Let the Games Begin

The first part of the interview is with the gal I spoke to on the phone for the proverbial Phone Screen. As in "only the littlest tidbits of your best self get through and any big chunks of nuttiness will keep the rest of you on the other side of the screen."  Thank God I was not having a Let's See If We Have Anything in the Desk to Make a Voodoo Doll of the Boss day when she'd called. No big chunks of Bad Attitude to anchor me to the other side.

She was so promising and delightful when we'd spoken. But apparently the Phone Screen is a two-way street. She'd let through only the most shining and inviting parts of herself squeeze through. The Big Bummer aspects stayed politely on the other side of the screen.

She appeared in the lobby.  Another Oh Shit moment.

I think she might be wearing a very bad, cheap wig. Not exactly from the Halloween Store, but a bad nylon likeness of Bonnie Franklin's hair from One Day At A Time. 

Her dress was clearly purchased during the Carter Administration. I had the same one in a different color. Wore it to my friend's Mom's viewing. In 9th grade.  Mine was maroon. Hers is Marine Blue. She has pleather shoes in the same shade. And the (evidently requisite) nudie panty hose. With a few snags on each calf. And in a delightful suntan shade.

She also has obviously applied her makeup in a very dimly lit room.  Perhaps without a mirror. That or she's taken a nap recently and hasn't fixed her face afterwards. She is hard to look at. I make eye contact anyway. I am sure I am turning to stone.

And then she says the taboo words that grate my nerve endings and douse them with rubbing alcohol.  "Oh here's your file. I printed everything. I just don't trust computers yet." 

I will myself to remain seated and not run screaming from the building.  I notice that the computer on her desk (circa early 80s) is not even turned on. I am tempted to lean around to see if it is even plugged in.

She tells me she is certified in some interviewing technique that was sun-downed a decade or more ago and she'd like to ask me some specific targeted questions aimed at seeing if "we have a good match." 

Well if I have a good match, lady, I am going to strike it and set that outfit on fire.  Just get to it.

The questions are all ones we've heard before. Certainly not designed to unearth leadership strengths or styles or fit for an organization's culture. They were the typical "where do you see yourself in 5 years" (visiting you in the nervous hospital...) and "Tell me about a time when you had to have a crucial conversation with someone.." (How about now? Honey, we need to talk about that hair of yours...)

I nail it. The questions, though completely pointless for the level of position we are here to discuss, are not challenging. I do this for a living, for crying out loud.

And afterwards, she makes all the routine, canned statements and escorts me back out to the hovel they refer to as the lobby.

It is there that I wait for the Big Boss.

And I am not exaggerating about Big.