A mark * A mission * A brand * A scar / Dashbaord Confessional
One of my most memorable job interviews was my first academic and “real” job interview. I was in Connecticut. The job was in Oregon.
For some reason, though I think I am a reasonably intelligent person, who usually sees the big picture, there are realities that while I know them, don’t actually “sink in” right away. I knew that Oregon was a long way from Connecticut. I liked the idea of moving so far. However, it wasn’t until I was sitting at the airport, getting ready to fly across country that the distance of the trip really sunk in. Perhaps it was because I was going to be flying so far alone, arriving somewhere where I knew nothing and no one, to be picked up by a stranger who would take me to a bed and breakfast where I was to spend two days “looking around” and “interviewing.”
Academic interviews are almost always at least a full day long. They start you with breakfast, you meet with a series of people, often you teach a class and do a presentation as part of your day and conclude with a dinner. You are then either shipped home or put up for the night to be shipped home in the morning. When candidates are traveling far, an extra day is sometimes added so that the person can get a feel for the area.
I didn’t care for a feel of the area. I didn’t like the idea of a bed and breakfast. And this was my first ever interview: I was nervous.
As it happened, American Airlines overbooked the flight and so when they wanted to send people on a different flight, a later flight – I jumped at the chance. One night away from home was better than two! My potential employer did not particularly agree, but as I was missing the City Tour and it was “not my fault” it was accepted.
I flew from CT to Dallas to Oregon. A nice man with a sign met me and I felt very worldly. That feeling was lost arriving at the B&B. I had never stayed in one before that trip, but it was all that I imagined I wouldn’t like. It felt intrusive, arriving in someone’s house. It was a shared bath, not only did that make me uncomfortable, but I was afraid of disturbing people. I was told to arrive downstairs any time after 6:30 for breakfast.
My room, while gorgeous was like any home’s guest room: sparse. There was no tv to distract me. No phone to call home and bemoan my situation. I was left in a strange place, with my nerves and the knowledge that other strangers were in the next room, who were going to be upset with me for tieing up the bath.
I was up at five the next morning, into the shower so as to not need to worry about being late or holding any one up and downstairs for breakfast at the appointed time. I’m sure the people were trying to be friendly. I’m sure they did not think about what it was like for me in this situation. But my hostess, an older woman criticized my breakfast choice. Apparently, just having tea and toast was not acceptable. The other guest, arriving for breakfast shortly after me, commented upon why he didn’t understand why I had taken a shower so early. Why hadn’t I done it the night before he joked? A private person, nervous beyond belief, fairly sure that at least my hostess would be questioned about me. I smiled, though I saw no humor in the situation and made the mental note NEVER to go to a B&B again.
The day ran me thru typical paces, but was long. On a couple of occasions I had what I thought were some very odd conversations. A female faculty member from a different department than would be my own, told me it was “good that I was interviewing for X Department” because “Joe” was the department chair and he would “protect me.” From what, I wondered, but at that point was to naïve to ask or to know. Another asked, “Why would you want to come here?” But it was not the standard fishing question that really was asking : did you do your home work, what do you know about us? Before I answered this questioner had gone on to say, “I sure wouldn’t want to be here if I were you.”
But the most amazing part of the day for me came at dinner that night. I was nervous about catching my flight home, though as it turned out I had plenty of time. In these situations you are in effect captive. You are being driven, you typically don’t know where you are, timing is not shared, etc.
So, I am sitting at a very nice restaurant with who will be two of my co-workers in my department. One, a woman, was shorter than I, thus she was less than 5 feet tall. She was one of those round, bubbly, butterball women. Her hair was short and a mass of blonde curls. The other guest was a male, very tall, athletic, GQ handsome. I was trying very hard to seem nonchalant, relaxed, friendly, charming, not an idiot, despite the fact that I was horribly overwhelmed, worried about missing the plane, had no idea who had or where my luggage was and had a red eye flight that was going to change planes in O’Hare to arrive me home at 6:00 am.
My colleagues were pouring down wine and as is typically the case at these dinners ordering the most expensive thing on the menu because the university is paying the tab. They were thankfully, ignoring me and yammering about their day. This was interesting to me, as I was not yet one of the fold. I was clearly starting to see what the woman earlier meant by “protection.”
By the main course, Blondie had gone on at length about her new Kia, which she hated, but was the only car on the market she could afford. Mental note: salaries not good here, increases not forthcoming. GQ has talked about his new state of the art computer, that he doesn’t know how to run. Mental note: not techies. Then Blondie asks G if he has Robert Z. in class. He says yes, he knows the student and they discuss the student’s GPA and work habits for a few minutes. I’m not impressed. I was still new enough to think these things were confidential and not to be bantered about with names in a public restaurant.
Then Blondie announces that she was really “p.o.” at him that afternoon and had seriously considered … kicking a certain part of his named anatomy to China. I’m sure my eyes widened as I tried not to drop my fork. G was unfazed. “Oh?” He asked, “What did he do now?” G never paused from his meal, not even as Blondie went on.
“We were coming out of class in the Red building, and he patted my head and told me I was a ‘good girl.’”
“And what did you say?” G. laughed.
“I told him not to do it again unless he was f****** me.”
I choked.
It didn’t matter, they didn’t notice. I didn’t get the job. I didn’t mind.
No comments:
Post a Comment