The best worst interview

The week before, a former coworker called to say that her company had a position open. Since social work can be a bit female-dominated, the organization wanted to hire a male. Nonetheless, I didn’t need to switch jobs.

My disinterest hadn’t ended the conversation. For the next 58 minutes, my former coworker described all of the fabulous things about her life since employment. At minute 59, I was like Adam eating the apple out of Eve’s hand: One teeny tiny interview couldn’t hurt.

The day after I sent in my resumé, human resources called to set up an interview. Clearly they were so stunned by my qualifications that they simply had to hire me, the interview only a formality.

As the clock passed 2 a.m., my partner woke up realizing I hadn’t come to bed. He came downstairs to find me anxiously strung over a still-incomplete application. My spacey brain couldn’t remember all the details of my employment. As he tried to help, I shot down every logical solution he had. My insecurities turned my arrogance into a needy perfectionism. And the more he tried, the more I pushed him away.

With only a few hours of sleep, I went to the interview again self-assured by the perfectly-completed application in a perfectly-crisp envelope. My former co-worker said that her super-cool supervisor would conduct the interview. Even though I was a total mess just eight hours earlier, I knew I could pull off the professional razzle-dazzle it takes for someone to see a potential employee, and also a new comrade.

Things started on the right foot. The supervisor seemed around my age. I knocked her questions out of the park. She didn’t even bother to write my answers down. My awesomeness must have been unforgettable.

As the questions got more difficult, I maintained composure – but noticed she didn’t have much to say. She didn’t seem excited that her soon-to-be favorite employee had arrived. I tossed more wit into my responses, smiling and laughing, yet she barely cracked a smile.

Only ten minutes had passed by the time she asked me if I had any questions for her. Had the ship already sunk? Was this really the woman my coworker was giddy about? Even though I had answered everything so well, something was very wrong. To save this interview, I would actually need to ask some good questions to show her how interested I was feeling about this job. But the supervisor seemed more annoyed than impressed. She tossed me a couple of pity answers, and before I knew it I’d been scooted out of the building.

Standing in the parking lot, I didn’t understand what just happened. They ushered me in so quickly. I gave the best performance to one very uninterested audience. And then they ushered me right out. It was the worst best interview of my life.

I should have been crushed. Instead I felt stupid. I remembered that I wasn’t ever sure I actually wanted this job. Yet I became hysterical when I didn’t seem perfect for it. It was a game of cat-and-mouse. It may never be certain whether the interview truly went horrible or great. But in either case, I let my emotions take the lead and abandoned logic. For me, that wasn’t an attitude worth hiring.