The Interview

It was like speed-dating (although I can’t bring myself to do that so I’m just going on what I hear, I swear). 30 seconds into the interview I knew this job wasn’t for me and I spent the remaining hour and a half trying to talk myself down from standing up, shaking this man’s hand and saying, “I thank you so much for your time and for explaining in such excruciating detail why the other people have left this office and what painstakingly mundane tasks you would like me to accomplish while I sit behind a that wretched front desk posing to be a straight-laced secretary right out of the 1950’s, but the truth of the matter is, if you had taken any time at all to even GLANCE at my resume, you would see that my days of being someone’s assistant are far far behind me. You would notice a progression into the more creative, marketing side of business which you just stated you have little use for. Let’s face it, you called me in here because I am familiar with a unique database system that you use. I could do this job standing on my head, blindfolded with no arms, having never gotten past the third grade. You have told me far more detail about your current audit, your secretary’s leave of absence and the reason your loan officer is leaving. I think I noticed a theme somewhere along there. If none of this had truly frightened me away, however, the tour of the office would certainly have sealed the deal. In just trying to make it out the door, you decided to pause long enough to show me the mounds upon mounds of filing that “I” would be doing and the stacks and stacks of papers that demonstrate the complete lack of organization left in this company. The dust, the sense of confinement, the mountains of filing cabinets were all screaming in their silent office-supply ways “Stay away! Don’t come here! Run for your life!” So, while it may be important for you to know how soon I could start ‘should I be offered a position’, please realize that you asked me not ONE single pertinent question about my skills, background or career goals. I sent my letter of intent clearly stating my desire to remain in a professional, management position and you have clearly decided that putting me behind this dreadful desk and attaching a phone to my ear is what I meant by that. You have now told me exactly how I should drive to this office to cut down on travel time (although you added no less than 20 miles to the route, so I’m not sure how that worked out mathematically). You have told me when you will be prepared to make an offer and reviewed with me my salary requirements, which I do not know how you can even look at and think it goes right along with this job, but that is up to you. You could, quite honestly, offer me twice what I am making now and I would refuse, knowing I would go completely MAD within 4 days of working here. Thank you. For your time, for your complete and utter, albeit unprofessional, candor. I can now go home and know that I do not want this job without any debate without any guilt, without feeling like I should reconsider. And I will return to my completely crappy job tomorrow knowing that it is at least a smidge less-crappy than this would be. I appreciate the perspective.”

Bra was off by 7, vodka was in the glass by 7:15. Enough said.