After the moderately successful launch a few weeks ago, I must apologise to my avid blog fans (all three of you) for being a little slack as I have found myself rather busy of late. Since I last wrote, I have safely and successfully made the move to Melbourne and am engrossed in trying to set myself up here. I was lucky that my friend, Sarah, whom I have known for many years, had a spare room in her flat which we realised (after bonding over blogs on Facebook chat one night) was the perfect fit for me. It is a lovely flat in a nice area and I am thoroughly enjoying it so far. That’s enough on that though; let’s proceed with the subject…
Job interviews. Super confident freaks love them, normal people dislike them and I fall into the category of socially awkward folk who simply dread and detest them.
You’re probably thinking ‘detest is a pretty strong verb, don’t you think?’ Well, you clearly haven’t dropped a ‘c bomb’ during a job interview before then, have you? (No seriously, have you? Because if you have I would love to hear from you about it, it would make me feel so much better.) I guess I will need to elaborate but please remember that this story is something I am not proud of. The year was 2006 and I was a fresh-faced 16 year old who was innocently looking to make some cash to fund my underage binge drinking habits. The job was ideal for a female year 11 student like me: retail assistant at Priceline Pharmacy- what could be better than cheap makeup and the morning after pill in a one stop shop?!
Two guys who were probably in their mid-twenties sat down at the interview table and I was thinking ‘sweet, this is going to be super casual’ and it was casual – in hindsight, a little too casual. Before I continue, I should point out that at this particular point in time, my best friend and I knew this guy who constantly called people he thought fondly of ‘mad c*nts’. We thought this was so lame it was hilarious so we took to doing the same (excessively) just to mock him. I had been acing the interview when towards the end of it; they asked me to describe my personality. We were all laughing and joking around and that’s when disaster struck. Due do the interview’s casual nature, I had let my guard down and it just slipped out…I believe my exact words were “…I’m a bit of a mad c*nt”. The laughter was immediately interrupted by the most uncomfortable of silences and to this day I have never seen anyone with such confused looks on their faces. They made sure that the interview ended promptly and said they would be in touch – which we all knew was a lie. I walked away from that interview well aware that I had reached a new low and that I would have to find other means to finance the blue vodka cruisers that I had such big plans for (stuffing them into my Billabong backpack wrapped in jumpers as to mask the clinking sounds from my parents, then trekking to a house party).
I don’t do too well when I’m nervous, and by ‘don’t do too well’ I mean I turn into a fucking jerk. My neck gets itchy, I start to sweat and my speech is incomprehensible. I have to try really hard not to blurt out the first thing that pops into my head just to fill the growing silence. By that I mean, I would never lie about my skills in an interview, but there is a first for everything and for me that was yesterday. I was in an interview and was doing okay until I was asked what my hobbies were and I mentioned ‘NRL’. The guy who was interviewing me responded with ‘oh really, that surprises me, you don’t look like a league player! I’m impressed!’ So, instead of correcting him like a normal person and saying ‘no, I just follow rugby league’, I rolled with it – he said he was impressed, so I saw an opportunity to shine and ran with it. After bullshitting about my amateur rugby league career for a few minutes (started in high school then as my skills grew, so did my passion), he then went on to say ‘we regularly hold office sporting days – it’s good to know you will be a valuable asset to the team!’ The lady who was taking notes of the interview then started scrawling profusely about this obviously employable skill of mine. Oh fuck! What had I done?! I’m definitely not sporty and I think that will become apparent on sports day when I have to get stretchered off the field in the first few minutes of a league game. So yeah, not crossing my fingers for this one.
Now you’re sitting there and judging me thinking ‘that explains your hatred for job interviews, you’re an idiot’ but I have also had awful interviews which were not my fault. I now recount the time I was in a job interview and doing pretty well, being interviewed by a youngish guy and a girl. After some time, they called their big boss in who was this slightly older, seemingly normal woman. She asked a few standard questions then began with the crazy:
“If you could put last Christmas anywhere in the room, where would you put it?”
“If you could put this Christmas anywhere in the room, where would you put it?”
“If you could put next Christmas anywhere in the room, where would you put it?”
“If you could put yourself anywhere in the room, where would you put yourself?”
Ummmmmm…bitch on crack?! The guy and girl who were interviewing me initially did not laugh or even acknowledge that she was asking weird as fuck questions, they just sat there as if it was the norm. I still don’t know if she was completely mad or just taking the piss. I answered all her questions though – and without hesitation, by simply pointing at different spots in the room. I walked out feeling a little violated, and a lot confused. I didn’t know what had just happened, but I thought I needed to be alone for a few hours just to process it all, maybe take a cold shower.
As you can see, it’s pretty safe to say that my job interview history is not great.
I look back at the jobs I have gotten and I have been pretty lucky with the interviews. If the interview is for a smaller place it is usually less clinical and the content more personal. I find that after answering a few questions I can usually find some sort of common ground that the interviewer had mentioned at some point during the interview. I can bond with the interviewer over our common interest and then when I’m comfortable enough, can use my natural magnetism to charm their fucking pants off.
It has been said that the internet is practically the CV of the 21st century (said by me, just now). To any prospective employers that may be reading this right now, let’s just cut the crap and skip the interview process all together – here is why you should hire me. It might be a good idea to disregard all of the above text though, and probably the below too.
I’m adaptable. “Sorry, that’s not part of my job description” said a dumb fuck to their boss once – not me, I would never utter such nonsense. I know what’s up and I’m not into technicalities, the hierarchy goes: 1. Boss. 2. Sarah. You want me to do it; I’m going to do it even if it’s the worst job ever. Just know that as soon as I get home – I’m adding that shit to my resume for future reference. So what if it’s just a one off request – COUNTS.
I will always make you look good. Look at me, you don’t want to be in my shoes – my shoes are cute and fun but they lack direction and don’t really know what they want in life yet.
I will be at every work function. Due to my lack of hobbies, my calendar is pretty flexible. I am able and willing to attend any and all required work functions and will do my best at representing the company. I promise I won’t get too drunk unless the surroundings are appropriate and even if the surroundings aren’t appropriate, we can get drunk after.
You can swear at me all you want. Because I swear so much myself, you can have your much needed vent from the stresses of the day in a fairly tasteless way and I won’t get offended, I literally won’t even notice. Don’t bottle it up inside, it’s bad for you – just let it all out in my general direction, and after, we can get drunk.
Need to blame someone for a fuck up? Just blame me, you may as well, you’re my boss after all, I will cop it on the chin. And after, we can get drunk (your shout though – for blaming me on shit I didn’t do).
Need someone to stay back late with you to help finish all your work? I will! Sure, I might complain about it, but it’s the most justifiable way for me to get out of going to the gym and I WILL get it done. And after, we can get drunk.
I will NEVER fake a sickie. It’s just not in my character. I had like 6 years of high school/college to get that shit out of my system and I took full advantage of it then to miss various athletic carnivals, drama performances and maths tests, so it’s really not needed now. Besides, if I’m not at work, how are we going to get drunk after?
If this has impressed you I should let you know now that my current salary expectations are anything more than the dole and I am available to start immediately.
That’s all for now – thanks for reading 🙂