserved; furthermore, I have met a lot of people who will willingly talk about themselves, but it’s a miracle that they can get the circle block into the circle hole.

Here at Elizabethtown, we take an oath: the pledge of integrity, a pledge to be honest citizens. If we are honest, there’s no reason to panic, because the employer will see that; however, the fact of the matter is that there’s a certain degree of hubris involved with interviews so that someone can be the alpha and get the job. What do we do when humility isn’t a form of pride? When being modest will land you on welfare? What happens if we’re so paralyzed by the fear of rejection that our mouths don’t move?

Brag. You haven’t a choice.