Interview me…

I had another interview today. I interviewed with a state college and let me tell you….

Everyone should interview with a governmental agency just once.



First off, I had to take a typing test and score at least 60 wpm. 60. 6 – 0. That’s a word a second! Riiiiight. But I figured I’d give it a shot and I was curious to know what my typing speed was anyway.

I tested and it turns out… I’m a moderate typer.

62 words per minute.

Thank you BLOGGER. Without you and my addiction to over-sharing, I’d be nothing.




Before going to sleep last night, I picked out my perfect ‘interview outfit’ – in my head. But you know how that goes… it only looks cute in your head. So I scrambled to find something else… anything else. I ended up finding an outfit in my dirty clothes hamper. Sure I smell and I’m wrinkled, but I look decent.

I'm just lucky I beat Chris home tonight. Our room looks like the closet barfed and I’ve got to clean it up.



I was worried about turning into a tomato for the interview so I literally spackled my face with foundation this morning. If I’m going to turn into a tomato, I might as well hide it behind ½” of cover-up. My greatest fear was that it was going to slide off halfway through the interview and pool in a pasty white puddle on the table – fortunately it didn’t.

Unfortunately it didn’t slide to my neck or chest either… you know, the other parts of my body that like to turn a special shade of ‘oh crap, is that a sunburn? Or do you suffer from severe Rosacea on your chest?’ My dirty clothes hamper shirt didn’t cover it that well.



Despite my tomato like appearance, I’d like to think I came off calm, cool, and collected… if you plugged your ears. When I get nervous, I develop a stutter.



The first part of the test was a written exam. I was required to correct a sample letter and create a letter to a prospective donor. The sample letter was so filled with errors, I almost begged to re-write it to save time (and no, I obviously don't use those editing skills on this BLOG. Sorry.). The letter to the prospective donor didn’t have a page limit.

Perhaps it should have.

Four pages later….

ANYWAY.



Then came the interview. One person right? Ha ha ha ha ha ha.

‘Alright Rebekah, please come this way. The committee is ready for you.’

Committee??!?!??!?

I walk into the conference room to meet my death *cough* I mean, to interview and the first thing they did was offer me water. Why are all interviewers fascinated with hydration? The last interviewer kept asking if I wanted water too.

Or wait… was that a test?

So that’s why I didn’t get the last job. I didn’t look hydrated.

Look people. I have frizzy hair. I NEVER look hydrated.



The interview went fine. I think I even assembled a logical sentence or two. Then the guy says, ‘if you pass this interview, we’ll call you for a second interview where you will meet with additional committee members.’

More people to interview me?

Maybe it was the look of sheer fear that flashed in my eyes or the Rosacea like redness across my chest but…

I’m not crossing my fingers for a call back.