Several days before Christmas, the phone rings. Oh damn, bet it’s that woman and her funeral plan spiel. I am 2 seconds from putting the phone down. I was once the friendly lady who loved to chat with telemarketers. However, the game's changed, and friendly, unemployed, frustrated - lounge lizard lady - has TURNED!
But NO! You’re REALLY not inviting me to a retirement planning seminar. Or wanting to arrange a free hearing test? WHAT? You’re an actual employer! - who has taken my application seriously! And, YOUR people have shortlisted ME?... for - AN INTERVIEW!
YIPPEE! I got an interview! My application this time has not fallen on deaf ears . . . so to speak.
I tell self to compose, shut the fruitcake-up, and behave like a sensible woman of a certain age. And I reassure the adminisphere lady on the phone, that they haven’t just shortlisted a mad person - by saying in a calm, mature, Bea Arthur voice: “Yes, I'd be delighted to attend an interview. It would give me great pleasure!”
But really....Oh my gosh.... At Last! ... My Job Has Come Along! My lonely days are over ...And life is like song!...
And . . . Maybe this time, I’ll be lucky . . . Not a loser anymore. . . Like the last time. . . And the time before . . . Maybe this time, I'll win!
And . . . Sing, Sing a Song of Joy!
And of course ....Climb every mountain! ....Ford every stream! Follow every rainbow ....'til you find your dream!
But what to wear? On a day when the temperature’s to be 38 degrees celsius (100.1 in old money) - sensible option is to go sleeveless or I’ll faint. If it’s ok for the USA First Lady, it’s ok for me. And I never once saw Prime Minister Julia Guillard go sleeveless, and look where she ended up?
So, on the said day, into a meeting room I go. And less than a minute after I’m invited to sit-down, the 3 interview panel members (aka wise - securely employed - monkeys) introduce themselves, sit down, and then tell me they’re going to leave the room. WHY? So I can answer in writing, my responses to 4 questions - written on the sheet of paper they give me.
And as the 3 wise monkeys make their way out the door, I can’t help asking, “Are you sure this isn’t Candid Camera?”
Alone in the room, I peruse the 4 questions. And after scanning the walls for peep-holes, I begin to write . . .
And . . .
When the wise monkeys return, they ask me (just for a change) the same 4 questions, that I'd written answers to on paper! So it takes 3 people - on an interview panel - to ask 4 questions? To compensate, I ask THEM about 27.
And in no time, the interview is O-V-E-R.
OK, so despite my exemplary skills, and capabilities – it could just be that the sleeveless ensemble is a turn-off. BUT, have the 3 wise monkeys, taken a look at themselves lately? You call that smart/Friday casual?
They were all so keen to get out of that room (most likely to go off to Christmas drinkies), almost leaving me last out the door. Even when I was halfway through telling them that: "Of course I'd be glad to get a Police check, and don't you want the names of my referees? And where do I sign up for the footy tipping?"
And 2 weeks later, I still hear N-O-T-H-I-N-G . . .from the wise monkeys.
POST-SCRIPT. Now dear reader, this is all true. One could simply NOT make this up.
And dear reader, if you have a similar job interview "tale of the unexpected" - or maybe, one that's all too predictable, please send it to: firstname.lastname@example.org
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