THE JOYS OF JOB INTERVIEWS
Or, which fairytale do I tell today?
By Victoria Elizabeth, Empress of Eccentricity, and part-time “whatsit” who’s willing to work “wherever”, on “what's what" or "whatsnot” -- provided of course people say “please” and “thank you”, and hopefully pass along a modest form of remuneration for my time and trouble saving the bacon of a "who's who".
Yesterday I attended an interview. Let’s just say that it took place in a cubbyhole of a prestigious institution, (which is why I arrived 15 minutes late).
If truth be told, there’s no road map to find anything in this esteemed ivory tower. And asking for help to find my appointed interview spot in the cosmos (aptly called “UC2”), left me wondering what sort of place I had stumbled upon ...filled with lots of blank looks and “I dunno”s.
To top it off, when I did locate the bleeping building, I must have inadvertently entered a "dead zone" as my cell phone konked out.
According to Murphy's Law 12, (if a gizmo is going to fail, it will always happend at a critical moment), so naturally I had no blinking way to notify my prospective employer of my late arrival. Semaphore was out of the question. And, building a campfire replete with smoke signals from my Girl Guide days didn't really look like a viable option.
Needless to say, several unidentified folks casually peered out a window as I struggled to open the back door of a research center, (also home to a quaint-looking colony of wild rabbits). Upon my arrival, I almost blurted out that well-worn phrase…”Mr. Livingston I presume”. Biting my tongue in the nick of time, I uttered something more original like, “I’m very pleased to say that being found is infinitely more fun than being lost”.
It seems that members of the interview panel were quite used to receiving lost souls, (though I’m not at all certain why they don’t send out search and rescue parties immediately to aid wayfaring strangers, or at least supply guests with handy GPS devices for their surprise scavenger hunt).
With two strikes against me…getting lost, and failing to communicate in a timely manner with my hosts… perhaps the universe was telling me that I didn’t have a hope in heck of landing this job.
Being a professional interviewee, I’ve noticed that there’s an inverse relationship between the job title and the accompanying compensation package. The longer the job title, (the greater the number of multiple skills required, necessitating long interviews with far too many people), and of course the inevitable result -- meagre portions left on the plate to be distributed among far too many hungry hordes.
To make a long story short, after two-and-a-half hours of “show and tell” tales (based on my 20 plus years of experience in some very strange workplaces), and presentation of my three inch-thick set of pithy publications weighing in at a very respectable 5 kilograms, I was asked by members of the interview panel to perform one last test.
With much aplomb and grace, I replied, “I don’t do tests”. I added, “I graduated from kindergarten and elementary school, and I just don’t do tests any more. But, if you’d like to me to produce my Grade Three MacLean’s Method of Writing Certificate or demonstrate my deft hop-scotching abilities, I’d be happy to oblige”.
With mouths hanging wide open such that I could see their tonsils swinging in the breeze, I simply smiled, picked up my things, and bade a fond farewell to everyone, “Nice to meet you, and if you ever get lost in the wilderness searching for the “Holy Grail”, give me a dingle because that’s where I really excel!”