Thursday, August 05, 2004
becoming considered
I had a job interview yesterday. It was for a combination receptionist/assistant position with a broadcasting company that owns five radio stations. Because I've been jobless for more than a year now, I am getting desperate to find employment. I'd had a phone interview with the woman in charge of hiring on Monday, and she'd been very positive. She liked my voice, I had all the right skills, we had an excellent rapport. I was looking forward to the in-person interview, but with no small amount of nervousness.
The woman with whom I was to interview at 11:30, Peri, called me at 10:00 to reschedule for 1:30. She was having a bad reaction to her chemical peel*, and needed to make an emergency visit to her cosmetic surgeon, who was also going to remove her facelift stitches. I promptly redid my makeup from my usual "natural" look to a more sophisticated style (i.e., I put on some lipstick). I normally wear slacks to interviews; this time, I decided to pull out all the stops and wear a skirt. Whipping out an outfit I had bought two years ago for interviews but never worn, I added a pair of high-heeled shoes I hadn't had on in over a year. As soon as I put it all on and looked at myself in the mirror, I remembered WHY I'd never worn that outfit. I did NOT like the way I looked. To me, I looked too matronly — frumpy and dumpy. I left for the interview feeling less than confident, but determined to do my best.
The offices of ABG are stunning — very classy and elegant. But empty! The temp receptionist was nowhere to be found, and the guy who finally came out to help me told me Peri had not yet arrived. I sat in the lobby for 10 minutes or so, fortunately calming down a bit. Then Peri arrived, her head swathed in a designer scarf and big sunglasses like a celebrity. She was wearing a chic suit that looked like it cost more than Ms. Malarkey (Juli's car), and stiletto heels. An equally well-dressed young woman followed in her wake, carrying a pile of papers and bags. They swept by without even noticing me. However, the man who'd helped me must have told Peri I was there, because a short time later he ushered me to her office.
In my opinion, I lost the job the minute I stepped into Peri's doorway. Judging by the look that flashed across her face, I suspect that a short, fat woman whose purse didn't match her shoes was not quite what she was hoping for. All shreds of self-confidence I'd gathered fled. I felt like a Kmart Blue-Light Special in the middle of Neiman-Marcus. What followed was the shortest interview I've EVER had. Peri looked over my resumé, took a phone call, asked me a few random questions and then asked if I had any questions. I took the opportunity to briefly explain to her why I thought I was the perfect person for the position (what I knew of it, since she hadn't offered any more info), and asked if the company offered a benefits package. She looked annoyed, and said yes, they had a pretty standard package. THEN, she said that she had five more people to interview. She said, "Give me a few days. I have to go through the process, but I feel like I'd be really comfortable working with you. I should have an answer for you by Friday, if not sooner." I thanked her, said I hoped she felt better soon, and left.
That's the bad news. The GOOD news is that Peri was definitely not herself. She told me several times that she was in a great deal of pain, and was woozy and nauseated. I suspect she was also extremely self-conscious, since her face was raw and swollen, and she had no makeup on at all (as a natural blonde, she therefore appeared to have no eyelashes or brows). It was so painful for her to move her lips that she ended up attempting to talk without moving them, holding a cloth against her chin to brace them. We actually talked more about how dreadful she felt (and why) than about the job. The lovely young woman turned out to be Peri's daughter, who had driven her to work and was taking solicitous care of mom. Her condition could well account for why Peri seemed so uninterested in me, and why she asked so few questions. Clearly, she was not thinking clearly. If my face felt like someone had worked it over with a potato peeler, I don't think I'd remember my own name!
Peri actually spoke as though I pretty much have the job in the bag. Sheryl thinks Peri had likely made up her mind she wanted me before I even went in, and the interview just confirmed it. Juli, on the other hand, thinks Peri was just blowing me off. It remains to be seen which one is correct.
Stay tuned for continuing coverage of the latest developments in this gripping story.
*NOTE: A GOOD reaction to a chemical peel is that all the skin falls off your face. What the hell happens in a BAD reaction???
The woman with whom I was to interview at 11:30, Peri, called me at 10:00 to reschedule for 1:30. She was having a bad reaction to her chemical peel*, and needed to make an emergency visit to her cosmetic surgeon, who was also going to remove her facelift stitches. I promptly redid my makeup from my usual "natural" look to a more sophisticated style (i.e., I put on some lipstick). I normally wear slacks to interviews; this time, I decided to pull out all the stops and wear a skirt. Whipping out an outfit I had bought two years ago for interviews but never worn, I added a pair of high-heeled shoes I hadn't had on in over a year. As soon as I put it all on and looked at myself in the mirror, I remembered WHY I'd never worn that outfit. I did NOT like the way I looked. To me, I looked too matronly — frumpy and dumpy. I left for the interview feeling less than confident, but determined to do my best.
The offices of ABG are stunning — very classy and elegant. But empty! The temp receptionist was nowhere to be found, and the guy who finally came out to help me told me Peri had not yet arrived. I sat in the lobby for 10 minutes or so, fortunately calming down a bit. Then Peri arrived, her head swathed in a designer scarf and big sunglasses like a celebrity. She was wearing a chic suit that looked like it cost more than Ms. Malarkey (Juli's car), and stiletto heels. An equally well-dressed young woman followed in her wake, carrying a pile of papers and bags. They swept by without even noticing me. However, the man who'd helped me must have told Peri I was there, because a short time later he ushered me to her office.
In my opinion, I lost the job the minute I stepped into Peri's doorway. Judging by the look that flashed across her face, I suspect that a short, fat woman whose purse didn't match her shoes was not quite what she was hoping for. All shreds of self-confidence I'd gathered fled. I felt like a Kmart Blue-Light Special in the middle of Neiman-Marcus. What followed was the shortest interview I've EVER had. Peri looked over my resumé, took a phone call, asked me a few random questions and then asked if I had any questions. I took the opportunity to briefly explain to her why I thought I was the perfect person for the position (what I knew of it, since she hadn't offered any more info), and asked if the company offered a benefits package. She looked annoyed, and said yes, they had a pretty standard package. THEN, she said that she had five more people to interview. She said, "Give me a few days. I have to go through the process, but I feel like I'd be really comfortable working with you. I should have an answer for you by Friday, if not sooner." I thanked her, said I hoped she felt better soon, and left.
That's the bad news. The GOOD news is that Peri was definitely not herself. She told me several times that she was in a great deal of pain, and was woozy and nauseated. I suspect she was also extremely self-conscious, since her face was raw and swollen, and she had no makeup on at all (as a natural blonde, she therefore appeared to have no eyelashes or brows). It was so painful for her to move her lips that she ended up attempting to talk without moving them, holding a cloth against her chin to brace them. We actually talked more about how dreadful she felt (and why) than about the job. The lovely young woman turned out to be Peri's daughter, who had driven her to work and was taking solicitous care of mom. Her condition could well account for why Peri seemed so uninterested in me, and why she asked so few questions. Clearly, she was not thinking clearly. If my face felt like someone had worked it over with a potato peeler, I don't think I'd remember my own name!
Peri actually spoke as though I pretty much have the job in the bag. Sheryl thinks Peri had likely made up her mind she wanted me before I even went in, and the interview just confirmed it. Juli, on the other hand, thinks Peri was just blowing me off. It remains to be seen which one is correct.
Stay tuned for continuing coverage of the latest developments in this gripping story.
*NOTE: A GOOD reaction to a chemical peel is that all the skin falls off your face. What the hell happens in a BAD reaction???
