I just got back from my interview and... *shudder* Let me describe the situation to you.
I walked in the door, dressed professionally as requested (which, I'm sorry, but it's probably a bad sign if you actually have to remind people that it's inappropriate to waltz in wearing jeans and a printed T), resume in hand, and mine eyes were assaulted by an extremely offensive shade of purple.
The office was an inexplicably off shade of lavender, except for one wall which was painted in a deeper version of the same nauseous purple. It was as though lilac and baby-poo brown had tried to mate. It was here in this poorly designed lobby that I was doomed to wait a whopping 45 minutes... 35 minutes after my scheduled time.
The secretary, who did not greet me, was wearing a green polyester pant suit with, I kid you not, 4-inch tall, platformed on faux wood, black, imitation-patent-leather pumps. The only reason I know this is because her desk was transparent glass held up by spray-painted aluminum, and there were gaps between the exposed
While on the phone, she directed me to a clip-board with a pen and motioned toward the chairs. There ware already three people sitting down. I started filling out my sheet and I soon realize that the secretary is on the phone scheduling a zillion more interviews. One right after the other. She sounds like a vocal form letter. A few minutes later, a girl came in wearing a very fashion-forward outfit (pencil skirt, gathered-silk blouse) and turned on a CD player before disappearing behind "the door." I say this, because aside from the strange, four-paneled closet door like the one I had in my room when I was a child, it was the only door besides the one we all came in through.
The CD, which was a mix, consisted of (in its entirety, I got to listen to the entire thing. Lucky me.) every single Third Eye Blind song ever played on the radio, Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls, Oblivion by Eve 6, some more Third Eye Blind just for good measure, and was rounded off by four Something Corporate songs. Oh, and it was loud.
Not exactly what I'd call professional. I wondered, briefly, if they were trying to scare away some of the less formidable applicants. The weak, polite, and moral would not be able to tolerate such blatant disregard for convention. Surely, the four-letter-words embedded in these songs would get under their skins and they would leave in a huff, aghast at the gall of these Godless young hipsters. In fact, I really thought the older woman sitting next to me was going to explode.
People kept trickling in. A man in his late 40's, a couple of 20-somethings - one male one female. They were by far the most interesting.
She and I had almost identical outfits, which made me like her instantly, plus she kept getting up and pacing around. We were kindred spirits. She was just as restless as I was, and her boldness broke the ice. I got up out of my chair too, which was good because my butt had fallen asleep. I also liked her shoes. I think they were from Aldo.
He, on the other hand, was very baby-faced and looked extremely nervous. I think he might have been a drummer, because he kept tapping his fingers and moving his feet in sync, catching himself, stopping instantly, and then looking around in a sheepish sort of way. Remarkably enough, he was also the only one who seemed to know how to pick a decent suit.
The older man, and the man who did the interviewing (code name: Douchey U. McBlabberson, DUMB for short) had atrocious business attire. While the applicant's suit was a fairly plain black suit, it was also vaguely shiny (probably a really unfortunate polymer blend) and wrinkled. I didn't even know you could do that to polyester! As for DUMB, his suit was the color of Grey Poupon, which perfectly matched his hair. His was also wrinkled in the back, and about three sizes too large. He was swimming in it. When I shook his hand, his sleeve slid down and hit my fingers. That is not supposed to happen.
The interview was very brief, and DUMB was a very slick talker. He spoke quickly, he stared you down, but he was easy to read. He would move his eyebrows up a titch if he heard something he liked. So I laid it on thick. Why not?
Unfortunately, he did the same. Oh yes we raise money for D.A.R.E., Toys for Tots, and a number of other Children's Charities... BY ADVERTISING THE SHIT OUT OF NASCAR. WOO DAWGY.
Okay, so he didn't actually say that in so many words... I'm paraphrasing. So... the concept is advertising for children, but not at children. And every year, CEO Whatshisface writes nice fat checks to the aforementioned charities, takes a picture of said checks, blows them up, and puts 'em on the wall of the lobby. Not joking.
Whatever. They were very taken with me. So DUMB decided to "bend the rules" and put me through to a "shadow day" on Monday, starting at 10. Whoopee.
As I left, the cool!girl looked at me and mouthed "Did it go well?" I nodded, and she gave me the thumbs up. The only way this job will possibly work is if she gets hired too... and I get to burn that mix CD. Oh, and the walls need a new color of paint or I might get an aneurysm.
... Please God, don't make me work there. Their website is so irritating and it is riddled with grammatical errors. They have skeezy Entrepreneur "make your million in a year" publications all over, and it's just gross. I know I have bills to pay, but I am so much better than this.