Interview-ness

Well, I had my interview this morning.

Sigh.

You know, within a week of being laid off from work, I got a job offer from an investment banker. At the time, the economy had started to crumble, but I don’t think anyone quite realized the severity of the situation. I turned the job offer down. It paid slightly better than my former position, but the folks I had interviewed with were like corpses in business suits. I couldn’t get… well, anything out of them. I kept searching for a sign of humanity, a smile or something. Desperate to make some kind of human connection with them, I even threw out a couple of jokes. Nothing. I had assumed that I completely bombed the interview, so it was definitely a surprise to receive the job offer.

I should have jumped on it. I should have. But all I kept thinking about were those interviewers who seemed so miserable, so completely deathlike, and I imagined the job sucking away any last vestige of spirit, individuality, creativity, and silliness that I retained. I was positive that a job like that would drain my soul bone-dry.

My boyfriend at the time thought I was crazy. And I suppose, in a way, he was right. But it’s hard to describe the complete and utter panic that clawed at me when I visualized myself being swallowed up by that company. I wanted to be me, not a bad carbon copy of myself, a vague humorless imprint.

If I was offered that job again today, would I take it? Hell, yes. Would I stay there once the economy righted itself? I doubt it.

I felt the same kind of panic today at my interview, for different reasons. It wasn’t a high-end financial firm this time, just a little chintzy office run by a quack of a guy who invents “health” aids that don’t actually do anything, that nobody actually needs or uses except really paranoid/OCD people who buy everything they see in airplane catalogues (i.e., oxygen bars, personal UV lights to kill bacteria, et cetera). He was a bit of a pompous, insensitive ass, but I suppose not intolerable. The overwhelming, pervasive feeling of the office though… it was one of depressing resignation. Four or five people in one room, sitting at their computers, ignoring one another, keyboards clacking as they processed orders and data. When I walked in, no one looked up. No one spoke. Just clacking keyboards.

I suppose I should feel good that I even got in to interview – the owner told me that he had received over 1,000 resumés for the position. He is looking to make a decision by tomorrow, so at least by then I will know, no dangling and wondering here. I tried to muster up enthusiasm and put on my “interview face”, but I don’t know how well I did. I’m not much of an actor, and from the moment I entered the door, I felt heavy and overwhelmed with sadness. Everything just seemed grey. Somehow, I managed to keep the interview going for about a half an hour – asking my pre-selected questions, specifically chosen to maximize the appearance of my interest in the company.

Lest you think that I am picky and a whiny, selfish, spoiled brat – believe me, if I am offered the job, I will take it. And I will smile every day that I walk in there, no matter how much of a dead end I feel it is. I am under no illusions about the precariousness of my situation, or the likelihood that I will be offered another position anytime soon. Yes, I will take it.

I post my personal feelings and fears only so that you can see that I am human and imperfect too. I am not always able to look at the bright side, or find the silver lining in everything. I am no Pollyanna.

But… this is what it is. Sometimes, to get by, we just have to suck it up and take the most readily available option, until we can move up to something better.

Just don’t do drugs or prostitution, kids! (By the way, I’m now a guest writer for Street Voices, how cool is that? After depressing interviews like this, at least I can head over to Starbucks and make believe, a little, that I’m a “writer”, haha. So, there’s still a little fun out there for me. Thanks, Matt!)

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