Worst interviews ever #1: Small cap stocks

I've definitely hated every interview I've ever been through, but three stand out in my mind as being particularly torturous experiences, from which I am scarred to this day. (Well, the first one below wasn't really scarring, but a list of two is kind of lame.)

In general, I am a profoundly anxious person who sees little pointy white stars of
panic in my peripheral vision when being interviewed. In order to keep my mind from blue-screening with fear in such situations, I talk at speeds that cannot be measured by a man-made device, and form sentences of dubious syntax. This character flaw was definitely my downfall in #3, which we will get to soon. May I begin with a Freysian disclaimer that in no way are any of these anecdotes not tainted by my bad memory and possible embellishments, but they remain about 98% truthy.

And with no further delay:

# 1: The One That Wasn't That Bad, But Still Sucked

The place: A shady small-town start up that concerned itself with questionable small-cap stock investments.

The situation: Me, looking for escape hatch from other shady small-town start-up about to go supernova.

The interview: Firstly the person who recommended the job, a current employee, says to me on the day before the interview, "I don't know if, morally, I really feel good about recommending this to you. But uh, just check it out. Um." Feeling really pleased about that late breaking news, I make my way to a small nondescript office in which casually dressed young persons are scattered willy nilly, strolling around with coffee cups. They seem to lack workstations of any kind, sort of like the way startups are portrayed on TV. After waiting well past my interview time, I am ushered into the only office with a door, belonging to a man only vaguely older than my then-young self. He looks somewhat overstuffed and self-satisfied, with a cat-like gleam in his eyes.

I'm asked some cursory questions that I now can't recall, which I am sure I stammered through answering. Without explaining the nature of my theoretical job tasks, he then launches into a series of HR no-no's, except that of course, it's doubtful that they have an HR department.

"Are you married?"

"No," I answer dutifully. I would have definitely failed the Milgram experiment. Aren't they like, supposed to not ask you stuff like that? He nods. No is the right answer.

"Any kids?"

"Uh, no," I say. He is smiling. Right again.

"Great," he says. "Great." I am shown to my non-desk, a sort of card table set up in an exposed hallway. "This is where you'd work."

Later that night, the person who recommended me to the job calls. "I can't, uh, morally recommend that you say yes. I mean, you need to say no. Just, uh, don't. That guy is... uh... I could tell you some stories. I mean, I get along with him, it's just that..."

A month later, the place went out of business.

Actually wait a minute!! Backspace backspace!! The husband just reminded me of an interview that surely knocks this dubious entry out of the top three.

Actually better #1, replacing prior #1: Clip board

The place: random technology company.

The situation: Me, on a random job hunt. Sitting in the lobby, waiting for the interview panel to call me into the conference room. I am handed a clipboard by the receptionist and asked to fill out some junk. I set the clipboard in my lap, lean over to get a pen out of my purse, and... my necklace gets caught on the clipboard.

Within seconds, the conference room door will open, and my name will be called. I will be expected to immediately stand and walk into a room full of skeptical and possibly mean-spirited technology people that it is my duty to impress. My necklace is pretty short, and hopelessly jammed in the clipboard hinge. I can't find the clasp on the necklace; it is possibly tangled in the hinge along with the majority of the chain. I am leaning over, desperately wrestling a clip board that is lashed tight to my throat, basically covering my face. Not something that would likely fail to be noticed by a discerning interview team. It is seconds until the door is about to open. I am scratching at the clipboard like a rabid badger in a leg hold trap. The receptionist is choking on her gum, trying not to laugh.

Somehow, one half picosecond before my name is called, I manage to jerk the chain free. "It was looking dicey there for a minute, huh," says some joker sitting next to me. Wheezing and desperate, I hand the clip board back to the snickering receptionist on my way to the interview room.

It is possible that, by way of greeting, I told this story to the panel. Sad.

Stay tuned for Terrible Interview #2: Hospitality Gladiators.