Any day when I have a job interview is a toughie, sort of like a date, I put on uncomfortable high heels and am scrutinised by at least one stranger. But there is no wine and maybe they will want to pay me money to work for the man. So it’s more like prostitution. Which is a profession Bill Hicks respects far more than marketing, a fair call.
The job interview was in a house in the not too distant Western Suburbs. Upon arrival I am given an odd questionnaire, “What would you do with $70,000?”, “write 5 of your positive and negative qualities”, “tell us your ideal working hours and why” etc etc.
Is this a dating service?
Then to add insult to injury, I am given a typing test. My score is spectacularly low, mainly because I waste half my time listening to the Lady Gaga song blasting from the call centre/kitchen and also sitting in a state of exasperation, “I’m doing a typing test for a manager role?”
Is this a secretary position?
My delightful and amazingly intimidating blonde size 8 incumbent asks if she could take my photo for their records.
Is this a prostitute/ secretary/ dating service position?
She informs me she is moving to New York. “Great, what a fabulous opportunity,” I reply insipidity. I lived in a swamp/tropical paradise in the Philippines, come on Jen, say something cool! Final the manager arrives 30 mins late due to a plumbing emergency (euphemism? code?), looks me up and down then looks at my typing score on the monitor.
“You didn’t do very well.”
“I’m use to writing my own words, not copying paragraphs about astronauts.”
I clearly don’t have this job, but I still have my pride. Damn, should have put “easily distracted by Lady Gaga pop songs while copying inane passages about astronauts” as one of my weaknesses.
After an agonising hour I finally slip away, and do what a lot of people in my position would do; call my mum, best friend and boyfriend to whinge. The last call was the best, as my lovely man friend was with his also lovely and conservative parents and I drop a very naughty four letter word on speaker-phone. No, not that bad, but not good either. Well done me. I then come home to vent and our internet is down.
But I am slowly reclaimed the day with lattes, QOTSA, craft time and knowing that applying for jobs is a two-way street. I wouldn’t want to work there in a million suns.
Please share your appalling job interview stories with me and help shoulder the burden.