Job interviews as farce
Manjula Lal
Of late, my interviews for various media jobs have been so farcical that I have begun to wonder why they are held at all. In my last three interviews, the editor could have just asked for my photograph, as s/he probably just wanted to see my face and didn¿t have anything to ask me. Perhaps my CV, bristling with the biggest brand names in the media business, is already so formidable that they presume I can do the job at hand - or at least, that they can justify my recruitment to the HR department, which has no clue about the skills and temperament needed to fill the slot at hand, but can recognize an impressive CV when it is put on the table.
The funniest interview was for a slot as news editor of a tabloid. I had a pretty good idea that they were desperate, as I had just a day ago been interviewed by the editor of a magazine of the same group. The big shot who interviewed me at the magazine seemed to have decided that I was the woman for the job mostly on the basis of the fact that I dropped the name of a lady who had spent many years working with him, mentioning she was a friend of mine. The rest of the time he spent asking me what I did in various jobs listed on the CV. He asked me in a desultory fashion, not to pinpoint my strengths and weaknesses. From the look of it, he had never interviewed anyone before—or maybe that was just his style.
At the end of the interview, he said that tomorrow I would have to meet the (celebrity) group editor, and it (meaning my recruitment) was done. The next day, he called to tell me to go to the tabloid and meet its editor. I had no clue at that point that I had been rejected, I thought I was just meeting the tabloid editor as he was another person high on the pecking order of the company.
I arrived half an hour late, as I didn¿t know that the road I usually took was now a one-way lane. The secretary was scandalized at my lack of punctuality. I apologized. After a suitably punitive 10-minute wait, I was lead into the Presence. The ponytailed man in his swanky cabin looked at me blankly, swiveling in his chair. I thought I¿d help him along. "You must have seen my CV," I prompted him gently. He said no, then picked up the phone to curse the magazine editor I had met the previous day, asking him why the CV had not been forwarded to him. While waiting for the email to arrive, he again looked so uncomfortable that I had to break the silence. "Er, am I being considered for the magazine or the tabloid?" I asked, a doubt creeping into my mind. "For the tabloid, of course, he said, looking murderous. "Aren¿t you interested?" I was thrown off balance, but at interviews you always act eager and pleasant. "No, no, of course, I would love to work here", I said.
There was another pregnant silence as he looked into his computer monitor. I don¿t know if he was perusing my CV at this stage, but he suddenly yelled, "Amitabh!" startling me out of my skin. Amitabh came in and my future boss asked him to take me away and explain to me what the job entailed. Here there was a comedy of errors as I offered to extricate my CV from my email, but as soon as I hit gmail I got a pornographic site.
Ägain and again. Amitabh tried to explain that somebody must have fiddled with his computer at night. He actually blushed from embarrassment. Anyway, as the computer guys carried off his hard disk, he explained to me what the job entailed and I said it sounds fine.
Next day, HR was on the phone negotiating my salary. I later found out that the celeb editor of the group had looked at my CV and said I was too old. Considering I was about 20 years younger than him, this was a bit thick. Anyway, when I joined the tabloid, I reall did feel old as it was full of 10+2 graduates who called me ¿Ma¿am.¿ I took to wearing a sari just to distance myself from them. Come February and March, most of them begged for six weeks leave to go take some exam, and I was left carrying almost the entire edition on my shoulders.
At that point, I quit journalism, convinced there had to be better things in the world. I joined a book publishing firm, and learnt how the other half lived, logging in at precisely
An editor of a monthly magazine to whom a friend recommended me spent the first 45 minutes telling me how she runs the magazine. I got glimpses of a control freak, but held my peace. What could be easier than a monthly routine where half the content comes from the parent American company, and the other half is dictated by a bossy editor? Then she realized she hadn¿t asked me anything, and said expansively, "Tell me about yourself". I mumbled apologetically about having quit my real, true profession - journalism - and trying out a new line of work. But she could barely concentrate, as the cops had arrived to seal the office, which was being illegally run from a residential flat.
The cops also took the cake by agreeing to let the office function if it could be proved that it was a media organization. This proof lay not in the magazines lying all over the place but in the HR department providing documentary proof that any employee had done a journalism course. A frantic hunt was launched for the certificate of the lone girl who had indeed done such a course. I had to take my leave, having revealed little about myself. After a week I got an email saying they had found somebody else for the job. On the basis that I was not assertive or articulate, I suppose. Which I wasn¿t, my enthusiasm deflated by her 45-minute presentation.
Long before my list of jobs under ¿Work Experience¿ ran to 15, I had braced myself to answer the obvious interview question: "Why do you change so many jobs?" It was scarcely ever asked, or if it was asked, an answer was not expected. I realized that editors are scared that they may recruit an unsuitable person, and are relieved to know that I¿m unlikely to cling on where I¿m not wanted, going by my track record. The last time I said, "It¿s true that I¿ve shifted around a lot …" the editor dismissively said, "That¿s not a problem."
Some of us wonder, when you have MBAs in the HR department, why not leave it to them to do the recruitment? But editors feel that HR has no clue about these things. Departments called ¿Personnel¿ are now called ¿HR¿ because they sound more modern, more corporate. Thus, when I went for an interview outside journalism, I was startled to find the young HR person sitting there asking me, "First impression is the last impression. Do you agree?" This was probably the first time I was being grilled in the style management gurus expect interviews to be conducted. But I didn¿t understand the gambit, and expressed puzzlement. The guy too realized I didn¿t know the rules of the game, and gave up. He approved me anyway, but then their
As you climb the seniority ladder, the relatively junior editor who interviews you for the job usually ends up justifying the way the department/organization works, trying to hide the understaffing and ad hoc nature of decision-making. That¿s at the interview stage—after you join, they make you feel as if you should be grateful for having been bestowed the favour of employment in the organization. Whatever was clarified in the beginning about nature of duties, or your place in the power structure, is suddenly forgotten. For months, as many as eight or nine, you may not have a computer or chair to yourself. These are not matters which are ever revealed at the interview stage, of course. Or perhaps editors are so distracted that they can¿t remember half the time what they promised you during the interview. The HR johnnies, usually jills these days, only meet you when handing out offer letters, and--a few months down the line--exit interview forms.
So one can only conclude that professional interviews have gone out of style, and we aspirants are called for that one-on-one only to find out whether we look okay and whether our English accents are acceptable. Since I score on both points (neither good-looking nor formidable-looking, neither desi accent nor put-on firang), I suppose my CV will soon stretch to 20 jobs in 25 years…