I was talking online with some folks the other day, and I suggested that we all create a new post of our worst job interview ever, and build a big linkfest. Well, here’s my interview post, and everyone else is welcome to join in.
I was working at Arby’s at the time, my first job after college. The pay sucked and the work was worse (meat jello?) and I was anxious to get out of the food business entirely and do something productive. That’s when I found the ad.
The help wanted ad wasn’t very descriptive. I don’t recall exactly the wording of it now, since it was so long ago, or what really drew my eye to it. I think it read something like, “Self-starters with management potential wanted. Start on ground floor of art warehousing business. Great money, great hours.” In all, anything was more attractive than slicing meat for 20 hours a week, so I called the number. The job, while still not explicitly defined during my phone call, sounded intriguing. They invited me to an interview to check out the operation and learn more about the job. So began my wildest interview ever…
The office building for this “art warehouse” was located just East of King of Prussia mall, so it was pretty easy to find. From the outside, the building didn’t look like it had much room for art - it wasn’t much of a warehouse. No, it was a round-roofed building, like the kind they use to grow mushrooms.
I took the stairs up to the office door and entered into a very open, round waiting room. I checked in at the desk, saying that I had a rrived for my interview. The receptionist said that someone would be with me shortly, and indicated a set of chairs near the lobby wall.
Two of those three chairs were occupied by other people, and I sat in the empty one. They didn’t seem very into talking - being competative about this potential position, I guess - and all three of us sat, waiting.
In a short while, I noticed an odd noise from the door a few feet to my right. There were some muffled voices coming from it when I first sat down, which I didn’t pay any mind to, but this new noise started quietly at first, and then got louder. I realised that there were many people on the other side of that door, and they were all chanting!
The chanting started to get louder and louder, and although I couldn’t understand what they were saying, I wondered if I was really in the right place or not. This wonderment ended swiftly though, as 10 to 15 people burst through the door in a whoot, and broke into applause that was apparently intended for themselves. Some kind of morning motivational whooping? Who knows?
Before I had much chance to think about it, someone approached and introduced himself. We shook hands. He said, “Come with me and I’ll show you our operation.” Well, that’s what I was there for. Ok!
As we left the mushroom building and headed down the stairs, I tried to convince myself that it might be nice having co-workers that were enthusiastic about their jobs, and that motivational chanting might not be so bad. I guess that I was trying really hard because I wasn’t fully cognizant of my companion’s request to, “Go ahead and get in the car.”
I was thinking, “Aha. I knew there must be a warehouse somewhere.” So I asked how far we needed to go. He said that our destination was just up through Norristown, which was a reasonably short drive from where we were. Hmm, ok.
I was in the car and looking around. The car itself was a station wagon, and the back was full of cardboard junk. Big sheets of it in big cardboard boxes. They tottered around in the back as we headed up 202 toward our destination.
I asked a few questions as we went, and maybe I was just hypnotized by the chanting, or the exhilaration of the interview was getting to me, or perhaps it was my preoccupation with the guy’s one-handed driving while slurping coffee, but I don’t even remember what I asked or if any of his responses made any sense. Looking back on it, maybe they drugged me somehow.
After a while, we made our first stop. We parked in a small strip mall lot. The “interviewer” dude got out of the car, went to the hatchback, and pulled out several of the sheets of cardboard. These sheets all had metal frames, unlike most of the boxed sheets.
Handing a pair to me, he said, “When you hear me say the words, ‘beautiful artwork’, you open this up like this…” At this point he did not open the frames, but indicated as much with his hands, hinging his arms at the elbow. “Got it?” Uh, yeah, sure. And before I can even think, he grabs his set of cardboard and takes off toward the rightmost store in the plaza.
I think it was a carpet place. As I said, my memory of the whole thing is fuzzy, but there are some details that stand out.
So we walk in this carpet store, ringing the little bell on the glass door. There is a counter island near the front of the store, inside which stand two older, fatter, Italian looking (ok, fine, “mafia-looking”) gentlmen. Dude launches into his schpiel. “Good morning gentlemen, I am so-and-so from such-and-such a company…”
Meanwhile, I’m standing there with two large framed pieces of cardboard in my hands, wearing my interview outfit; a tie, a nice shirt, pants, etc. These two guys aren’t looking at dude, they’re looking at me. They seem to want to smoke a cigar. I suddenly feel like a cigar.
I almost miss it when dude says “beautiful artwork”, and I quickly whip apart the frames. Note that I’m not looking at what’s inside. I’m looking at the mafia kingpins.
“Dinnchoo guys see the ‘No solicitors’ sign on the dowa?” Says the first guy. “You got a license ta sell doze dowa ta dowa?” Dude says something which shouldn’t have surprised me by this point, like, “Yeah, it’s in the car if you need to see it, but we’re just here selling art, so what do you think?”
“Git da hell outta heeya before I call da cops.”
It was clear when we immediately left that Dude wasn’t pleased with the outcome of his first attempt of the day. But his morning pep talk was still running strong in his veins. That and the coffee and the near-death-expereince driving.
We chucked the “art” into the station wagon and hit the road, stopping at every business we could find along the way. He would give the speech, I would stand there and show the product on cue.
We were about to sell some posters to the nurses at a veterinary hospital, when the vet came out to get her next dog patient and put the kibosh on dude’s first sale of the day.
We got “lost” somewhere briefly. After a while I gave up the impression that dude was even concerned about where he was on the planet. In any case, by the time we ended up somewhere in Bethlehem (yes, Bethlehem is about 50 miles North) it was about time for lunch.
Wait. Wasn’t this a morning interview?
We stopped at a mom and pop lunch shack and he bought me lunch, in spite of selling nothing so far. He made a point of that, too.
He asked me what I thought of the business, and having my fill of showing art to people who wanted mostly to see me dead, I told him my complete honest feelings as everyone should during an interview - I didn’t think this was the job for me.
Thankfully, he didn’t see much sense in dragging me around for the rest of the afternoon if I wasn’t interested, so as soon as we finished lunch and tried to sell mom and pop some art (no, really- we ate, left the place, got the posters, and went back in), we were back on the road home.
When we arrived back at the mushroom building, I got immediately in my car and went off to call in late for work that afternoon.
Sometimes I’m surprised I’m not dead in a ditch somewhere.
Care to share your own interview horror stories? Leave a comment or post on your own blog and trackback/pingback here!
