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Job-Interview Questions They’re Dying to Ask You


Are your palms always this sweaty?

Do you really not want a bottle of water, or do you have some outdated notion that accepting the bottle and getting much-needed hydration would make you look weak?

Why is the résumé you just handed me so damp? I mean, I know why, but, still—why?

Can you tell me a little bit about yourself? In the most concise but relevant way possible, please? I’m not Robert Caro, and I’m barely taking notes about your time at whatever kind of a company Alphabet is. I guess I’ll have to Google it.

Did you read “The Power Broker”? Because I did. Got that? Also, what are your salary requirements?

If you’re so “proficient” in Microsoft Word, then why is this résumé formatted like a takeout menu from that restaurant which I know gave me food poisoning but I somehow can’t quit? I don’t know what they’re imitating crab with, but it sure is hit-or-miss. Man, I’m hungry.

Can you tell that I’m thinking about food right now? Normally, in cartoons, it only takes a couple of seconds for the one character to realize that the other is seeing his head as a giant turkey leg, so I should really try to keep my mind on something else. Oh, right. You. What’s your biggest weakness? And if it’s not being clammy and underqualified, woof.

Are you comfortable with there being an office dog? We don’t have one, but I couldn’t think of anything else to ask. Plus, I like dogs. It would be so awesome if there were one running around this place—I bet it would bark at Brad all of the time. God, I hate that guy. Always telling me to get back to work. Why would I want to do that? We don’t even have an office dog.

Why do you want to work for our company? I figure it’s probably just the money, but I could use a pep talk about wasting the best days of my life working here when I could be reading “Working,” by my man Bobby C., at some outdoor café while pondering which bureaucrat I’m going to biograph next.

If we do hire you, you’re not going to decorate your desk with those big-headed Funko dolls with the bulging eyes that always give me the feeling that they’re watching me and they don’t like what they see, right? Really, any doll-related plans you have, I demand to know right now. It’s bad enough that I have Brad peering over my shoulder all day.

Do you have any questions for me? Sorry, buddy, but it’s time for the me show. I’m about to blow your mind with riveting responses detailing how I started out at this company in an internship that I got because I lied about Morgan Stanley being my uncle and, even though no one believed me, the hiring manager felt bad enough for me to give me the gig. I’m also going to let you in on exciting plans I have with regard to getting the company to pay for a standing desk that I’ll end up putting a chair in front of within a week.

Where do you see yourself in five minutes? Because that’s really not that far away—I’ll have to risk ordering lunch in, so that I don’t run into you on the street.

Would you consider wearing a pair of statement gloves? Not only could they absorb your sweat but they might make you more memorable—in a good way. Well, a better way.

How can I get out of interviewing anyone else today? Don’t let me down, Krab Bowlz, please—

Were my palms always this sweaty? Oops.

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