Why am I Doing This?

Is it bad to go to a job interview when you have no intention of taking the job if it is offered to you? Why is it so important to me that I impress the pants off the interviewer when I shouldn't give a toss what they think of me?

These are the questions that have been haunting me for the last few days. Let me give you some background....

I have been contacted by a head hunter. It's a bit of an ego trip for me being head hunted. Someone out there thinks I'm worth employing. He first contacted me shortly after I left my old job last year and I was quick to tell him I had no intention of looking for work until the new year. This was my first mistake and I should have defined when in the new year I was talking about. He interpreted 'New Year' as 2nd January. I was thinking more like late March. My bad, I shouldn't assume everybody is as casual about dates as I am.

Feeling guilty about not being clear on my how long my current state of lethargy was going to last, I allowed myself to be talked into going to an interview last Friday for a job I don't want. I haven't been to a job interview in about 15 years so I thought I could do with some practice for when I do decide that I can be bothered going back to work.

Rather than relieving my guilt, I found I was feeling worse about wasting everybody's time. I discussed this with a friend and he assured me it was ok as the company in question is known for interviewing candidates only to get enough people to make a statistical selection. My ego deflates a little at this point.

The night before the interview I start worrying about what I'm going to wear and how professional I should look. I choose a skirt that I thought looked particularly smart only to be told
      “you can't wear that. You look like you're going shopping”
Ego deflates a little more.

I reach into the forgotten land at the back of my wardrobe and find one of my old work outfits. Ok, I'll put the monkey suit on again. Hmm, I don't remember these trousers being quite so snug.  Ego is now the size of a peanut.

I dig up my beautiful leather portfolio to carry all my documents. It always made me look so professional. I would walk into meetings and flip my portfolio open showing reams of well though out notes I had prepared earlier. It's fortunate that nobody actually read the notes:
  * Ring AB to arrange lunch
  * PC thinks the No. 5 horse running in the 2nd race at Flemington is a dead certainty.
  * Nail polish is coming off the toes on the left foot – arrange pedicure

I find my beautiful leather portfolio has been put to a new use since I left the corporate world. The feral cats that have taken ownership of my house have been using it as a scratching post. Apparently sharpening one's claws on leather is so much more appealing than using the carpet covered scratching post that was supplied for that purpose.

The day of the interview I join the rat race and catch the train to the city. I'm dressed in my very professional (albeit snug) outfit with my mangled portfolio and I am sweltering in a train carriage without air-conditioning on the hottest day of summer. I'm thinking cool thoughts and trying not to wipe the perspiration off my face because all my make-up is going to go with it.

Finally the interview starts. It's a panel of three people all looking very cool and casual in jeans and t-shirts.        
                           “We have a casual dress policy here.”
Something you could have told me YESTERDAY!!!!!

After about five minutes I realise I am hopelessly over-qualified. I could do the job with my pinky and go for morning tea when I have finished. I would be bored. Realising this I should have stopped and told them but I couldn't help myself. I had this need to impress them and went through the entire interview explaining why I would be perfect for the job and how they couldn't possibly function without me. By now my ego is completely gone and I'm starting to hate myself.

I am now hoping desperately that my interviewers think I talk too much (a correct conclusion) and that I would be loud and disruptive because I am bored (comments which consistently appeared on my school reports from the age of 5). I'm now trying to work out at what point I can gracefully withdraw from the whole process.

Footnote
As I was finishing this blog the employment agent called me.
         “They loved you. They thought your energy would be perfect for the job. Can you do a second interview this week?”
         “They loved me? How wonderful” I gushed.

I am going for the second interview.

I hate myself.