Here’s
what you need to know about job interviews — no one’s ever ready for them. At
least not in the way you would think. Not you, and not the HR person you’re
talking to. His name is Sherwin, he’s tired: he’s an introvert, and yet he’s
already interviewed half a dozen strangers before 10 AM. And with all the
problems the company’s beset that he is privy to, if he weren’t trying to meet
a quota, he’d probably advise you to run out the fastest way you can. That is
if he likes you, and because you’re the 7th person he’s interviewing before
lunch, he probably hates you already, but don’t worry about it. It’s nothing
personal unless it is.
You
sit in the small meeting room. You hand Sherwin your printed resumé and wonder
if the creases on the edges will somehow be deducted from your points. You know
it won’t be, but you can’t help but worry.
You
sit on the swivel chair he points out for you then tells you to wait a while.
He needs to rush to the bathroom real quick, where he’ll enter a stall, sit on
the bowl, scream soundlessly into his palms. He will walk out after a few
minutes, take his time washing his hands.
“Hello
again,” Sherwin says after returning from the bathroom. He looks over your
resumé. He’s taking quite a while scanning it and you think, hey, didn’t you
review my file already? Don’t worry about it. Again, Sherwin’s tired, and
you’re interviewing for an entry-level position, so your file looks the same as
about 98% of the people who’re interviewing for the same position. He’s read
about a hundred of them already. One thing he’s noticed about all these new resumes,
though, is how fancy they look. Looking at them makes him wonder if he should
update his own this way. He has to get ready, after all. He’s on a 6-month
contract, and he might not get renewed.
But
of course, you don’t know these, so you sit there, waiting, running lines in
your head. You’ve looked up the most common job interview questions. You’re
ready.
Wait,
are you?
“Tell
me something about yourself that’s not in your resumé,” Sherwin says.
“I’m
Margaret, Maggie for short,” you say. You hesitate and think — did I put that
in my resumé? You’re not even sure anymore. You look up at Sherwin, and he’s
looking at you with a most patient look. Not unlike the look your first-grade
teacher, Mrs. Cunanan, gave you when you volunteered to recite a poem in class,
only for you to blank out the moment you stood in front. “Oh captain, my
captain,” you began, even though you had no idea how the rest of that poem
went. That wasn’t the one you memorized; that was what your smartest classmate,
Francis, recited last week. It’s only the first quarter of first grade, but
every parent and teacher at school already knew that he was going to graduate
as your batch’s valedictorian — and they weren’t wrong.
Where’s
Francis now? You have no idea, but then again, why is
that on your mind right now?
“I’m
21 years old — no, I’m — ” You pause and try to peek at your resumé.
“That
one’s here,” Sherwin tells you with a smirk. He’s not mocking you or anything.
Please don’t think that. If only you knew that Sherwin is one of the few
genuinely nice people in this company you’re applying to, only because he won’t
have enough time to see himself turn into one of them.
Why
is it so hard to come up with anything about yourself on the spot? Normally,
you wouldn’t have any trouble. Your mother even accuses you of “making
everything about you.” So why is it so hard right now?
“This
is only my fourth callback since I graduated four months ago,” you find
yourself blurting out.
Sherwin
smiles once more and nods. Finally, something interesting. Though, of course,
you’re not pleased with what just came out of your mouth. “Why would you say
such a thing?” you can just imagine your older sister, Julia, saying, as she
adjusts her glasses on the bridge of her pretty nose. Your mother often reminds
you that you spent your toddler years imitating your older sister, but to what
end, you have no idea. What’s the point of constantly being reminded that you
can mimic your sister all you want and still you’d end up looking like the
fatter and less pretty version that you are? This is one of those things about
you that you wish people won’t see on you — that you work hard at being smart
because that’s all you have over your sister, and yet you know you’ll never
stand out, because no one likes a smart person, at least not in your family.
And
now, out in the real world, without a textbook to land on, it seems like you’re
not even that smart anyway.
“So
what jobs have you applied to?” Sherwin asks, leaning forward like this is an actual
conversation instead of a job interview. This is why Sherwin got this job — he
knows how to make people feel like he has all the time in the world to listen
to them.
“I
interviewed for two editorial assistant positions at Peak Pub,” you say. You cringe.
When you arrived at the lobby of Peak Pub at around 8:45 am two months ago, you
had the gall to roll your eyes at how small it was. But then when the employees
started arriving, you began to realize just how wrong you looked in the context
of this small publishing office. You felt the stiff collar of your pink blouse
scratching the back of your neck and the blisters forming at the back of your
feet caused by the painfully pleather shoes you had on. You then began to notice
your competition and found them aesthetically qualified, just accessories away
from looking like regular employees of the publishing house. Right then, you
knew that there was no way you could possibly get to a second interview, so you
purposefully bombed the one with HR because, why make the effort?
Only
that’s not true. That’s just the story you tell yourself. The truth was, you
tried and still you bombed. You mentioned magazine titles of a competing
publishing house and blanked out on the actual titles of the ones under Peak
Pub. You lied multiple times and were caught point-blank. At the end of both
interviews, the HR assistants didn’t even bother ending with a vague “We’ll
call you”.
“That’s
two, what’s the third one?”
Sherwin
is quick. He may be tired, but he’s keen when he’s interested. And you can see
that he finds you interesting.
So,
should you remain interesting? Or employable?
“I
applied for a ground stewardess job,” you say. You hope you don’t look too
embarrassed. Nothing against the job. It’s just that people look at you funny
when you say that you applied for a ground stewardess job. When you ask why,
they say, not vaguely, “You just don’t look the part.”
“Interesting.
Care to share more?” he asks, tilting his head, surreptitiously writing on your
file.
“I
just applied to see if they would call me for an interview. And they did.”
Sherwin
nods. He puts his pen and your file down. You try to take a peek at what he’s
written.
“What
do you write when you’re writing on an applicant’s file?” you ask when Sherwin
notices you looking. You’ve subconsciously decided to be interesting, after
all.
He
turns the file upside down and smiles at you. “Oh you know, observations,
quotes. We interview a lot of people, so it’s best to write things down.”
“So
are you also going to write down the fact that I asked you that question?”
He
nods. “Most likely.” He picks up his pen once again, but only to return the cap
on it. “So, tell me about your ground stewardess interview.”
You
clear your throat. “Well, I spent the entire day in there with at least 20
co-applicants. The office looked like an old warehouse. The first part, we had
a quick exam. Then after lunch, they called only a few of us in and said the
rest could leave. We had a panel interview. All the applicants were inside the
room while each of us was grilled, so we got to watch each other sweat in our
seats. That lasted for about an hour. And then, after another break, we were
called in for one-on-one interviews. I made it until then, so I thought I stood
a chance. They haven’t called me back, though. It’s been two months.”
“Are
you still waiting?”
You
shrug. You enjoyed that day, despite feeling sad seeing some of your
co-applicants leave after each level. Somehow you’d managed to bond with a
group of strangers you had nothing in common with over just a couple of hours.
This is surprising because you normally have trouble making friends. Didn’t you
spend the last year of college a basic loner because Vim, the one friend you’d
made the first three years, had to drop out?
“Which
one would you choose, if you get a job offer from us and from that company?”
You’re
stumped. If you were allowed to be honest, you’d probably pick the ground
stewardess job, just because you don’t actually like the vibe you get from this
office, just by walking through its hallway. But is that even a real reason?
You
can see that Sherwin is seeing something in your hesitation. “That will
probably depend on the offer, huh?” he says, not expecting you to answer. He makes
a quick note on your file. “So, what are your strengths and weaknesses?”
“Strengths?”
you repeat. Then you look at your ingrown nail, the one you’d picked at
earlier. You have no idea that it bled, but there it is, the blood staining the
index fingernail bed. You start to feel the sting the moment you notice it.
“My
strengths,” you repeat. Then you sigh. You were never taught to name your
strengths growing up. The only thing you ever heard from your mother and father
were things you could “improve” on.
“Can
we start with my weaknesses?” you ask.
Sherwin’s
eyebrows shoot up. “Any reason why? We can start with either, but I find it
curious that you’d ask to start with your weaknesses.”
“It’s
just easier,” you say, not bothering to filter yourself now.
“I
appreciate your candor,” Sherwin says.
“Do
you?” you ask. You’re on a roll. You’re now thinking about all your ongoing job
applications, and how this one isn’t actually on your list of the ones you’re
praying to get. But who are you kidding? At this point, you just want to be
employed, bad vibes be damned. Even though your parents are constantly telling
you to be patient and that the job for you will arrive in God’s time. What is
God’s time anyway? Isn’t time a human construct?
Sherwin
laughs. “Can I guess one weakness of yours?”
“Sure.”
“Just
a guess. You have mood swings,” he says. He then tilts his head, waiting for
you to react.
“Is
that a weakness?”
“Right.”
Sherwin laughs, a little nervously. For the first time, he seems young and
unable.
You
chuckle to break the awkwardness. “It’s true, though. I can be moody. I’m
pretty temperamental. At least that’s what my mother says. I’m too transparent
with my feelings, she often adds.”
“You
know you can spin that into a strength, right?”
“You
can?”
“Yeah.
You can say that you’re a “what you see is what you get” type of person.”
You
nod. “But can’t that also mean that you have no layers as a person?”
Sherwin
snorts then nods in agreement. “Well, let’s see, I guess now you can say that
one of your strengths is that you like to see things from different
perspectives.”
“Thanks,”
you say, somehow confused.
“And
you know how to be grateful when someone gives you a compliment, instead of
brushing it off.”
“Wow,”
is all you can say. You look at Sherwin, wonder how old he is, and if this is
his first or second job. He doesn’t look that much older than you. In fact, he
only seems older because he’s the one with the company ID and the job.
“Can
I ask you something?” you say.
“Go
ahead,” Sherwin says.
“Is
this your first job?”
“No.
This is my second.”
“Oh.”
“Why’d
you ask?”
“Just
curious.”
“There,
another strength. You’re a curious person. See, you have plenty of strengths.
You could’ve easily started with that.”
You
smile. You try to sit up straighter. Something is gnawing at you, and it’s
this: you want Sherwin to be your friend, but you’re sure you won’t get the
job. You wonder if you can call him for advice or whenever you need cheering
up. You also wonder if you can say all these things to his face, in the spirit
of honesty, since that’s apparently where this interview is going. But you
don’t. Because there’s still a few minutes to the interview, and who knows, you
might just turn this one around.
“Okay,
then, moving on, where do you see yourself five years from now?”
“Five
years?” That’s the one you’re always nervous about answering. “I really don’t
know.” Although you do know. You know plenty. You daydream a lot about your
future, so much that you forget about existing properly in the present. You
bump into things, accidentally hit people on your way, mutter apologies like
enchantments, and then you’re surprised why you have so many bruises at the end
of the day.
“Five
years,” you repeat. “In five years, I would like to be proud of myself.” You’re
surprised at how true this seems.
Sherwin’s
expression softens. “That’s nice. And I’m not just saying that.”
Now,
Sherwin’s in a bind. You don’t know this, but he likes you and thinks you
deserve better than this company that won’t renew his contract in three months,
no matter how hard he works and no matter how well suited he is to his job. But
then he thinks this company might stand a chance with a person like you within
its midst.
Who
is he kidding? This company is well beyond repair. It’s
a corporation with rules and standards that some mere mortals made up years ago
which they somehow can’t bend even when bending is the only humane thing to do.
But
is this interview even about the company? Isn’t this about Margaret slash
Maggie, 21, recent college graduate, on her fourth job interview since graduating
last April? And anyway, he doesn’t have the last say. He knows you’ll have to
go through at least one more writing exam, then a panel interview, and one last
meeting with the department head. The ball’s not in his court.
And
the truth is, he’d very much like to see you again, even if it’s just to usher
you into your panel interview and wish you luck.
But
of course, you know none of these. In front of you, Sherwin has a professional
smile — friendly but distant, betraying none of his thoughts and biases.
“Okay,
well, do you have any questions for me?” he asks.
“That’s
it?” you ask. Sherwin nods. He regards you one last time with a tilted head.
You note the tiny mole on the tip of his nose. It stands out like a nice
afterthought. You marvel at the randomness of human features. You wonder if you
have an interesting mole on your face. It’s been a while since you studied your
face in the mirror without inspecting it for faults.
“What
are the next steps, if ever…”
He
walks you through the next steps and you nod. You wonder if you bombed the
interview. You did not, at least not in the traditional sense. You don’t know
yet, but you will be called in for the writing exam, but you won’t get a
callback after that. You’ll get a different job, and so will Sherwin.
There
are a lot of things you don’t know, of course. In five years, you still won’t
be proud of yourself, but you’ll remember that interview. Most of all, you’ll
remember Sherwin, and how he managed to see your strengths even though you were
so hellbent on seeing only your faults. You’ll realize that not everyone in the
real world will give any such a gift, even the people that you love. And so in
the next five years or so, you’ll try to be a Sherwin for other people,
spinning weaknesses into strengths. You won’t be as good with it when applying
it to yourself, but you’ll keep on trying anyway.
So,
no, you did not bomb the interview, at least not in the traditional sense. But,
you won’t get a job out of it. You’ll get something better. But you won’t know
it until you fail this one.
Kannika Claudine D. Peña
Kannika Claudine D. Peña is a freelance writer based in Bataan, Philippines. She graduated with a degree in Creative Writing from the University of the Philippines, Diliman.