Posted my sorry tale on RichardCranium's dressing gown thread and then thought "this deserves it's own worst interview thread"...
...reading the new adventures of RC and so of the others, so a little tale to cheer you all up. Have been on the bench for 4 months now with one or two telephone interviews and put forward for about 10 gigs. November just gone I apply for a good 'un (money, location, IB, perfect fit for skills and experience) in the City and get invited to an agency interview at 11am. Excellent news.
Night before...
Shave? Check.
Ironed shirt? Check.
Decent suit? Check.
Polished shoes? Check.
Certificates? Check.
Copies of C.V.? Check.
Sleep? No chance...
So, am up at 7 bright-eyed and bushy tailed. Cat fed in my boxers so no cat hair transference. Catch the bus to the station in plenty of time. Get the train into town in plenty of time. Get on the Northern Line up to Bank in plenty of time. Change onto the Central Line to get to Chancery Lane. The train leaves Bank and then stops.
And waits.
And waits.
For those of you that don't know the Central is quite warm. It gets warmer. And warmer. And warmer. I start to sweat like a virgin in a brothel. Remove jacket and beg some tissues off some Jap tourists. Try to pat myself down and control the rivers of water coming from my fevered brow. Eventually the train crawls into Chancery Lane and I sprint to the agency office. Only 15 minutes late which is manageable, but still trying to make myself look presentable and give off an aura of calm. Meet the agency chap, firm handshake, look attentive, good answers, smiles, impressions of a good interview. Flirt a little with the receptionist on the way out. Good vibes all round.
Get back in the lift to leave. There is a mirror in the lift. I see my reflection.
With a good inch long piece of sodden tissue hanging from my forehead.
Didn't get the job. Got very, very drunk from lunchtime that day. Come to think of it, I think I will get drunk now.
Chin up, everyone. It will all come good in the end.
Any other harrowing stories?
...reading the new adventures of RC and so of the others, so a little tale to cheer you all up. Have been on the bench for 4 months now with one or two telephone interviews and put forward for about 10 gigs. November just gone I apply for a good 'un (money, location, IB, perfect fit for skills and experience) in the City and get invited to an agency interview at 11am. Excellent news.
Night before...
Shave? Check.
Ironed shirt? Check.
Decent suit? Check.
Polished shoes? Check.
Certificates? Check.
Copies of C.V.? Check.
Sleep? No chance...
So, am up at 7 bright-eyed and bushy tailed. Cat fed in my boxers so no cat hair transference. Catch the bus to the station in plenty of time. Get the train into town in plenty of time. Get on the Northern Line up to Bank in plenty of time. Change onto the Central Line to get to Chancery Lane. The train leaves Bank and then stops.
And waits.
And waits.
For those of you that don't know the Central is quite warm. It gets warmer. And warmer. And warmer. I start to sweat like a virgin in a brothel. Remove jacket and beg some tissues off some Jap tourists. Try to pat myself down and control the rivers of water coming from my fevered brow. Eventually the train crawls into Chancery Lane and I sprint to the agency office. Only 15 minutes late which is manageable, but still trying to make myself look presentable and give off an aura of calm. Meet the agency chap, firm handshake, look attentive, good answers, smiles, impressions of a good interview. Flirt a little with the receptionist on the way out. Good vibes all round.
Get back in the lift to leave. There is a mirror in the lift. I see my reflection.
With a good inch long piece of sodden tissue hanging from my forehead.
Didn't get the job. Got very, very drunk from lunchtime that day. Come to think of it, I think I will get drunk now.
Chin up, everyone. It will all come good in the end.
Any other harrowing stories?
Comment