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In my 50th year, my life was a mess. My wife and I had split the year before and I was paying child and spousal support, was living in a basement with no stove or bath (but I had candles!) and had been given notice that my job was coming to an end.
I started applying for jobs and, over the next two years, went to 50 interviews. Some were weird, some were awful, some were downright funny (at least in hindsight). But at every single one, I learned something about myself and about the job-hunting process. Following is one of those interview experiences and the lessons I learned.
I’d been to about 40 interviews, with nothing to show for them except a worsening attitude and a lengthening shadow from my unexercised gut, when I got a call from a headhunter regarding a job I thought I’d be perfect for at an organization in a sector I loved. This looked like a job I could really get behind.
But just before I got that call, I’d applied for an acting gig on a commercial. I’d never done one before, but my ex had seen an ad online and forwarded it to me, and I thought … what the heck. It was a TV spot for Viagra. They wanted me to audition the same day as my headhunter meeting – in fact, right after.
The ad was looking for “a weather-beaten sailor (no older than 45).” Thinking of the age requirement as more of a guideline, I shopped for the appropriate plaid shirt, deck boots and rubber coat and stuffed them all in a travel roller that I wheeled in to my headhunter interview. I hadn’t shaved for four days and had a nice growth of salt-and-pepper stubble.
I nailed the interview with the headhunter, and she said she’d set up an interview with the executive-director, my prospective boss. Just before we parted, I self-consciously said that I’d normally have shaved, but I was going for an audition after our meeting. “For what?” she asked.
“A commercial …” I stupidly replied. And before I knew it I had told her it was for Viagra.
I found a Car2Go (my ex got the van – oh, the wild bachelor life I lived!) and shoved my roller bag in, making it to the audition in time, only to face 10 younger, better- and rougher-looking men whose every breath shouted “testosterone!” I filled out the registration form, giving my age as 45 (I’d been told I looked 45: I mean, what does “age” really mean if not an attitude?) After a 30-minute wait, I was called in.
A director and cameraman stood on one side of a dark room. I was directed to a spot marked X, where I stood and answered a few questions. Then I had to pretend I was the captain of a boat, gazing into the distance and telling my buddy that it was time for me to go home (“to bed my lady” was implied).
When would I take the pill, I was wondering. Was I a captain with a woody? I did a couple of takes, badly, then, thankfully, it was over.
The next week, I met the executive-director and human-resources director (interview No. 41), and nailed it.
Then I got the call: They loved me! And they’d asked how the Viagra audition went. This tidbit, it seemed, had been shared by the headhunter. “The board was a bit worried about having you on TV representing Viagra and how that might be perceived,” she said.
I told her I’d decline the commercial, if it was an issue. She said the organization would like me to come and meet my peers and reports.
I went to their office and met two of my peers (interview No. 42). It was a bit awkward – I couldn’t put my finger on why. Then followed a meeting with the two people who would be reporting to me (No. 43). Seemed like a good connection.
I waited. Two weeks later, I got an e-mail from the headhunter: “Call me!” Excited, I could hardly wait until after work. I went to a bar to call her – I’d either celebrate or cry in my beer – and she gave me the news. They loved me, thought I’d be perfect for the job! BUT …
But? “Oh, the Viagra thing didn’t work out, not to worry,” I said hastily.
No, that’s not it, she replied. The board was worried that I looked and acted just like the guy they had fired. I am a decent-looking, middle-aged guy, six feet tall, in okay shape, well bred. And apparently, now, I have a doppelganger.
“What the hell?!” I shouted. Several people in the bar looked at me. “You can’t do that!”
The headhunter apologized, saying she wanted to be honest with me as I had done a stellar job in the interviews. “They were also a bit worried about the Viagra thing,” she added.
After more apologizing, she hung up and I ordered a large beer. She called back five minutes later and said: “Actually, I was wrong. That’s not why they didn’t want you. It was that another candidate was just a little bit stronger.”
I stopped listening, hummed a few “uh-huhs” and hung up. I actually considered a lawsuit, but then I thought of the energy involved – and let it go.
Lessons learned: Sometimes the choosing is personal (usually you won’t know). Life’s not fair. And though honesty is best, you don’t have to share everything in a job interview.
Ten interviews later, I landed my current job – but that’s another story.
C. J. Johnson is a pseudonym for a communications professional living in Vancouver.