In the first month or so after I was laid-off, I was so certain I would find the most wonderful next job any second. I heard about an executive director position for a local start-up non-profit and yeah, it sounded PERFECT! I sent my resume and got the phone call: CONGRATULATIONS, YOU ARE ON THE SHORT LIST!
Of course, I went shopping, bought an executive director-type dress that said I-mean-business-with-a-bit-of-flash. That was what I was going for anyway.
The big day came, I’d prepared for the interview-by-committee — look out non-profit world, here I come.
Walked in, 10 minutes early. Wow, there are a lot of people here. Hmm, one, two… seven, eight… 13, 14… By the time official introductions came around, I counted 19. And that’s what they call a “short list?!”
Best yet to come.
We marched around the place, got the tour and talk. Then — the interview. I mean, interviews. There was a sort of traffic light, green you got up and you had five minutes for PLEASE PICK ME. Yellow, time to shut it. Red, you got the hook.
It was grueling and tense. One guy wept. Seriously. Some had memorized. Others tossed off degrees like they were throwing out bags of peanuts to the adoring crowd — masters, PhD.s, one was a marine biologist (!).
Beware of the short list.
More stories to come.