My (Brief) Life in Politics

I've had some bad job interviews -- and some bad dates, which are really a whole lot like interviews, if you think about it, except that money is rarely discussed upfront. (Unless, of course, you're on one of those kinds of "dates," which are something I, fortunately, know nothing about other than what I see on Law & Order: SVU.)

I once had a 45-minute date. That one even included a sit-down dinner, so I'm guessing I didn't look the way he remembered, or my meal-time conversation is not nearly as entertaining as I thought. During an adventure in speed dating, I was fist-bumped by one guy, informed by another that he "hated children," "like really hated them," loudly and to the point where other people stared, and sat across from a man who was, at best, extremely rude ("What could you possibly have to offer me?") and, at worst, off his meds and in need of professional help ("Should I really even bother talking to you?"). On a double date, the couple I was with had a loud argument that ended with a slap. (About that last one, I've said it before, and I'll say it again, there is little shame like the shame of realizing you are the most conspicuous table in the Olive Garden.)  

But, of the two categories of getting-to-know-yous, it's my worst job interview that always stands out.

At the time, I was 21 years old and had just graduated from Georgetown University. Armed with my liberal arts degree and no practical skills, I was sure Iwould be a treasured asset to any corporation and couldn't wait for mysigning bonus and annual salary of at least $50,000. How could no one want to hire such a bright, bushy-tailed recent graduate of the Hilltop?

After six weeks of job hunting, I was shocked that I still hadn't found something. I'd said that I had no interest in a job on Capitol Hill, but with reality setting in -- and my bank account settling down -- I realized there was nothing to lose in taking my resume to the Hill's administrative offices.

(I can't remember the name of the Capitol's HR department now, I just know that there was an office where you could drop off your resume so that you would be considered for certain open positions throughout the House and Senate. I remember this mainly because I also remember tripping on the sidewalk in front of the Senate administrative offices while a homeless man pointed and laughed. It didn't help with the way I was feeling about my employment/life prospects at the time.)

I was thrilled when I got a call two days later inviting me to interview for a job in an Illinois Senator's office. It might not be my dream job, but it was most assuredly a job. I put on my most conservative suit and headed downtown.

From my brief experience with government positions, I learned that you have to meet with a lot of people to ever get a government job. I met with some sort of HR-type rep, an aide, the Office Manager, and the Legislative Director before being led to the office door of my last stop -- the Chief of Staff.

I walked into a small office and sat across from a very pale man with large, square glasses. He didn't smile, and looked over both me and my resume with quick, darting glances. After a few basic questions about my education, why I wanted to wok on the Hill, etc., he said, "Speak French."

"Excuse me?" I said.

"Speak French. It says here on your resume that you're fluent in French, so speak it."

It's hard for me to be put on the spot about anything, much less delivering a monologue in another language. Asking for a scene from Hamlet probably would have gone over better. Conducting part of the interview in French, I probably could have handled. This? Not so much.

I said the equivalent of "Hi, my name is Laurel. I'm from Birmingham. I'd like a job please" in French. Not exactly inspired prose.

"Hm-mph," he said once I was done. "For those of us who have studied at the Sorbonne, an accent is included in fluency. And it's not a Southern one."

Despite my embarrassment, I wanted to say, "I'm sorry you couldn't get laid until well after college, it's clearly made you bitter." Instead, I said, "I'm sorry, sir."

I was not surprised when I got a phone call a week later telling me that the job went to someone else.

Of course, these days, I'm sure it worked out for the best. I don't think I would have made it too long in the office of a Republican senator. My unexpressed thoughts rarely stay that way for long.

Halfway through this post, I started to wonder if I'd written about this experience before. If I have, I apologize for the repeat. I can't always keep up -- even with myself.