Job Interview Flubs

If you’re tucked comfortably within a job right now you probably haven’t been job interviewing in a while. But for those who are job hunting the job interview, as auspicious as it can feel, can also be nerve wracking.

I’ve been on interviews where I went in all gung-ho, dressed to the nines, hair perfect, strategically placed brooch on the chest area, two crisp copies of resume in hand and a Cheshire the Cat smile etched into my lips and cheeks only to flub.  Big-time.

Like a few months ago. I had a job interview with a local company–the commute would’ve been easy. The H.R. guy was cool as can be. I did my best to appear interested in every.single.thing they said…Yeah, all that.  By the SECOND part (meaning, I had to interview with three different people) of the interview I was being asked a bunch of questions by who would be my direct boss should I be hired.

Suddenly my brain went blank. As in nothing was swirling around up there. It was as if all thoughts had been vacuumed OUT.

I blinked back at her. My lips simply would not move.

She stared at me as her eyebrows raised higher than the sky.

I considered crawling beneath the conference room table and hiding.

I kept smiling even though my cheekbones by then were sore.

She clicked her ink pen and wrote something down. Since she was facing me whatever she wrote was upside down to me.

I squinted (while still smiling) to see what she wrote.

I could’ve sworn it read:

DO NOT HIRE JENNIFER.

Paranoia set in.

I tried to recall if I had even combed my hair that morning.

It was just plain ugly.

Fast forward to the end of the week (when the cool H.R. guy said they would call if I GOT the job.) I didn’t.

Even though empty brain freezes are common in interviews I felt awful, dumb, sidelined, inadequate, goofy, incompetent. But after reading the following job interview flubs, I no longer feel so bad about my own shortcomings.

From CareerBuilder.com reported by hiring managers:

Candidate brought a “how to interview book” with him to the interview.

Candidate asked, “What company is this again?”

Candidate put the interviewer on hold during a telephone interview. When she came back on the line, she told the interviewer that she had a (romantic) date set up for Friday.

Candidate wore a Boy Scout uniform and never told interviewers why.

Candidate talked about promptness as one of her strengths after showing up 10 minutes late.

On the way to the interview, candidate passed, cut off and flipped the middle finger to a driver who happened to be the interviewer. I’ve actually worried about this on the way to interviews, as I got closer to the job site.

Candidate took off his shoes during interview.

Candidate asked for a sip of the interviewer’s coffee.

A mature candidate told the interviewer she wasn’t sure if the job offered was worth “starting the car for.”

I trudge on with a newfound confidence. A high salary is mine, including benefits and a quiet cubicle.

Awkward Interview #137

Job interviews can be quite awkward, testy, downright uncomfortable. Especially when you’re asked surprise questions like:

What do you want to improve about yourself?

Well, there are TONS of things I’d like to improve about myself, of course.  I have to remember to stick with the setting of a job interview and give an answer I think will not only impress the interviewer but not make me sound weak or pathetic.

Hmm, let’s see. What would I like to improve about myself?

Grueling seconds pass.

The interviewer is staring at my hands, my fingernails, my blazer, my forehead, my scalp. Then he decides to click his ink pen and write something down.

Suddenly I feel judged and set up and helpless.

Various words, phrases and thoughts fly through my head like starchy foods, messy hair, I drink too much ginger ale, acid reflux, fluctuating organization skills.

I feel like I’m on a witness stand and what I say may be the difference between paying rent and not paying rent. Then I have another thought, a defensive pondering:

I wonder what YOU would like to improve about YOURself, Mr. Interviewer.

But I can’t let on that I’m stuck on what seems to be an easy enough question.

More seconds pass.

More awkward silence.

I find myself wondering if I should start coughing to distract the interviewer while I purchase more time to form a solid response, one that will rock the socks off of him.

The interviewer offers an awkward smile, looks down at my resume and then back up right into my eyes. Our four eyes meeting in the awkward silence are like four beams of piercing light. It’s merely six notches beneath a supernatural occurrence.

I feel my eyes burning.

Now they’re itching.

Now I have to sneeze and the center of my foot–which is tucked into my pantyhose and pump shoes–is itching.

The simplest of sensible words escape me.

I’ve now forgotten my very name and birth year.

Fast forward to six minutes and three seconds later. The interview is over. I can’t remember what my answer was to the awkward question and I’m in my car driving away from yet another Establishment feeling small and pathetic and withered.

I never heard from the company again.

I blame hormonal fluctuations.

I wonder if next time I should just be honest and disclose that estrogen imbalances cause my brain to shut down while being judged harshly.

Signed,

Occassionally Interview Challenged in D.C.

Begging 4 a Job

It’s rancid…Begging for something you don’t even really want. It’s plain awful to NEED something you don’t even DESIRE. It’s a contradiction of magnificent proportions.

Um, please Mr. Man, please…I need this job. I have bills to pay. Yes, I can file your papers and type your reports for tiny paychecks while you buy your second BMW fully loaded.

I feel like a desperate worker. Here I am in a metropolis where jobs are bountiful and I’m begging for office work. I’m actually begging to be stuck in notorious commuter traffic. I’m begging to be tethered to a partition with other vocational prisoners.

I’m begging to be unhappy. That is my roundabout request.

I’m begging to give up my life, my real dreams for the next several years, perhaps.

I’m begging to spend no less than eight hours a day in a box surrounded by other boxes.

I’m begging to share a public bathroom with random coworkers who have no clue of hand washing during this same block of time.

I’m begging to bring my lunch to work and stuff it in a fridge with people I have no desire to eat anything with. Especially Weird Coworker Bob.  Still unconvinced that that’s really tuna.

I’m begging, groveling to be recognized for my typing skills and my ability to fax, copy and build Excel charts from the “blah, blah, blah” I just took notes on in conference room A.

I’m begging to be a mannequin that breathes.

This is sick.

Honesty Day, Part 1

So I’m interviewing for jobs here in the D.C. area and I am so weary of the questions potential employers ask.

Wouldn’t it be nice if we could just be honest, truly honest with our answers and still land the job? In my book I vociferate about a fictional and therefore proposed Honesty Day–a day where people could just be honest, period. Not mean, just honest. I ramble on about how carefree and relaxed the world would be if people were simply allowed to be honest, even if just for one day.

Exhibit A in Honesty Land:

What would you say is your weakness?

Food. Especially starch. No, no, no–sugar. But please don’t get me started on donuts. Or cherry vanilla ice cream.

Where do you see yourself in five years?

Hopefully on the other side of a winning lottery ticket in a gated compound somewhere. Certainly not perched here in one of your outward facing cubicles where you can see my computer screen while I search the web for miscellaneous recipes and private gynecological concerns.

How do you deal with challenges?

Um, I bite my fingernails and spit them across the room. But sometimes I hide under my bed until the current challenge dissipates. Or sometimes I crawl into a ball–total fetal position–and weep like a wimp.

Tell me a little about yourself.

Well, my weight fluctuates constantly, especially when I eat past 8 p.m. I’d like to at least make over $40k since rent is sky-high in this area. Um, that would be after taxes.

Oh, and I’m getting a dog soon. Probably a puppy. Lab mix.

Why did you apply for this position?

Because it pays money. For what possible other reason do you think? Sir?

How would your coworkers describe you?

Who gives a sheet. They’re the reason I’m looking for another job in the first place. But if you MUST know, Becky would probably say I don’t listen intently enough when she grumbles about her boyfriend–all eight hours of each work day, five days a week. (Cry me a river; I don’t even have a boyfriend!)

Suzie thinks I ate all of the chocolates from the candy bowl on her desk last week just because she saw a wrapper in my trashcan matching the missing chocolates. Sure, I had one but, gosh, Suzie probably ate all of them herself.

Bill would probably say I work well alone.

Marsha? She’s the loud talker who doesn’t grasp the reality of shared office space. (Everyone knows that Marsha has a questionable mole on her bum, that her second husband was awful with tools and that her teenager pops his zits at the dinner table just to annoy her.)

Edward? Edward thinks the earth is flat so no need to survey him on me.

Feel free to ask me any questions you might have about this position. Though this is not a question, there’s still an often non-honest timid response to it. But on Honesty Day, I would say:

Um, yeah…When exactly are your pay periods? I mean, would I have to work two or four weeks before receiving my first paycheck?

I’m so not cut out for CubicleVille.