Welcome to Dipshit Friday, where today I will be sharing with you one of my biggest job interview failures. This particular failure took place back when I was in college.
As now, I was a much better writer than I was at presenting myself in person. I was also young and unschooled in the idea that one might want to, you know, prepare for a job interview.
I don’t even remember what year in college it was, but I had applied to be a summer intern at Spy Magazine in New Yawk City. Do you remember that magazine? It was fantastic and I think I would be a great asset to it.
Too bad it no longer exists.
I’d submitted some humor pieces and, lo and behold, the powers-that-be at Spy actually liked them. They invited me to interview in New York and I moved heaven and earth and called in a favor to get a place to stay. Well, I made my sister call in a favor, but it’s kinda the same thing.
Anywho, I spent a weekend in New York, which was fun and all, but what I really want to tell you about was the hour I spent interviewing.
First of all, I dressed as a Berkeley college student, and an ill-fashioned one at that. In case you’re wondering, haphazard Berkeley college student doesn’t scream New York. Especially if that haphazard Berkeley college student wears a short, yellow, flowered dress with black knit tights.
But that wasn’t the worst thing. I started off WAY on the wrong foot by not being able to locate the front door of the building I was supposed to go to. Being Stimey though, I did find the back door and rode up in the freight elevator making my triumphant entrance into THE BREAK ROOM of Spy Magazine.
Shortly thereafter I managed to locate the front desk and, by the way, fantastic way to impress your potential bosses with your intelligence by showing them that you can’t find the front door of A GIANT OFFICE BUILDING.
I was summoned by the managing editor of the magazine, who led me back to the office where I would be doing my interview. I stepped on the back of her shoe, tripping both of us.
I have no recollection of the man who interviewed me, mostly because I was so traumatized by the too-late realization that this was an actual job interview, which might have required more preparation than just subscribing to the magazine.
I very adeptly demonstrated my complete cluenessness about the magazine, at the same time managing to tell them that I sure did prefer the short, funny, front-of-the-book pieces to the much longer and harder to read actual articles that came later.
It gets kind of fuzzy after that.
It may come as a shock to you that I wasn’t hired for this particular position, but I did learn a valuable lesson about job interview skills. Also? They were kind enough to kick my idiot ass out the front door.