Misdirection and a side of coleslaw…

     “As a valued employee, what do you think you could bring to us here at Bob’s Fried Chicken Shack?”
     How does one gauge his or her response to such a question presented in such a manner? Should the answer be based on abilities alone or perhaps on physical prowess? If the answer is too short then the inability to communicate will be known. On the other hand, if the answer is too long, then the employer might experience a sense of inferiority and you will be deemed “over-qualified”.
     I made this mistake previously while applying at a local hospital. The position was the graveyard shift concerning historical data entry. My answer was apparently too long. An hour of my life was wasted. I died a little bit more inside; minus 5 confidence points. Moving on…
     I clear my throat a bit and respond, “I hope to bring a positive and attentive work attitude to this established environment and I can only pray that my best can be sufficient for the tasks and tribulations ahead of me.”
     The person in front of me is somewhere in his early twenties, possibly still in his late teens. He seems to be looking at his notes, but clearly is just stalling for time to have a sort of air about him. His breath is crusty and makes me think of old fillings. We’re sitting in one of the booths toward the back. The place reminds me of the Seventies. Brown, green, yellow, and orange cover everything in the joint. If it wasn’t for the overpowering smell of chicken, I’d think of was in some kind of bad porno flick. Hmm, maybe the smell only intensifies the feeling. All I'd have to do is wait for a man to walk up to me and offer to fix my cable.
     “No thanks, as you can see I just got out of the shower and besides, I just don’t roll that way…” I mutter to myself.
     “Excuse me, did you just say something?”
     Crap, that one was a little too loud.
     “No sir, ahem… I was just clearing my throat and I didn’t want to be rude…”
     “Oh, well then, everything seems to be in order.”
     He shuffles his all two papers.
     “The duties for the position are to deal with customers, take their orders, and then go to the bins and process their meals. Go ahead and come in on Thursday and we’ll have a training schedule ready for you.”
     He stands up.
     “Welcome aboard.”
     I give him a warm smile, shake his hand and then walk through the doors out to the parking lot.

     Overtime you get used to these sorts of interviews. Everyone goes through a couple of jobs before finding the one you get suckered into finally for the rest of your life. Me? I guess you could say I’m still looking, but not really looking too hard…
     I’ve had exactly one hundred twenty-three interviews in the last three years. Twenty-three of those interviews ended with a “we’ll call you in a couple of days if we do need the position filled” or an “I’m sorry, you just aren’t what we’re looking for”. Oh yeah, and there’s also the business about the over-qualification jazz. Ninety-nine of the interviews ended with, well, me getting the job. You’re probably thinking that only accounts for one hundred and twenty-two interviews. You’re right. One of the interviews ended with the death of the store manager. Don’t worry, I didn’t kill him; funny story…

     During that interview, the man had a habit of talking to me with his mouth full. I can only imagine that he was absent the day they taught how to conduct interviews in Junior High. He popped a corn nut into his mouth and then mid sentence started choking. We were in the back of this electronics store and no one was around to save him so it seemed it was all up to me. I had never had any training for that sort of thing so I first tried to give him the Heimlich maneuver. When that didn’t work I thought that if I applied more pressure it would help. I drop kicked him; at least that’s what the official report says. I thought it would seriously work. Fortunately the security camera caught the whole incident on tape so there was substantial evidence that homicide was not the cause of death. After everything was straightened out at the police station I learned that if you slip the detective fifty bucks, then he’ll actually give you copies of any surveillance material they’ve already had a look at. I’ve got the tape to this day sitting on top of my coffee table.

     I walk over to my car and lean on the door. I drive a Dodge Stratus. I know, I know. I’ve heard them all before… I start digging into my pocket for my last pack of cigarettes. I quit today, or at least I think I quit today. I open the pack and count seven more cigarettes.
     “Let’s see how long these last,” I chuckle to myself.
     I take one out of the pack; twirl it around once between my pointer and middle finger and on the last half of the rotation slip the thing into my mouth. When lit, it feels like heaven. I’m sure when their gone it’ll feel like hell. I take a long drag and think about Bob and his chicken shack. My interview had gone exactly as I had planned. Take for example my response to my interviewer’s last question. I first start out with what he wants to hear, that I’m a hard and dedicated worker, but then add that the piece of crap shack that he manages is an “established environment”. The part I left out was the part that establishes it as a health violation with a part-time drug trafficking business in the parking lot. Tack on a “pray” and reference to “tribulations” and I automatically please the Christian demographic.
     I didn’t always have this formula. Most of the interviews that went bad were mainly the ones during the first year. You just don’t find yourself in an interview position very often, and if you do it’s never in bulk to the point where you need to remember what you exactly did the last time. Usually you try a couple of times and then eventually get hired and then never have to take an interview until you leave that job which could be months or even years. For me though, it’s just about the interview. You find out what works and then eventually it just becomes mechanical.
     It’s too bad for good ol’ Bob though. I won’t be going in on Thursday for my training schedule. I actually already have a job. I’ve had it for the past five years. I work freelance translating books for publishers. I just sit in my office waiting for the FedEx guy to knock on my door, hand me a package and then translate the hell out of it until the next batch comes in. Sometimes the companies vary it up and send representatives or authors over when they have specific needs for the book or whatever else they can make up. Obsessive compulsive is more like it. I enjoy the work for the most part, but it’s nothing to write home about. That is, unless what I wrote home about needed to be translates into French, or Latin, or Japanese or whatever else you could possibly force me to do.
     Why the interviews then? Two years after I started the job I got bored. I stepped out of my office and went down the road a few blocks to a coffee shop I had never been to. It was a new business and it looked like it was its first day open. I remember that I stepped up to the counter and asked for a coffee.
     The man asked if he could help me with anything else and all of a sudden my mouth vomited out the words, “Are you guys hiring?”
     The next thing I knew I was filling out applications and being led into the backroom for an interview. Thirty minutes later I had a new job and by the time I realized it a cold cup of coffee. I couldn’t believe at what I had just done, but at the same time I didn’t have the heart to tell the guy that I wasn’t serious. After that day, whenever I was finished with all my work, I would go out and look for help wanted signs. It’s just something to do. I’m actually the type of guy that’s really shy and lack any kind of real confidence. It just sort of became this game. Victimless crimes are what I think of them as. Over the last three years, I’ve been hired by ninety-nine companies and not once have I gone in on a Thursday for a training schedule.