There's an MCI in my head...(How to survive an interview)

And so begins another rant of surprising charisma on my part. Really, it is a peek into the vast chasm that beholds my ineptitude….try to keep up with the tenacity in which I seem to screw myself….

(Insert corny flashback effect) It all began on Monday afternoon, around 1530 hours, to be exact, as I sat, patiently waiting in the lobby of the community college waiting to be called in for my interview. Now, for those of you I haven't spoken with, I was urged to apply for the position of EMS program coordinator at the college by two separate individuals whose opinions I respect. I "threw my hat into the ring", although it was more like tossing gingerly….and prepared all weekend for what would be the biggest interview of my career up to this point.

Now, I know how to prepare for an interview, and I know how to deliver a great, professional performance in an interview. I took a class on resume writing and professional interview techniques. I went to mock interviews. I learned the fine art of schmoozing like a good Jew from my father, who is the original bullshit artist. I can talk to ANYONE, about ANYTHING at least once and get on their level. I'm good at it and always have been. It's called moxie.


I spent 5 hours writing and revising my resume. (Most of that time was spent altering margins in Word because the maniacal imbeciles that set the regulations for resume writing expect 10 years of work experience and accreditations to fit on one page of 8.5 x 11 sheet of paper…) I would like to state for the record that it is exceptionally demeaning when your computer can outsmart you…

I then went out and bought matching, YES, matching paper and folders which I then printed labels with my contact information to put on the front. (I'm nothing if not irritatingly professional when it comes to my resume'.) Of course, then I have to interview and we all know how professional my mouth is. (I'm not going to dignify my own comment…)

I dug the one suit that I own out of the back of the closet and planned my attire, a black pinstripe suit, black heels and I actually put on make-up. I KNOW! If I do say so myself, I looked good.


So back to the lobby… Up from the stairs walks a distinguished man in a suit who introduces himself as the President of the college. He asks me to follow him into his office, where we sit and chat about the passions of teaching and where the college is going. He is a jovial fellow and I instantly like him. I tell him that I am concerned about one thing: As most of you know, the EMS Program Coordinator position is normally beheld by an out of shape man in his mid-forties or early fifties who is burnt out of the field and has no interest in doing anything but sitting at his desk and pretending to work, when in fact he spends 9 hours shuffling the papers from the left side of his desk to the right side of his desk. If he has been productive, those papers may make it to the floor, or perhaps, back to the left side of his desk. I am 26, and I am NOT burnt out. I LOVE paramedicine and I have a lot of great ideas. But I'm about 15 years early. Most 26 year olds still binge-drink at bars on Friday nights and play video games while eating Doritoes or cereal with water because they havent had milk in their studio apartment since the first week they owned the place. They do NOT normally acquire and maintain post-secondary administrative positions. But the President assures me that if I am the best candidate, I have nothing to worry about. They want ambition, and passion, and age is not a factor in experience. This excites me.

He takes me to the interview where I am seated at the head of the table in the conference room, a chair which I refer to as the "hot seat". The Dean of Continuing Education is there, as well as the Administrative Assistant and the acting Program Coordinator. The Dean tells me a little about the Continuing Education Program and then explains the interview process to me. There will be 14 questions. They will be asked in round-robin format. They will take notes as I speak. It was as perfunctory an explanation as possible. And here come the questions.

I suddenly found myself unable to speak intelligently. I would like to segue here and say that people call me "The Human Thesaurus", and without warning, the $20 words I have in my repertoire were suddenly as elusive as the Mexican Chupacabra and the filter from my brain to my mouth suddenly malfunctioned. Also attached to this filter is the reservoir that catches unnecessary words and keeps me from rambling. I knew immediately that I was in big trouble. I began to ramble, first just a little bit and then it seemed to grow exponentially, like a snowball rolling down Mt. Everest. And of course, trying to stop a snow-ball rolling down Mt. Everest would accomplish as much as trying to stop a city bus by stepping in front of it. I had ensconced myself in a vicious cycle consumed with the inability to keep my mouth shut.

A friend of mine recently gave me some unsolicited advice. He said to me: "There are three things to remember when interviewing: 1. Set the pace. 2. Be Succinct. 3. Be Aggressive. Now, I can always handle number 3. It is in my nature to be aggressive. This type of interview made it impossible for me to control the pace because when I finished speaking, I would wait in silence for 10 or 15 seconds for everyone to finish hurriedly scribbling whatever oral diarrhea had spewed forth out of my mouth. And it was impossible for me to be succinct. I am long-winded anyway and I was rambling. (See earlier comment about broken filter.)

At one point, one of the interviewers asked me a question that I simply did not understand. I had to ask him to repeat the question and then I had to ask him again to define what exactly he was asking me. Every time he opened his mouth to repeat this particular question, the whole scenario was instantly reminiscent of an interaction between Charlie Brown and his teacher, and I was dumbstruck. Now this was not the interviewer's fault. I know this particular person professionally and he is very well-spoken and articulate, but for some reason, my ears had suddenly turned against me and they had recruited the neurons that are responsible for my cognitive reasoning into staging a revolt. I silently willed them to participate with platitudes of a quiet evening spent at home with a glass of Beaujolais, some Etta James and a crossword puzzle. They considered the offer while I asked my interviewer to please repeat the question. And finally, a treaty was reached, signed and notarized, although the neurons flat-out refused to fix the filter problem. (Guess they wanted to see me suffer...) And I think they knew I had to work that night at the Fire Department and my platitudes were merely a political maneuver to assuage their mutiny. It is truly hell when your own brain stages an insurgency….forget insurgency, this was an all-out coup.


I concluded the interview with firm handshakes and smiles though I was silently plotting revenge tactics against my various uncooperative body parts. I managed to leave with my head high and back straight (they refused to abandon me) until I slunk into the seat of the car and let out a huge sigh. Amazingly, everything worked again and I cursed my nerves for getting the better of me.

By Tuesday morning, I was frantic with worry and apprehension. I didn't interview for the job thinking I would get it, but I interviewed with an intense desire to make this program amazing. I KNOW I have good ideas and I just wanted the opportunity to affect change in more student's lives than just my personal classes. This was as unique an opportunity for me as it was a huge leap in the career ladder. I wanted this job.

And then a call came on Thursday. I GOT IT! Now, how in the hell did that happen???