The Interview Game

Authenticity is for the rich. Be the chameleon I know you are. 

Yes, Vanessa told him. She could do that. It was how she’d made it through the first two stages. She remembered the advice from her foster brother, who regularly dealt with these situations, but from the other side. The side holding all the cards. 

She’d written down his other tips on a notecard taped to the side of her bedroom mirror. As she opened a new tube of Power Pink lipstick, she re-read each point. 

Know your keywords, say them over and over and over

Don’t blink, if you can help it

Don’t leave a pause longer than one second; speak, don’t think

It can see you and your background. It can read.

Smile till it hurts

Vanessa glanced at her ipad, propped up on her dresser. It was a video of a woman addressing a conference. Dressed in an expensive blue suit and towering heels, the woman tossed her blonde hair and pulled her pink lips into a resting smile. 

She turned away to practice various grins in the mirror, too small and coy. Too big and dumb. There, just right. 

The woman said, “I'm here to tell you that the key to our success is teamwork!”

She paused the video and looked in the mirror, and said, “The key to our success is teamwork. We row together in one direction.”

No, more enthusiasm. Vanessa tried again. No, higher pitch. Again. Faster. Now with the hand gesture for emphasis. No, hand less curled. Again. And again and again. 

She watched the six minute video of this woman - Lisa Clifford - three times, pausing to perfect her delivery. Then she tried other phrases, delivered with the same style, tone, facial expressions. Yes, she could do it. It was like collegiate volleyball. Perfect your strategy and stance, then let instinct take over.

“It’s showtime,” projecting her best hands on hips power pose to her reflection. 

Then more quietly, wishfully, “You’ve got this. It's a game. You've practiced, and now it's time to play.”

Just as Vanessa turned from the mirror, she whipped back around. She moved so her nose was nearly against the reflective surface, puffs of breath clouded the surface. Slowly she moved her hand up next to her temple, grasped a rogue dark, frizzy strand of hair and yanked it out quickly. In spite of the frisson of pain, she smiled. Perfect. 

Vanessa made her way through her living area to The Office. A grand name for an area no larger than a closet and anchored by a piece of plywood resting on two dented mini filing cabinets. The desk wasn’t the point, though. It was the wall behind that mattered. Hers was decorated with an inspirational Iwo-Jima poster proclaiming Strength in Unity. 

She sat down in the office chair and squirted an eyedrop in each eye, her pupils dilating to twice their usual size. The room looked overly bright and a small headache approached. Dabbing away tears with a kleenex, she adjusted the webcam. It all came down to what that little circle saw. She opened the interview app and an avatar popped up immediately.

“Hi, I’m Sandra. I’m the artificial assistant interviewing you today. Once we’re finished, you will receive an instantaneous score based on a proprietary collection of data points. Your performance will depend on how closely your behaviour, answers, and aesthetic match people who were successful at this role in the past. We’ll begin now. Describe yourself in five words.”

..

Vanessa hurriedly shut the laptop and dropped her head in her hands. Relief oozed from every pore. The performance was over. 

Then she remembered it wasn’t. She only had five minutes to prepare for the next role. As she ran to her room, she yanked off her blonde wig and tossed it on the couch.  

…

A few hours later, with sweat staining the under arms of her pin striped suit jacket, Vanessa removed her unnecessary eyeglasses and pulled her hair out of its severe bun. Gratefully, she tossed aside the last card next to her computer with its particular reminders: lower pitch, aggressive, less smiling, project strength. 

Surely one of these companies would call for an in-person interview. Someone who could give her a sense if she actually wanted any of these jobs. (As if she had a choice, if she wanted to pay rent on time, for once.) Would any of the options fit with her personality? Although she worried sometimes, did she even remember what that personality was?

She took down the poster of the mountain climber with the words ‘It’s a Solo Climb’. The she dropped it next to the others next to the desk. The corner of a smaller frame at the back of the pile caught her eye. She pulled it out. Brushing her hand over the dusty surface of the glass encased diploma, she smiled ruefully. 

Who said her degree in Dramatic Arts wouldn’t pay off? If she managed to fool an expert computer program designed to reject any glimmer of humanity, then she could fool anyone. 

…

“Thanks for coming in today, Vanessa. The screening program’s resume triage, automated chatbots, and AI interviewer indicated you have a lot in common with the lady who had this role previously. But I’d like to hear a bit more about you and what makes you unique. Tell me about yourself.”

“Collaboration, initiative, enthusiasm, creativity, dedication.”

“Uh, okay. Those are important…words. But what about what interests you in general?”

“I believe teamwork is the key to success.”

“Are you okay? You’re not blinking and your eyes look a little, I don’t know…And you’re smiling, like, a lot. Just be yourself. Act natural. Let’s pretend we’re just friends chatting at a coffee shop.”

“I don’t…it’s…Precision. Passion. Punctuality.”

“Okay, I think I’ve heard enough. What’s your name again?”

“I…umm…Lisa Clifford?”

“No…that’s the name of the woman who had this job before. The one you’re interviewing for…Excuse me a minute, I need to make a quick call…Hi, Janice, can you get the security guy up here? Yes, another one. I don’t know what’s happened to this generation’s social skills.”

“I value clear communication.”

“Right now, Janice!”

“Is it over? Where do I see my score?”