The Interview

When you're a poor grad student, almost anything seems like a good idea.

Case in point: I used these criteria to decide which potential employers I would interview with during the second year of my master's program:

• Will interview me
• Will pay a salary

It's rules like that that get you a job like this.

Anyway, here's how my interviews with my current employer - Advantovate - went:

Interview 1: The Test
I walk into a room where a small gnome of a man sits at a desk, his back to me, eating a large ice cream sundae. Sun pours in the room from the window in front of him, and its warmth has started to melt the dessert. Large, white pools fill the bottom of the dish. He never greets me or turns, but continues to spoon the sugary treat into his mouth. As I watch him draw up the latest spoonful, I see a giant drip form on the spoon, angling for his dark suit jacket.

"Watchoutit'sgonnadriponyou!" I blurt out, hoping to warn him.

Pausing, but without turning around or making eye contact, he says evenly, "Thanks. You can go now."

The ice cream drip splats onto his sleeve. I turn and hurry out the door.

Interview 2: The Chase
A cheerful, roundish man greets me in the waiting area, saying his name is John MacGill and asks me how my interview with Arvo went. He's going bald, but in the way of men who aren't quite ready to admit it to themselves or the world, he sports a combover. He takes me back to his interview room and asks me general questions about myself, exhibiting a disarming lack of interest in my answers, his eyes roving about the room and skating over his open laptop screen. Then we move to the case question, which lays out a typical type of project I might work on. He runs through some scenario about a country that's hoping to start a virtual dog training facility.

I'm taking notes, so I don't notice him get up. Looking up to ask a question, I see he's gone. I scan the room, but there's no movement, and there's no sound. I sit for a minute, unsure what to do. Then I spot him, stretched tall in hiding behind a support pillar an arms-length or two in front of me. He's given away by his girth, which he can't suck in enough to conceal.

I step toward him and peek around the pillar. He blinks at me, surprised, and then darts across the room to crouch under the desk, but sighs when he gets there because he knows he's caught.

He stands back up and brushes himself off. We continue with the case.

Interview 3: The Meal
Cold, angry waves of dislike roll off of the narrow-faced man in front of me. I think his last name might have been Rille. He either disagrees with or reacts skeptically to everything I say as we discuss the case, some type of supply-chain optimization problem about a fertility bank.

Finally, he stops me mid-sentence with a wave of his hand and says, "So I see on your resume that you enjoy cooking. Well, if you could invite any person or animal - living or dead - to breakfast, who would it be and what food would you serve?"

Although I'm ready for almost anything at this point, almost anything doesn't include this, and the question throws me off-guard. My mind spins blankly as I consider the options.

I choose to stall for time. "Well, I guess a person is an animal, so maybe I should just be thinking about animals?"

His eyes narrow. "Oh, right you are about that."

But in an instant, I can see I've botched the entire thing. Of course, I never had a fighting chance to begin with. "Uhhh, a, uh, um brontosaurus and p-p-p-palm fr-fronds," I manage to stammer out.

Interview 4: The Foil
Exhausted, I sit down in front of a man who says his name is Mike Pritchard. I think we have a conversation about my previous job. I can't tell if it's my weariness or the sheer force of his bland normality, but seconds after we talk, I have no idea what exactly either of us said. At the end of the interview we shake hands.

And that's it. Back in the waiting area, everyone else has left for the day and the lights are out. There's just a single stale oatmeal raisin cookie sitting on a white china plate on a non-descript coffee table in the middle of the darkening room. And someone already took a bite out of the cookie. I let myself out.

Only later (and by accident) do I learn what my results were that day:

1. Part A: Fail. Part B: Pass
2. Pass
3. Fail
4. Pass

It doesn't add to my self-esteem to know that even in this ridiculous situation, I only got a 60%.