COLUMN: I've got the interviewing blues

From Siona Listokin's, "Think Different," Fall '99 From Siona Listokin's, "Think Different," Fall '99I promised myself I would not write about it. I lied. I was so excited when I bought my suits. Like a 5-year-old girl set free in her mother's closet, I transformed into an adult when I put my tailored navy on. My father, a college professor who rarely wears anything but jeans and khakis, calls my interview uniform "big boy clothes" and we giddily giggled at the thought that someone in the family is growing up. I have lost my personality. I think I remember skipping class for a trip to the park, a hike to the mall, a drive to nowhere in particular. Now, I miss Investment Management 203 to discuss investment banking with some 23-year-old expert who smugly conveys that he has made it. Just once, I would like to tell him what I really think. Instead, I have perfected my "smile and nod" technique. Even in the throes of uncertainty and boredom, I can rely on the good old smile and nod. I am reduced to high heels and a portfolio that I just cannot seem to carry comfortably. In vain, I tell myself and others that I am not nervous. But who enjoys being evaluated by strangers? My roommate describes the experience as having every nerve standing at full attention for a half-hour. I become aware of toe muscles and previously unused sweat glands in my right palm. Just once, I would like to slouch and reveal my trembling fingers and wipe my sweat all over my interviewer's face. I know a girl who did not wear underwear to interviews that made her particularly nervous. She said it was such a pleasure to know something they did not, to be irreverent even as she flexed her brown-nosing skills. Just once, I would like to conduct an interview my way, to answer questions truthfully, to be myself. I will wear a sweater and sneakers to this interview. Instead of a resume, I will bring this column to On-Campus Recruiting Services and let them make of it what they will. When they ask why I want this job, I will tell them. Because I am terrified of not having the same quality of life I had when I was growing up. Because in this day and age, in order to match my parent's success, I have to work 90-hour weeks. Silly question. When they ask why this firm, I will tell them. Because you are one of the best and I have yet to find the off button that will cancel my overachiever program. Because your company had a resume drop box. Same reason you chose this firm two years ago. When they ask why I am giggling, I will tell them. Because, stupid, I am not wearing any underwear. When they ask me if I have any questions, I will inquire. Were you this boring in college, and does your firm have a box in Yankee Stadium? I will alternate between sticking my tongue out at Mr. and Ms. Interviewer and making obscene gestures with my hands. I will discuss at length my strong religious views and my hopes of having half a dozen babies in the not-so-distant future. I will not wear pants to this interview. Being flippant is one thing but female interview protocol is sacred. I am told that the interview process has a goal. And I try to keep that in mind as I deal with the resume drop system and case questions and runs in stockings and tired cheek muscles. I just try to remember the payoff next year. Next year. When I return to the dimly lit halls of Penn's OCRS as a recruiter. I will sit on the other side of the desk and watch marginally younger versions of me practice their plastered smiles poorly. I will pity these poor souls. And pray to God that they are fully clothed.