Your worst job interview

[Quincey]

Job interviews really can be shit, can't they? I've been to a fair few where the person/people on the other side of the desk love treating you like a sodden dishrag.

The worst one I ever went to was for a trendy media company in Marble Arch.

I was sitting down, having been given a glass of water, which was on a glass table piled high with newspapers. The two interviewees came out, and I got up to shake their hands. They wanted to go out to a cafe.

As I got up to go, I knocked the glass over with my briefcase, breaking it and pouring water all over the white carpet and the pile of newspapers.

Despite this, I went off with them to be interviewed in a noisy cafe for an hour. They made it clear by the way they asked me questions that they had no interest in hiring me.

I didn't get that job.

What was your worst job interivew?

[EOLAN]

By and large I am usually mediocre in interviews.

Before a Monday morning interview, got struck down by a painful stomach bug. Throwing up all weekend, no food, all pain and not really recovered on the Monday. Had to get a plane up to Dublin from Cork (short journey in fairness) bus into town and out to the office.

Was over an hour early but couldn't be arsed walking around or go to cafe to kill time, so told lady at reception who gave me a strange stare and with a huff allowed me sit and wait. Finally got up to meet my interviewees, attractive blonde women none the less and found the lifts weren;'t working so needed use stairs.

For an hour I was interviewed in one of those situations where you hope they know you're seriously ill but can't just state it out. Lots of bland responses by me as I just tried not to throw up - which I succeeded in going.

Then went to an Eddie rockets restaurant (upmarket fast food joint, downmarket restaurant crossover) and ordered a milkshake before going home.

[23 Daves]

My worst job interview was with the Brighton Argus in 1999.  They needed a features writer to join their team and had said they would specifically be interested in talking to me since I was freelancing for a magazine they were looking to compete with at the time.  I went down there with high hopes initially, which were very quickly dashed.

The editor decided he would treat the whole interview as an exercise in psychological combat - I have no idea if he'd had a bad day, didn't like the look or the smell of me, wanted to rip into an employee (even a "freelance employee") at a rival of his, or was just a "colourful character", but it was absurd in its methods.  He asked me to talk about my family, which I did, and promptly launched an attack on my Dad to say that he must have been a "bloody idiot" for thinking moving from a Council Estate in Stockwell to one in Ilford could possibly have been safer (I politely corrected him on that point).

He asked who my favourite journalists were.  For some reason I mentioned Paul Morley amongst the ones I listed - to this day I've no idea why - and that really set him off on one.  "Paul Morley?  PAUL MORLEY?  He's a FUCKING PRAT!" 

He asked me if there were any areas of the arts I wouldn't be able to write about confidently.  I told him ballet and opera. "Well YOU SHOULD!  What's the use of that?  You have to be able to write about rock music, theatre, ballet, opera, galleries AND television otherwise what's the point?" (I'd be interested to know if he ever found somebody who could handle all these topics competently, actually).

The interview continued in this merry vein for some time, and finished with him telling me that I couldn't write anyway, and thus there was no hope the paper would ever employ me.  He added that I'd spent far too much of my time fiddling around with magazines and could have done with a dose of "HARD NEWS" experience in my life.

The Brighton Argus was voted Worst Regional Paper in Britain that year.  From that, I didn't know whether their rejection of me was a really good thing or a really bad thing.  Anyway, fuck 'em.  I'm more than happy for them to be directly named in my reply here, especially as I'm sure they've changed hands several times over since. 

[QDRPHNC]

Two bad ones.

One was for an ad agency. I'd read their blog, lot of time spent dissecting how to get kids hooked on a popular fizzy drink, but the money, the title, just having their name on my resume would've been good. So I was conflicted going in. And when I got there, they hadn't set up anything to look at my portfolio, hadn't even cleared empty beer bottles of the boardroom table. So I was a mopey, irritable, confrontational dick during the entire thing. The cute Russian art director could barely even look at me by the end of it.

Other was for a creative position with a large media company. Guy interviewing me, who would've been my boss, was also a new hire (he didn't know I knew this), and had short-and-bald-man syndrome. So halfway through he says, OK, now this is happening, and tosses the creative presentation thing I had been tasked to do back at me across the table and starts shouting, "I don't like it! Too much red! Why is there so much red?". Wanted to see how I deal with criticism and stress I suppose. For the record, I deal with both fine, but it's just a cunty thing to do, just a new guy trying to make an impression, I just couldn't give a shit for the rest of the thing.

[Replies From View]

A bird once shat on my new suit as I was on my way to a job interview.  It landed mainly on my right shoulder, but splattered enough to somehow reach my trousers as well.  Suddenly I looked like a complete wreck within about ten minutes of the interview, and I was still trying to find the building.

I couldn't decide which would be worse- just leaving it there untouched where it'd be obvious what it was, or trying to wipe it off with a dry tissue and finding it as oily as it looked, smearing it around over a larger area.  Knowing I'd be met by the staff on my arrival in the building, and that I wouldn't have time to remove the stain fully in their toilets, I just decided to leave it.  So rather than have an indeterminate stain all across my jacket and trousers making me look like a scruffy bastard, I opted to look like a guy who'd unfortunately been shat upon by a bird like anyone could.  The interview didn't go well though, and I do blame the distractingly white bird poo strewn across my body.  It's hard not to.

It's not the most complete story, but I do occasionally bring it up when the subject of unavoidable mishaps come up, and with a bit more elaboration it can be funny enough.  However there's always the feeling that as unavoidable mishaps go, there is that moment of active decision on my part where I opted not to even touch that bird mess with a tissue - not even to try making it better.  This, I've been told with alarming unanimity, was a barmy decision to have made.  Do you agree?

[CaledonianGonzo]

Large financial services institution in 'The City', impromptu psychometric testing and management consultancy exercises, somewhere in the order of 12 or 13 pints the afternoon and evening before, with no fuel to soak up the alcohol except the spiciest curry that Brick Lane could muster.

Bleak.

[momatt]

Paul Morley is a FUCKING PRAT though.

[shiftwork2]

I went for a job as a clerk in an office on Munster Road in Fuham.  The office was at the top of a rickety old fire escape.  I duly climbed up to my fate, hair brushed, side parting looking fabulous, patent leather Clarks gleaming.  It was around 4pm and I guess I was one of the last candidates.  A gruff Northerner came out to greet me, we shook hands and went into the interview room.  He was the sole interviewer and he probed me about my skill set (which at the time, comically, I remember included receiving faxes, at least according to my CV - I should have added scraping the absolute bottom of the barrel).  Anyway, it turns out that I fairly hit it off with this chap.  We were having a whale of a time.  The cherry on the cake came at the end - we both had relatives in Otley near Leeds, where I had stayed for last New Year.  The conversation then followed these exact words:

Me: "So yeah, we went to the White Hart for New Year's Eve, it was great"

Him: "The White Hart?  That used to be my local!"

Me:  "Is that so?"

Him:  "Yeah it was.  This is great!  Ok, I'll be honest with you Mark.  The only way you're not going to get this job is if the next candidate is a blonde bird with massive tits!"

So I called the office the next day...fucking hell, I hadn't got it.  So obviously Barbara Windsor was the last candidate up the fire escape.

[Beagle 2]

A few years ago I had an interview for an admin job at Virgin, the day after I came back from a festival. I hadn't consumed anything but cider for four days and I felt fucking dreadful. I had to improvise a suit out of charity shop trousers, a borrowed oversized blazer, and a pair of plastic beige loafers that had been left by the front door of our shared house forever. I got the time of the interview wrong and had to sprint all the way there, meaning I was late, sweating and panting when I took my seat in front of the panel. I had recently knocked a front tooth out and was struggling with some unsuccesful dental treatment, meaning I was talking thike that. Upon commencing the interview, I couldn't help but remark with a chuckle upon the framed picture of Keith Chegwin (Theeth Thegthin) that they had on the wall. They acted like I was the weird one for bringing it up. When they asked me how I dealt with long periods of mundanity I misunderstood and said I didn't mind too much, I just went on the internet for a bit. It couldn't have gone any worse had I run over Richard Branson's children on the way there.

[23 Daves]

Paul Morley is a FUCKING PRAT though.

In my defence:

1. He's an interesting prat.
2. I knew it was a ridiculous thing to say about 0.01 seconds after it left my lips.  He isn't my favourite journalist by a long chalk anyway!  I just admired the stuff he did with ZTT rather than his journalism.  To give some background colour, I said this after I'd been effectively yelled at by an angry regional newspaper editor for the best part of fifteen minutes.  It was my 'crumbling under pressure', obviously.

I saw Paul Morley at a gig a few years later and was tempted to relate this story to him, but his body language was very guarded so I didn't bother to approach him.  I doubt he'd have been amused, anyway. 

I've also just remembered the job interview I had which involved me being interviewed by the extremely attractive redhead I used to fancy at sixth form college. I hadn't seen her in over ten years, and I was given no idea she'd be interviewing me - one of those moments where you really wonder if the whole thing is a complete set-up rather than a coincidence.  I handled that OK, though, despite continually worrying about whether I'd ever said or done anything stupid in front of her when I was younger.  She didn't offer me the job because she felt I was far too experienced for the role (which was a fair assessment, actually - I applied for it at a point when I was desperate to do anything) but she did contact me many months later to see if I was still looking for anything as another role had cropped up in her department.  Not a complete failure, then. 

[Beagle 2]

At the place where I lived at the time I had the aforementioned shit intervew I used to see Paul Morley at least a couple of times a week walking to the tube. Ergo - patron saint of shit interviews.

[Icehaven]

Mine was a few years ago for a job a few rungs up from my job. Classic case of there being 3 interviewers where I was expecting one (though God knows why, I'd had 2 or 3 interviews in the same organisation, including the one I got in the first place, and there's never only been one interviewer. I think it's because the letters inviting you always come from one person, and refer to 'I', rather than 'we'. Is this a common wrongfooting tactic?) Then the interview itself was conducted around a tiny table, so we were all sitting way too close together, and because I felt I should direct my answers to all of them, I was swivelling my head around like the fucking Churchill's dog every time I was speaking, it was ridiculous. Then they started explaining a bit more about the job, and saying it was very similar to their positions, at which point I realised that as they were all at least  20 years older than me, there was no way they were going to give me the job, and that they were probably only interviewing me because of the organistation's strict rule that everyone who's application form fulfils the requisite criteria must be interviewed, regardless of experience, and they were more than likely interviewing several people who had way more of that than me. I think we all kind of realised this at this point, so I gave up and just tried to get through as quickly as possible. By the end of the interview they were almost answering the questions for me. Luckily the worst bit was back at home in private, as as I was leaving they said they were interviewing for the next few days so they'd let me know by the end of the week (it was a Wednesday), however by the time I got home a few hours later, they'd already emailed to tell me I was unsuccessful. I didn't reply NO SHIT!!, but only in case they ever had to interview me again.

[Sony Walkman Prophecies]

Most bad interviews, from what I can gather, spring from the fact that the interviewer having some really confused or exaggerated ideas of how a person in an interview situation should act. The tactic of one such interviewer I once went to see for a web-design job, was to lean back in his chair and, whenever the topic of money came up, reply in a crisp home counties accent: "yah yah, i'll fucking sort you out. dont worry". Well, I was worried (I wasnt going to work as intern or less than the minimum wage) so I calmly pushed him towards the end: "yes but, how much exactly is the salary?" For reasons I still cant work out, he took a huge offence to this and just as inexplicably grabbed his university arts portfolio out of the cupboard and began showing me old pictures he'd done saying "Look. Look how much work ive done. I had to do all this before I even dreampt of getting a job. Your portfolio has hardly anything in it, and youve the cheek to ask me for money". Well, to be fair my portfolio wasnt huge, but I still couldnt understand why, in his mind, this made it fair to hire people without telling them how much theyd be paid. In the end I think I eventually lost my rag and said "your portfolio has nothing to do with anything we were talking about, what's the salary?" And for having the additional cheek to ask this question, I was subsequently lead to the door.

Having abit more experience behind me now, im absolutely confident this guy would have strung me along for months with "oh, sorry yah...meant to pay you last week...is it not in your account yet?" because ive now had the 'luxury' of working for such an employer first hand. Im also in a position now to realise that it's always worth being wary of anyone who litters an interview with swear words and generally behaves like a prick as soon as theyre in a position of authority. In my experience people like this almost always believe that the chief benefit of being an employer is having full control of a human being; a human being who should be nothing less than grateful for being handed a job in the first place.

[Icehaven]

Im also in a position now to realise that it's always worth being wary of anyone who litters an interview with swear words and generally behaves like a prick as soon as theyre in a position of authority.

I might be being naive, but I'm genuinely stunned to hear that anyone behaves like this when they're interviewing someone. If I was in an interview and the interviewer started swearing, I'd assume they were really some office monkey winding me up and the real interviewer wasn't there yet or something. Is it some masculine dick swinging thing? I've had a few dodgy interviews but nothing downright unprofessional (in my experience they tend to at least wait until you've actually started the job for that). And if they started acting the prick I'd just get up and leave, I couldn't work for someone I couldn't work with.   

[Goldentony]

This wasn't especially terrible but it opened my eyes to how naive I was at the time, and how coke addicts making predatory strikes on desperate students (which I wasn't) and general out of work office dickheads were slowly becoming the norm at a time when 350 people applying for one basic admin position with little to no job security or benefits was becoming an every day thing that just happened, and upstart outlaw wankers could make big promises of grand shite that didn't or would never exist.

Anyway - As far as I can remember it was for some basic admin bollocks right after I was coming out of a brief period on sick pay from the state. That was alright because it was before on benefits became the boogeyman for middle england shut in's with no mates and pictures of their ugly nephews on top of their telly. It was at some place in a big fuck off poncy area of the city, and upon entering had my mind blown by the vig swanky get to fuck office with its enormous 50 plus inch telly playing, and I shite you not, a television channel devoted entirely to club hits right there in the foyer with the receptionist. She was a nice person and all that like but kept on talking about how exciting it'd be for the few of us who'd turned up to work at the company.

Got to the interview with a guy who looked like peak twattery era Shane Warne who asked me a couple of questions about my experience and what I can offer and all that.

Dismisses everything i've told him and flat out tells me in the interview then and there that he doesn't think i'm right for the position. I can't quite make sense of what to make of this. Either he's the most honest person i've ever met, he's an ex angry black police chief who doesn't take bullshit or he's demented. In an office full of blonde wild eyed men with no sense of direction and their fat aftershave smelling muscle guts hanging over their ten bob suits i'm leaning towards demented. He goes on to tell me that he has the perfect job for me. Not in admin, but in marketing. I'd be the best marketing rat he's ever seen. He sees potential in me and he wants to give me a fair crack of the whip for turning up. Some guy who looks like Mark Williams nervously shuts a door. Tells me the details - if I turn up tomorrow at noon and bring a packed lunch I can attend their whole day session which goes on 'til about 7pm where I can learn the ropes. He shakes my hand and sends me off into the distance.

Naturally I don't turn up because somethings off - for a start I don't give a shit about marketing. Don't wanna be a marketer. Not sure what he was offering me was a marketer because he was all over the place. Coudln't be arsed spending noon 'til 7 for some vague Octopus Ink/Hypnosis session. Hang on I went in for an admin position. Right i'm staying the fuck in bed. They phone me and I tell them I got a job offer running a hotel in Torquay and immediately put the phone down and never hear from them again.

Couple of weeks later when investigating some other similar bullshite, it turns out the place was doing this for every cunt who turned up that day. Total smoke and mirror shite.

The whole murky world of office work is a dangerous and shitty one full of twattery

[Sony Walkman Prophecies]

I might be being naive, but I'm genuinely stunned to hear that anyone behaves like this when they're interviewing someone. If I was in an interview and the interviewer started swearing, I'd assume they were really some office monkey winding me up and the real interviewer wasn't there yet or something. Is it some masculine dick swinging thing? I've had a few dodgy interviews but nothing downright unprofessional (in my experience they tend to at least wait until you've actually started the job for that). And if they started acting the prick I'd just get up and leave, I couldn't work for someone I couldn't work with.   

Well, to paint the picture in some more detail, this was basically one guy running a web-design business from a rented office (one room). He cant have been older than 25, in hindsight I think he probably just 'assumed' that was how you ran a business and acting accordingly. To be fair though, it's an attitude hardly limited to one-man-operations - my sister just left a fairly lucrative marketing firm in central London where "you fucking idiot!" was the stock response to everything from misspelling a word in a piece of documentation, to forgetting to email someone. So its definitely not an attitude that's in any way limited to small-time chancers.

[gatchamandave]

Bit of a pre-amble here.

I started with a local government team of surveyors as a trainee in 1990, and qualified as one myself in 1995. Worked with the same form for 15 years until, by 2005, I was in a well-respected position. Fool that I was, I then left to work with another authority, in a promoted, and better paid position.

Alas, it did not work out - turned out that the well paid and independent position that they had held out at interview was in fact the office butt-monkey for a boss who was those two most dangerous of attributes, incompetent and energetic. I worked for the fool for five years, but my self-loathing increased almost as much as my loathing of the man himself did. Ultimately things degenerated into a situation where I was threatened with a serious disciplinary and probable sacking.

However, my shop steward informed me that he had negotiated a settlement - if I resigned quietly it would all be left off my reference and never referred to anywhere again. This would allow me to carry on with my career, albeit elsewhere.

So, I took the honourable option. Of course, what I failed to realise until too late was that had they sacked me, they would have had to pay me...tcchh!!!

In the interim, to keep the wolf from the door, I became a taxi-driver.

Don't look at me !!! Don't look at me !!!!!!!!!

Anyhoo, after a year no surveying jobs had materialised, but it didn't worry me too much as we were getting by.

One day what should appear in the paper but my old job with my original firm ? Feeling optimistic I submitted my application, and sure enough four weeks later, I was invited to interview.

Oh, the happy joy I felt when I met my panel. Why, there was Walter, my old boss and fellow trade unionist, who had stood on many a picket line with me. He was leading the panel. Surely he would understand my situation ?

And Gail ! Gail, who had trained at the same time as me, who had co-operated with me in doing assigments and presentations. Why, hadn't we both gone through the IVF procedures at the same time, and hadn't she succesfully conceived whereas my partner, alas, had not ? Hadn't she been sooo sympathetic then ?

And Helen ! My goodness, I had trained Helen. She was there, opposite me, thanks to me. I had been here referee to the RICS, I had helped draft her final written submission for full Membership. Isn't life too, too ironic ? Now here she was, interviewing me....ahahahahaha ! What larks !

Of course, they fucked me over.

Not at first, of course. No, for the first thirty minutes it was the bestest ever interview of my life. All their questions were knocked out the park...I was a shoo-in.

And then, after all the formal questions that were asked of all candidates, came "...the informal ones that tell us something about you as a person..".

" Could you tell us why you left your previous job ? Your application referred to a clash of personalities with a fellow officer at Tayside ? "

Did it ? I don't remember writing that..but I must have...otherwise...how would he know..? Ummm...I'd rather not go into it too much.

" It's just, as you may not know, it's this offices policy to get your references before the interview..."

Is it ? It never used to be...is that legal ? Oh aye ?

" Yes. It's just that the reference casts doubt on your honesty, suggests you faked results and survey findings, signed off work as complete that wasn't complete and that you are incapable of working without close supervision..."

What.The.Fuck ???

Now, none of those were the reason for my original problems ( I'd been looking at porn, OK ?) so it wasn't true.I'd   worked like a bastard in that place, albeith a silly bastard who liked looking at ladies who were all nudey. And what about the deal my shop-steward had made ? Had he been lying ? Had the sneaky bastards thought they'd found a loop-hole and that if they just made shit up, it would work round the deal ?

And they, the three of them in my interview panel, my three old chums, had known all along that this was going to come up. They had toyed with me, like three cats with a mouse that believed itself, for no good reason, to be a cat itself.

But that wasn't the worst part. No, no. After I had stumbled out some answer of the " Not true, you all know me...ummmm...." sort they decided to end the interview on a cheery note. Which was basically to take the pish out of me for being a taxi-driver. Of course, still with my hopes up, I had to go along with it and let them rib me. Good ol' Dave, eh ?

And in the end, the sods didn't even do me the courtesy of phoning me up and expressing their regrets. No, they let the in-house application system inform me automatically.

So you see, gentle, patient reader, there is one worse thing than being a taxi-driver, and that's being a Rating Surveyor.

[Clatty McCutcheon]

my skill set (which at the time, comically, I remember included receiving faxes, at least according to my CV -

Possibly the greatest 'skill' I've ever heard anyone list on a CV - did it extend to putting the pages in the right order and delivering to the recipient, or was it purely passive?

In an office full of blonde wild eyed men with no sense of direction and their fat aftershave smelling muscle guts hanging over their ten bob suits i'm leaning towards demented.

I would happily read a novel with this as its first line!

I don't have anything as colourful as these interview experiences I'm afraid, but in a period while I was still a student and fairly non-committal and apathetic about the whole grown-up world of work I travelled to Edinburgh for an interview at an office which was to take place after working hours.  I went up on the train with plenty of time to spare (so far, so sensible!) but ended up with far too much time to kill so went for a wander around town.  Being from the west of Scotland I fell victim to the fog of confusion which the Edinburgh street layout can cause to descend on hapless peasants from the west and got hopelessly lost.  Eventually managed to find my way (more by luck than skill) to the offices about 45 minutes late, by which time darkness had descended, and I was sweaty and slightly dishevelled.  No idea why I didn't just go back home as I didn't particularly want to work there anyway but with meticulous Edinburgh politeness they interviewed me anyway and I delivered a masterclass in disinterest.  At least I got the benefit of knowing that I definitely wouldn't have wanted to work there anyway...what a grand day out!

[doppelkorn]

I've neere had a terrible job interview per se but my in my worst, the interviewer told me I reminded him of Paul Morely (in a good way). I shit you not. This is getting weird.

[sick as a pike]

About twenty years ago I got an interview for BBC radio comedy producer.  This is how numerous people inserted themselves further into comedy - Griff Rhys Jones, Douglas Adams, Harry Thompson, Geoffrey Perkins, Armando Iannucci etc.
The show they tended to start new producers on was the topical and largely awful Weekending.  I knew this, so what happened at the end of the interview was entirely my fault.

They started by asking about comedy influences and boundaries- is it ok to make jokes about AIDS? "I think it depends what your target is.  The over dramatic health campaign yes, the illness itself, no" etc.  I was doing ok.

Then they asked me about Weekending- what did I think, where could it be better?  I'd heard enough of the show to answer with reasonable fluency.  It was still going alright.  I wasn't barnstorming the thing, but neither was I embarrassing myself.
Then one of them asked "So, what do you make of 'Next Week's News'?"  Hm. I'd never heard this, but said something like "Sorry, that one's passed me by I'm afraid; must be tucked away somewhere in the schedule that I never hear!"
"Interesting you say that, as that's actually the name of the segment that ends Weekending.  Every single week."

My memory lapses around here and cuts to minutes later- me standing in the corridor banging my head on the pannelled walls moaning with self-loathing.

I've not heard back.

[Mary is not amused]

The one where, at the conclusion of the part of the interview conducted by myself and a colleague, the interviewee burst into tears?  That was certainly confusing.

[23 Daves]

I might be being naive, but I'm genuinely stunned to hear that anyone behaves like this when they're interviewing someone. If I was in an interview and the interviewer started swearing, I'd assume they were really some office monkey winding me up and the real interviewer wasn't there yet or something. Is it some masculine dick swinging thing?

Definitely.  In my particular case, I'd read an interview in a trade magazine the week before warning me that the recently employed new editor of the Argus thought of himself as a "maverick", so it could be said that I was forewarned.  I've no idea what the (non-broadsheet) press is like these days, but I do know that in my day having a loud, swearing editor wasn't considered particularly unusual. I'd be surprised if things have changed much.

Just remembered another weird bit of the interview, actually.
"If I employ you, you're just going to want the features section to turn into some pretentious Brechtian project, AREN'T YOU?"
"Er, no... I wouldn't do that.  it's a regional newspaper catering for the local Brighton population, that wouldn't be appropriate".

I can see how he actually interpreted that reply as utter sarcasm, even though it wasn't meant to be.  I think it was a minute or so after that the interview terminated.

And this Paul Morley stuff is just downright strange.   

[Beagle 2]

  \
Hmm... yes, well we'll be in touch. Close the door on your way out.

[Goldentony]

And to be fair to that guy who lost his mind over Paul Morley - he's all over the terrible '99 era live performances on the reissue of Who's Afraid Of The Art Of Noise, not shutting the fuck up for the entirity of them playing Beatbox and Close to the Edit. I say playing it, they seem to be all sitting down waiting for the backing track to finish so they can play that shite album they were touring at the time with Lol Creme. Maybe the guy had seen that or that earlier DVD which is made up ENFUCKINGTIRELY of that garbage and felt like he'd been fucked in the arse one too many times by ZTT.

The only other possible explanation is you went for an interview at Paisley Park, and Prince knew about how Wendy & Lisa had been fucked over by that label, causing him to see red [purple].

[shiftwork2]

receiving faxes Possibly the greatest 'skill' I've ever heard anyone list on a CV - did it extend to putting the pages in the right order and delivering to the recipient, or was it purely passive?

Thinking back I think it was actually Sending & Receiving Faxes.  In 1990 this made me a shit hot ninja.  God knows what else I padded it out with.

[Mary is not amused]

so they can play that shite album they were touring at the time with Lol Creme.

Wha?  The Seduction of Claude Debussy is fantastic, you loon.

[danyulx]

Never had a job interview, never had a 'proper job', and never plan on ever having one either. Can't help you, sorry.

I've had a few interviews for colleges and universities and things like that in the past though, and got pissed as a fart before the lot of them, before spending fifteen minutes frantically brushing my teeth and eating fishermen's friends. And I stormed the lot of them, ranted and raved, they didn't know what hit them. I was offered a place right there and then, and - being pissed - foolishly accepted.

JOB INTERVIEW TIP: Get pissed then brush your teeth and eat a few mints.

[Goldentony]

Wha?  The Seduction of Claude Debussy is fantastic, you loon.

'Legs' aside, I don't think too much of their post 'Who's Afraid Of' stuff to be honest

[Mary is not amused]

'Legs' aside, I don't think too much of their post 'Who's Afraid Of' stuff to be honest

Yeah, okay, I can understand that point of view.

Of course, Morley was the éminence grise during the making of Who's Afraid...

[Saucer51]

A few years ago I went to an interview with a well-known employment agency. I'd just spent months as a lounge lizard in the south of France and found going into an office environment rather daunting. What happened at the interview was enough to make me almost cry with zapped confidence as I hurried down the High Street away from the awful place.

When I stepped into the agency it was devoid of temps or clients, it had just around 6 female staff sitting at various desks. They were playing a game of hurling the beanie toy from one colleague to another and did not cease when I entered. I was power-dressed and could have been someone from their head office but professionals that they were, the beanie toy carried on being hurled back and forth.

I went to the reception desk, where the beanie toy amusingly sailed past me and landed on the girl's keyboard, gave my name and stated that I'd been called for an interview. I was duly led to a small private office where there receptionist set up an online test for me. She said if there were any problems to go out and let them know etc. So far so good.

Halfway through the test the screen froze. I didn't know whether to ctrl alt + delete or go out for assistance. Was this the actual test, to see what my reaction would be?
I went out to ask the nearest worker if she would help me. After all, the program wasn't a well-known one and I didn't want to cock up.
She jumped up, came in and re-set the test which took around 5 minutes of loading and faffing about. She swore a few times and stated that the program was always malfunctioning. She also made me feel that I was wasting her valuable time.

Left alone again, I was able to get to stage 2 of the test. It was being timed on the screen. And this time the mouse still moved but the buttons did not work. Time was running out.
So out I went into the main office again for more assitance. Not wanting to bother the moaning woman again, this time I called out to the office in general if anyone could help me. No response. So the woman from before followed me with a very surly expression. I turned around to say something to her and she was making some unprofessional gestures behind my back which pissed me off and made me feel very small. But I didn't want to blow it and said nothing.
Afterward the computer test I was led to a goldfish bowl little office and where I was made to sit meant I had my back to the same scowling bitch as before. I imagined her making all kinds of faces behind my back through the glass as I attempted to answer questions from a sacharine-voiced woman barely in her twenties.

I continued to feel very uncomfortable in that office and left feeling a little battered. When they offered me work I actually turned it down because I never wanted to have any dealings with the agency staff again.

Thankfully no sign of Paul Morley, though.