Let me get right to the point... Fuck group interviews.
I scan the room while asking myself repeatedly, “Is this what I’m reduced to?” Braces Boyface walks past me, then steps back to ask, “Do you work here?”
How did I end up in this room with these people?
It all started two weeks ago on one of my weekly strolls through the online job fair that is Craig’s List. Ask anyone who’s been on a job hunt (a serious grown up one) and they’ll tell ya: Fuck group interviews. You’re bound to run into quite a few B.S. “opportunities” out there and the one sure fire road to not making any money is getting suckered into a group interview. The word “interview,” in fact, feels insulted when it is associated with this bizarre practice where salesmen try to sell you on the excitement of being a salesmen. Your resume could list you as the ex-Secretary General of the UN and they’ll still stick you in a room with two 17 year olds and an ex convict, pitching you the same way the do every other poor sucker who happens to walk through their doors.
The red flags that give them away are fairly consistent. They spend the majority of the posting selling themselves, they upload eye catching logos, show off their NASDAQ listing, promise you ridiculous riches with minimal hours… They try to make it sound like they are going to be really selective in their process . I saw one post that actually said, “Sorry! This not a telemarketing job.” Sorry? Nothing can be more off-putting than feeling like you’re the employee they’re suckering in rather than the ones who had real interviews and now have real offices upstairs. In this economy, no real employer offering a real job has to sell you on working for him.
I’d rather not reveal the real name of the company I’ll be gossiping about so I’m going to change some of the details of this story…
I scrolled across a posting titled: “Widget Enthusiasts Wanted!!!” Three exclamation points? Wow, this one must be a good one! Everyone knows that I love widgets. When I’m not making widgets in my spare time, I’m either reading about them or discussing them with other widget enthusiasts. Many people tell me I’m a pretty good widgeteer myself. I click on the link and read through the posting. “Great new service… Customer service involved… Yada yada yada… Fifteen openings?” There is only one kind of job which has fifteen openings these days and that’s door-to-door sales. I know this, but for some reason, I click on the email link anyway and send in my resume. I think to myself, “Fuck it. I’ll just apply and see what happens.”
A couple of days go by and I get an email from Santos@WidgetsXpress.com with a long description of the interviewing process. The second major red flag should have been the fact that the email noted: “Dress appropriately.” It is no secret in the hospitality industry that the stricter the dress code at a nightclub, the more likely it is that the venue is used to dealing with a certain audience which requires a strict dress code. A club that says “no denim” on their door should be avoided at all costs; you might get stabbed in there. I should have applied this same principal to the office world. The email tells me to be there Monday at 3pm and that “late arrivals will be turned away.”
Monday rolls around. I’m busy with work and personal issues. Time has passed since that initial excitement of talking myself into just throwing caution to the wind. The caution has, in fact, blown right back into my face. I skip the interview.
On Tuesday, another email form Santos: “We missed you yesterday. I take it you’re not interested then?” They actually emailed me back! I felt terrible! I imagined poor Santos sitting there in his office, with a shiny new tie and hot Columbian roast, eagerly awaiting my arrival and I, the pompous asshole that I am, totally standing him up! I replied with an excuse filled apology, promising to make it up to him. Luckily, Santos can meet with me later that night. This can’t be a group interview, I thought. There is no way that they would have even noticed a missing man if it was. I’ve seen these things before; they’re used to people not showing up.
So come the evening, I put on my most appropriate slacks, button up shirt, tie and jacket. I arrive at the address which Santos had emailed me a half hour early. It’s an industrial looking office park off Miramar road. I pull into a parking spot and hop out of the car. It’s damn hot and I’m looking forward to an air conditioned office. I walk in the front door and my heart sinks. Sitting in front of me is a stack clip boards with applications and a note to sign in and wait. FUCK! It IS a group interview!
I grab a clip board and sit at a chair, filling in the information, pouting all the way. Looking back now, it was actually kind of liberating as it was the first time that I could have cared less how I filled out the application. On the job history part, I put “see resume.” I didn’t even say “please.” That’s right, I was a rebellious badass for that seven minute window.
I step back into the parking lot and consider taking off. Then I feel bad that I had this whole exchange with Santos where I promised to be there. I’d look like a total asshole if I left now. I should at least hear him out. A car drives past me a couple of times, looking for a parking spot. It is covered in US Marine Corps stickers, complete with a Marine license plate. I walk back into the office, like the obedient pussy that I am.
A few minutes go by and a girl in her Sunday best walks in. We’ll call her Geek Gurl. “Do you work here?” she inquires. I reply that I don’t. She then notices the stack of clipboards and grabs one. We sit in silence.
The next to walk in is Oorah, whom I recognize from the parking lot, concluding that she was successful in locating a parking spot. She’s actually smoking hot and very well dressed. A fat rock blings on her wedding finger.
A few more minutes pass and in walks Braces Boyface. He looks like a little boy and has braces. I knock my head back, taking in the humiliation of being in a group interview with a kid coming out of high school. I scan the room while asking myself repeatedly, “Is this what I’m reduced to?” Braces Boyface walks past me, then steps back to ask, “Do you work here?” I tell him I don’t and direct him to the clipboards.
A few more victims walk into the fun house. Everyone is dressed up the way kids dress up when they don’t know how to dress up. We sit in silence. I’m texting my misery to my girlfriend when the infamous Santos calls my name, introduces himself and asks me to his office. He seems like a nice guy. He’s dressed like a salesman; slacks and a shirt that don’t match with bulky black boots instead of proper dress shoes. I barely make eye contact with him, continuing my texting. Take that, asshole! That’s what I think of your group “interview” that you’ve duped me into!
In his “office” we chat for a bit. He asks some basic questions and concludes that I have a good resume and am “eligible to meet with the CEO of the company for a second interview.” I’m so good, in fact, that the second interview is in five minutes in the conference room. He leads me there and I sit. Ten minutes later, every single person who was in the waiting room is now in the conference room. Not just everyone who was in the waiting room with me, but also a couple of late comers as well. What the fuck happened to “late arrivals will be turned away?”
So there we are, sitting around this conference table in a place that looks like a community college class room. There is Braces Boyface in the corner, with the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up above his biceps. Next to him is Shy, an Asian girl who looks uncomfortable in her own skin. Then Oorah, sitting very properly with an arched back. Next to her is Phoenix, the spunky read head. The shaved headed late comer sits to her right, a Mira Masian who we’ll call Thug Love, wearing a baggy polo shirt and Dickies. Geek Gurl separates him and I. To my right is Mary Jane, bubbly and ditzy. The group is capped off with an older, very well dressed black man with a passing resemblance to Ving Rhames, who we will call Ving. We exchange stories, waiting for the CEO to show up. The other students seem weary of the ad and a bit suspicious of the “opportunity.” I am relieved that I’m not the only one. Geek Gurl tells me she worked in IT until she was laid off and that she wouldn’t have come in to this interview if she knew if was a group interview. Others agree. I wonder to myself how an office with seven cubicles in an industrial parking lot has the bureaucratic structure to necessitate an actual CEO. Someone asks me if I’m into widgets and if that is why I came. I tell them that I am and it is. Upon hearing this, Thug Love informs me that he thought I worked there.
Fifteen minutes later, we are graced with the presence of the CEO, John. John is a very handsome man in his 40s with a square jaw and sun kissed skin. He wears the uniform of the straight, hip, well off older man: Bright colored, floral patterned, button up designer shirt with big cuffs (not tucked in) and expensive flared jeans accented by pointy dress shoes. He is tall, confident and energetic. I’m reminded of Tony Robins telling people half his size and twice his weight to be more confident.
John sits at the front of the table and spreads out the resumes in front of him. I spy a very professional looking four paragraph cover letter among them. Another application is stapled to a three page resume. Either that particular applicant is the actual ex-Secretary General of the UN or he just doesn’t know how to change font sizes in Microsoft Word. John calls out individual names from the resumes and asks, “So what do you like best about our company so far?” The ancient sales trick of getting people thinking positively. Everyone in the room feeds right into it. People who just a minute ago were telling me they were weary of the job were now sucking up hard enough to put Hoover to shame. Almost everyone’s answer was something to the effect of wanting to be involved with a “growing company.” I wonder if there was some job interviewing advice book which had been passed around by the group without me noticing. Thug Love is still filling out his application. I mentally note that he has shockingly immaculate hand writing. John asks me what I like about the company. I reply that I like widgets.
John is now standing up and in full swing of his sales pitch. He’s writing stuff on the board and asking totally obvious questions designed to get us physically involved and invested. Questions as obvious as, “who drove their car over here today, show of hands!” I don’t raise my hand. I hope he calls on me so I can tell him that I rode my magic carpet instead. John tells us that there are three kinds of widgeteers in the market, the professional widgeteers, the widget enthusiasts and the average widget lovers - widget enthusiasts being the ones we’re targeting. If you ask me, widget enthusiasts are just bitches who don’t have the balls to follow their passion of being professional widgeteers.
Jean smiles enthusiastically, literally the entire time. She nods at all the right junctures. Oorah never un-arches her back and answers with “yes sir” when asked direct questions. Thug Love is that guy in presentations who responds to every point as if the presenter is talking directly to him. Geek Gurl is The Agree-er; nodding and agreeing with everything John says. Phoenix is surprisingly quiet. Shy doesn’t say a word.
As the presentation -I’m sorry- “group interview” gets to the 35 minute point, John is getting into an excited frenzy, telling us about his company’s widget product. Even though his widget product is a total rip off of another widget product I personally own, he’s hyping his brand with no shame. It’s getting out of control. “Take a look at our widgets!” he’s almost shouting, “without a doubt the most revolutionary and original widget product on the market! This other widget that’s been around for many many years is totally bullshit. Our widget is better in every possible way! Our widgets will change the widget landscape! Our widgets will anally rape any widgets that dare get in our way!” Everyone in the room is worked up into a frenzy as well and joining in the chant to burn the homes of all other widget makers. Ving sings John’s widgets’ praises. “In fact,” Ving says, “I heard those other widgets kissed a girl… And they LIKED it!” I fear that any second now, the group is going to tear their clothes off and storm the halls, bludgeoning anyone who stands in the way of this amazing new widget discovery. I tighten my grip on my Bic pen, preparing myself for the possibility of having to use it as a stabbing weapon for self defense.
An hour passes by and John has still not gotten to the part where he tells us what the fucking job actually is. At this point, I’m thinking that this whole thing might not even be about jobs but about just selling the widget product directly to US. As I’m starting to doze off, he finally gets to the point and it went something like this: “So the job is… Selling cantaloupes!” Huh? “Well, we know that people who eat cantaloupes also love widgets. So our plan is to sell cantaloupes to widget lovers.”
The frenzy comes to a pause. “We will make appointments for you and you will go to people’s homes to sell them the cantaloupes.” Ving’s face and tone suddenly changes dramatically. “Wait, this job involves going to people’s homes?” John confirms and quickly prepares himself for anything Ving might throw back at him. The dreaded standoff between the puppet master and that one puppet who just discovered that he has a soul and free will. Ving shakes his head, stands up and walks out the room. John doesn’t miss a beat and continues. I sit there, stewing in envy. I should do that! I should get up and leave this ridiculous charade! Fuck; how come I’m still sitting here? How come my testicals didn’t drop when they were supposed to? I pass on taking John’s business card which serves as my silent rebellion, but can’t muster the strength to just get up and walk out. Partly that, and partly because this whole experience has been such a comedic adventure that I continue writing notes in my calendar to use for future stories and screenplays.
A full two hours have passed since I entered this damned office. John is now doing the thing where he keeps emphasizing “IF we select you for this position, blaw blaw blaw, IF…” The company is pretty exclusive, you see. We are to email John if we are interested in continuing and IF we’re selected, we will be invited to a third “interview.”
When John’s speech is finally over, I’m the first one sprinting for the door. In the parking lot, Thug Love calls out to me. “Aye, homie – you gonna come back for the third interview?” I channel my inner street cred. “Nah.” That’s it – that’s the extent of my street cred. I continue to explain, “He spent an hour selling his brand and five minutes actually telling us what the job is. I’m not feeling it.” He nods, hops into his lowered Chevy and peels out of the parking lot.
Fuck group interviews.
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