by Dorothy Hoffman

Created on: September 04, 2009

My Last (Ever) Job Interview

Does anybody like job interviews? Oh, I suppose there's someone out there who does. He probably looks forward to root canal work, too - without anesthesia.

Personally, I don't dislike job interviews. I positively LOATH them. Do you think I'm being too extreme? Well, let me tell you the (mostly) true story of my very last interview experience, then tell me I go too far. The names have been changed to protect the guilty.

It was the mid1980s and we were in a recession (sound familiar). I'd been doing pretty well as a freelancer for several years, but my clients were going out of business or merging, and my former in-house contacts were losing their jobs and now competing with me for fewer freelance projects. I vowed I'd never go back to working in an office again, but I had a mortgage to pay off, and growing credit card debt. I was beginning to think I'd have to broaden my horizons a bit (i.e., lower my standards) and look for alternative kinds of work - maybe I could supplement my writing and editing work with some word processing and simple publications formatting and layout.

Out of the blue, I got a call from Sheila. She'd gotten my name from someone who knew someone who I'd worked with some years ago, or maybe from some professional organization I belonged to. Whatever, she was a co-owner of a small but growing business in a nearby suburban industrial park and was looking for an independent contractor to provide editorial and publications services on a continuing basis. It sounded a bit vague but might be just what I needed. We made an appointment for an initial interview.

In my most professional-looking suit ("dressing for success" was all the rage then), I negotiated the building security and wended my way through the typical office maze to meet Sheila in her office. We chatted pleasantly for a few minutes, waiting for her partner, Cathy, to arrive, then the interview began. I wouldn't necessarily have to come into the office to work, they assured me, or at least not every day. Maybe a couple days a week. I'd have a small office (a cubicle, really) to myself, where I could work on my own outside freelance projects, too, and have access to all their office equipment - faxes, copiers, and phones.

Things went well. I didn't make a complete fool of myself and even almost convinced myself I was an experienced, competent professional. Sheila and Cathy both seemed to be taken in by my performance, and we broached the topic of compensation

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