The interview

It wasn’t too bad. In fact, I think it went well.

I’ve been nervous for several days. I hardly ate at all yesterday, and I had to force myself to have breakfast this morning. I dried my hair very carefully today, and put on my new suit and gathered up my resume, and then I got in the car and drove to the office. Well, sort of—I got lost once along the way, but since I had allowed myself 48 minutes for a 15-minute drive, I had plenty of time to turn around once I figured it, and I still had time to sit in the car and breathe for a while before I went in.

My counselor told me yesterday that depression manifests itself in different ways. For some people, they don’t sleep much, or they sleep more, or their eating habits change. Some people, he said, get lost easily. I thought that was an odd statement, but I have gotten lost several times lately. It’s like there is a loose wire somewhere in the section of my brain that is supposed to say “turn left!” or “this doesn’t look right”.

He also said that depression is repressed anxiety. I’d never heard it put quite that way. I am prone to depression—no secret there—but I hadn’t thought about it in terms of anxiety. The times I have been most depressed have also been at times of extreme anxiety: my freshman year of college, my first winter in China, any time I’m out of work (now, for instance…). The difference is, I am better at managing depression now than when I was 18. I know that I need to exercise every day—or as close to it as I can manage; and I need to get outside every single day, even if it’s only for ten or twenty minutes in the rain. I need to eat. And I need to sleep a reasonable amount, and at a reasonable hour.

But now back to the interview. I took the elevator to the second floor (not the stairs, although I always take stairs when I can, and I felt a little guilty riding up one floor in the elevator). As my sister said, you don’t want to arrive out of breath for an interview, and when you’re already nervous and then you climb a long flight of stairs, that’s not a good combination. I didn’t want to pass out in the lobby.

I signed in at the busy reception desk, where I was given a packet with my name on it and an application, and directed to a little desk in the corner. I was relieved to see a desk, because it’s hard to write neatly while balancing a folder on my knees. While I concentrated on writing neatly and not forgetting any questions, I listened to the receptionist answering the phone. “He went cuckoo?” she said at one point. “Cuckoo?”

After I finished the application, I handed it in up front and sat down in the reception area. And then I waited. And waited. And waited. I scanned through the materials in the packet and pretended to read the information while I sat up very straight and tried not to do anything noticeably nervous or embarrassing. I drank some water. I wiped my right hand dry over and over on my pants so I wouldn’t have a clammy handshake. And I waited some more.

Finally, twenty minutes after the scheduled time, the interviewer came out to get me.

I did fine, I think. The handshakes went well. She got me a glass of water. She and the assistant whose job I was applying for asked me a series of fairly easy questions about my qualifications for the job, my organizational skills, etc. That lasted only about twenty minutes, during which they were seemingly very relaxed and casual. (They were also both wearing jeans, which surprised me since I was in a suit. “Casual Friday,” my dad said later when I told him. It occurred to me that everyone I had seen in the office was wearing jeans. I guess it is Friday, isn't it.)

I didn’t even feel nervous once I got in there and started talking. My hands weren’t even shaking, as they do whenever I’m anxious. They were both friendly and laughing, and I wished I had met the supervisor before I had my phone interview with her, because I might have been able to read her better over the phone when she asked me the original series of hard-nosed questions that made me cry later.

Then they asked if I had any questions for them. I did, in fact. I had written down several thoughtful questions in my notebook the night before, and then I memorized them. There was a question that related to the computer system used by the department, and a question that demonstrated that I had reviewed their website, and a question about the scope of the organization itself, and a question that referred to a detail of the job description. (I have learned in HR that having thoughtful questions prepared sets one apart from other applicants, and demonstrates one’s real interest in the job. I hope that came across.)

The whole thing took only 30 minutes, not counting the application and the waiting. I left with a good feeling about the interview. I thought to myself, I could be content working here. Maybe not challenged or deliriously happy, but content. I don’t want to be unemployed forever and lose my house, and I know I could do this job. Is that so bad?

They’re supposed to let me know either way by Tuesday. Why is it that these decisions always seem to take the length of a weekend to make? Couldn’t they interview everyone on a Monday and let them know by Wednesday? Then I could at least enjoy my Saturday.

Honestly, I’m okay either way. If nothing else, it was good practice, and I did so much better than I thought I would. Is this the return of some confidence?