Carpe Diem: The Interview Part Two.
by Christina Michael
Tick tock. The day of my “prom” interview has arrived. Recall, I had finally gotten a job interview after nearly a year of searching, day after day, night after night, job board after job board, and after attempting to reinvent my career wheel (law jobs were not the desired gig for a mom needing flexible or part time work). Also, though I had to look presentable, I had absolutely nothing “hip” or modern to wear. And, I needed to sound halfway awake, intellectual, current, and ready to be a “value-add” type. What was becoming my job search mantra came to mind again: Uh oh.
To prepare for this “oh so fun” job interview, I diligently attempted to learn about the organization, practiced my dialogue about my (eons old) job history, and do so after the kids went to bed. To be honest, all I wanted to do after 9:00 p.m. was watch my TiVoed shows (I admit, my TiVoed show of choice was MTV’s “The Hills” until I realized the mother of the main starlet was my age and the starlet was young enough to be my daughter -- depressing), eat some ice cream out of the container (isn’t the new Hagen Dazs Light half the fat so I can eat the entire pint instead of just half of the pint, or does it not work like that?), do a face mask (though I am not the age of “The Hills” starlets, I still break out like a teenager), and close my eyes for just a few minutes until the next day of the same kid-centric life demands.
Having completed my research on the internet, having studied the relevant laws and regulations (somehow I had touched back into the world of law though I thought I had reinvented myself), and having squeezed into a dated outfit with the waistband grinding into me (O.K., I left the corsage at home), I arrive at the “prom” interview. A woman behind a glass partition sizes me up and then takes me to a room alone. In the room, she hands me a formal job description and a list of questions, begins a timer, and leaves. Tick tock. I quickly review my resume, the questions, take a few notes and, 15 minutes later, the nameless woman returns. She seizes the contraband (my chicken scratch notes I had just taken) and escorts me to the interview.