I'm good at my job but crap at interviews
Most of my colleagues seem to have the opposite problem.
( Joe Scaramanga with a G-double-O-D vibration, Wed 27 Nov 2013, 9:06, 2 replies)

Something to remember
I had a job interview in November 2001. It wasn't the ideal job, but I was out of work, broke and desperate. It was a big deal.

The interview seemed to go really well. I could do what they wanted me to do in my sleep. A dead cert. I'd nailed it.

I was absolutely buzzing by the time I got back in to the car. Until I looked down while putting my seatbelt on and realised that I'd sat through the whole interview with the plastic headless, leafless stalk of a remembrance poppy pinned to my chest. Fuck knows what happened to the rest of it. Dammit.
( Halibut If you think education is expensive, try crack., Wed 27 Nov 2013, 8:23, 2 replies)

"Public relations" position
I was just out of college, had done a PR internship, and found an ad for PR work. So I answered it.

They asked me to come in for an interview. I was given an application and asked to sit in a room with others, where we were then subjected to a video extolling the wonders of this new company. Yep, group interview for a job that combined the worst of telemarketing, sales and retailing. We were to cold call people, get them to pay to join a "buying club," and then get them to come in and buy worthless crap for a commission -- only during select hours.

"You work directly with the customer in all stages. What could be more public relations than that," asked the salesman-with-the-next-big -thing-idea.

I resisted saying in front of the group, "sleeping with the customers"? Wish I had now.

Because I had a resume and filled out the application with actual work experience, they were very eager to have me and yet very surprised when I walked out with a "not interested."
(ChiTown Guy Dating when 35+: sane, single, attractive - pick 2, Wed 27 Nov 2013, 6:08, 1 reply)

Long distance unrelationship
Some years ago I applied for a job at Warwick University. I heard nothing back for a couple of weeks, then got a phone call at 5.15pm one day asking if I could be in Warwick for an interview at 9am the following day. "No, I'm afraid not" I said "because as you'll see from my form, I live and work in Glasgow. However, I could get to you for noon tomorrow."

They said they would let me know, but I heard nothing until a fortnight later I had a letter saying that my application had been cancelled because I had "failed to make myself available for interview."

It was no great surprise to learn on the grapevine that the job had gone to an internal candidate.
(ubergeekian, Wed 27 Nov 2013, 1:16, 2 replies)

I once went to the mining town of kalgoorlie and started knocking on doors of mining companies looking for work
At one exploration company, the senior geo told me that I could start, but the final decision would be made by the boss who wasn't due back until late the next day. Come tomorrow, I was following one of the fieldies back from some drill rigs. It was also the first time I'd driven a 4wd and I was quite enjoying it, when the fieldie in the land cruiser in front of me clipped an emu. To this day I think he was taking the piss, but he pulled over and said the right thing to do is put it out of it's misery. The poor emu was staggering on the road like a drunk, no doubt with some terminal internal damage. The fieldie got a shovel from the back of his tray, and told me to hold it still. The half-dead fucker still tried to peck me as I grabbed its feathers, but the fieldie broke its neck with one swing then brained it, before we dragged it off the road.
I got back to the base and the senior geo said the boss was in and we could do the interview now. I had my nice backpacker chic shirt on, and was probably better dressed than everyone there, apart from the small detail that I was sprayed neck to ankle with emu blood. I looked like an escaped axe murderer. The boss didn't mention the blood at all, but said he'd just got back from working in Africa. I asked how it was and he suddenly got all angry saying he "..fuckin' hated the place, mate. 3 hours of fucking electricity a day if you're lucky". Now in a bad mood he told me they weren't looking for anyone. After this I couldn't be fucked going home to wash, so I went straight to the pub where people left me alone with my beer.
( cumquat may will not be commenting further on the allegations, Tue 26 Nov 2013, 22:49, 1 reply)

I went into an competency style interview where you had to give examples of a time you have used teamwork/failed at a task, etc.
I made all the stories up and couldn't remember details when the interviewer referred back to a previous story. I can't remember the stories, but it really happened.
( Fork Has lost his bash virginity!, Tue 26 Nov 2013, 20:08, 3 replies)

Job vacancy
Lead singer required for successful South Wales band. Apply #lostprophets.



Too soon?
(Captain Placid 24/7 ball gags, brownie mix and clown porn, Tue 26 Nov 2013, 17:18, 16 replies)

Are you perhaps the sort of person who mirrors people a bit too easily. Who spends a day in
Glasgow and speaks with a Glaswegian accent within 30 minutes. I am one of those people. Which made the interview with the Glaswegian man who suffered from action based Tourette's Syndrome very uncomfortable for me. We did however have a right laugh about it but the job was not me nor me for him.
( d.r._and_quinch when will you be famous?, Tue 26 Nov 2013, 15:45, 1 reply)

Can we just sack off the anecdotes and bully Dr. Shambolic instead?

(dozers, do fuck off ur a nob m8, Tue 26 Nov 2013, 15:27, 28 replies)

Once, many years ago...
I was in the bath, with an erection, busting for a piss.

Long story short, I purposedly pissed in my own mouth.
(8875589, Tue 26 Nov 2013, 15:06, 1 reply)

After hacking an email account I found out the truth behind Foxtons.
Many moons ago, during a very brief spell of out of the mental ward, I was in dire need of a job, any job. So I applied to a large advert in the Evening Standard on behalf of those crack pot social pariahs, Foxtons.
The advert didn't say much, only that 'well-groomed, educated and verstaile males need apply.' Being a well-groomed, educated and and at that stage, fussy bottom, I called the number, received an application form and was invited to attend a 'Stage One Group Timewaste' at their Chiswick offices. Suited and booted I arrived in good time and was ushered by the receptionist upstairs to the dreary boardroom overlooking Chiswick High Road. Upon entering, I was issued with a name-tag and told to 'mingle' whilst waiting for the other candidates to arrive. Laid out on the Walnut boardroom table was a large selection of drinks, there were bottles of cold beer, cans of Coke and mini Evian waters.
Soon we were all present and correct and our 'interviewer' arrived. Looking the picture of a well-groomed, educated to at least CSE and versatile, he took to the centre of the room and addressed us all.'Welcome to Foxtons! He cried, 'This is an informal timewaste, there will be no questions, no CV's at this stage, I'm just going to ogle you for a while to determine whether or not you're "Foxtons Material", he leered. 'Please, help yourselves to refreshments and get chatting to each other.And that was it.
He then sidled off the back of the room and with clipboard in hand, began to observe proceedings. Our group nervously began to frottage, small talk was made as we all tried to figure out the purpose of this 'timewaste''Take drinks!' Our host called out from the back. 'It's thirsty work this timewasting lark, make sure you stay lubricated!, Er, I mean hydrated'
Strange. This was obviously a test - but what kind of test? Was it the drinks? If I took a beer would I be seen as an alcoholic and therefore not 'Foxtons Material'? What the fuck was going on here? Eventually I plumped for a beer. Most of the men present took Diet Cokes and the stronger guys either copied me and grabbed a Bud, or the weaker ones sips of Evian. Trouble is, there was no bottle opener for the Bud, Christ I thought this is a test. I decided to not look a fool and casually took the bottle to the edge of the pristine Walnut boardroom table and wacked the crown top off. Everyone in the room was aghast.

'Thank you very much!' Mr Foxtons declared, no more than 15 minutes later. 'You've all been fantastic, successful candidates will be called tomorrow and those unsuccessful will receive a letter in the post.'And that was it. Slowly the group left the room - all of us more confused than when we'd started. The next day, I got a call. I'd been selected to return for a 'Formal Second Stage Interview' with an 'Area Manager'. When I enquired as to their selection process, I was told that all would be revealed at the following interview. So for the second time in as many days, I made my way back to Chiswick High road.

This time I found myself sat opposite a very well-groomed and versatile chap, who proceeded to grill me about all aspects of life! Finally, during the 'any questions' bit, I asked what had made me a successful candidate for this second interview.'
"We look for strong signs of mincing campness, pretty mouth and obvious power bottoms. You exhibited these during the first interview and we believe that you have the makings of a 'Foxtons Man', now get over here and suck my greasy cock.

"Oh the misery I felt as I knelt before him and performed oral sex on him with a tear in my eye and a raging hard on in my pants. I had arrived, the Mini One was mine and all the suits from Burtons I could handle. I had the last laugh, with my multi-million pound property portfolio - because I am Albert Marshmallow here me ROARRRRRR
( d.r._and_quinch when will you be famous?, Tue 26 Nov 2013, 12:24, 13 replies)

*something about practicing to be a solicitor but being arrested for kerb-crawling*

( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Tue 26 Nov 2013, 11:04, Reply)

Banana, who applied for a job as a telephone repairman.
Guy came and said You want a job here?
And he said Yeah, I wanna get a job.
YOU GOT THE JOB!
YOU GOT THE JOB, BUDDY!
( drimble he'd been white, he'd been black, Tue 26 Nov 2013, 11:00, 3 replies)

Truth or dare.
Everybody tells a porky-pie or 2 on their CV, don't they?

I used to live in a shared house with three other blokes. At the time we all worked casually and most of us had more than 1 job that was part of the "black economy". The rent was paid, there was always cold beer in the fridge and mostly the cone in the bong would be regularly packed. But 3 of us were seeking jobs that were a bit more than just "moving shit from 1 location to another" or "lugging heavy shit around". So we all had CVs. This being the 90's we all used to fight over who got to take their saved-on-a-floppy CV to a parents workplace or uni or even use the household Thinkpad to dialup and use electronic mail to send the file to someone we knew who had a printer.

One stoned and drunken evening, like all the others, we had an idea - whoever could put the most outlandish claim in their CV and either be questioned about it without the interviewer calling bullshit or even actually get the job, won.
We called it "CV Roulette". The winner not only got the respect of his peers (and the rest of the blokes at our local when we told them) but also a carton of piss and 1st dibs to try and crack onto the new skimpy on Thursday night. *Oh how naive we were - as if the blokes at the pub gave a shit!*

1st week; Nathan managed to convince some interviewers that part of his research at uni was involved in winning a Nobel Prize. As a Communications graduate. Jeremy bent the rules a bit by letting it slip in an interview that his family were a title holders from a European kingdom. And I apparently was seconded to an elite Army unit at one point during my 'career' as an NCO in cadets.

And so it went on with the claims getting bigger and more elaborate.
None of us got our dream jobs out of it mind you, but upon getting short-listed and then having had our referees contacted to verify our details a few of us fell by the wayside.
The winner by our accounts was Anthony who had claimed both on his CV and in interview that he was the grandson of Prince Albert's bastard child.
The interviewer was apparently a massive Anglophile, history buff and royal family watcher.
He got the job. Working as a level 2 data entry operative at Main Roads Dept.
EDIT: We got him a slab of Export for his troubles. We drank most of it as we either finished early or usually cracked a tinny for brecky.
(s0ckpuppet logging out to reply to you if you're not careful, Tue 26 Nov 2013, 10:43, 6 replies)

Not one but two failed interviews
So last year I was working for Barclays in one of their corporate offices, it was a 3 month temp to perm position and when the time came to interview for the role I was asked if I wanted to try for the permanent placement. I did so and didn't get the job. The feedback was that I wasn't corporate enough even though I had been doing the job for 3 months efficiently and there wasn't much more to the role that I wasn't already doing.
I put it down to the office manager not liking me as everyone hated her and the other members of staff liked me and as she had the overall power to give me the job, I didn't get it.
The second interview was at Lime Pictures, it was for an admin job booking in contractors to work on the tv programmes. I had to sit a 20 minute assessment that my agency didn't know about and 15 of that was taken up with the 10 pages of notes that I had to read through so I didn't actually get to finish the assessment, I spent the next 40 minutes answering all the formal questions.
The outcome? They decided that I was too corporate for the job. That I can understand, I mean I did turn up to the interview in a suit, who does that anymore?
The weirdest feedback was that they determined that I would have difficulty making friendships, I don't know how they figured that out as they didn't ask me anything about that. What gets me is that I coach over 60 women in roller derby each week and I also work in promotion so I have to approach many different types of people.
As it turned out, no one who went to the interview got the job for some obscure reason or other so the agency told me that they were after a person who didn't exist.

TL:DR I wasn't corporate enough to do a job permanently that I had done for 3 months and too corporate to work at a tv studios.
(Soaps Roller derbying your way since, Tue 26 Nov 2013, 10:20, 6 replies)

Presuming his appointment required an interview
Edward Smith
(roysin, Tue 26 Nov 2013, 9:27, 1 reply)

Cant believe I forgot this one
Applying for bar work some time ago. I turned up to the "employment open day" being held at a new pub that was looking for 12 staff members. Along with 400 (yes, really) other applicants. After filling in a short form, I sat down with a harassed-looking man in his forties. He picked up my form and asked me if I had had any bar experience. When I replied in the negative he, without breaking eye contact, turned my form over and placed it face down on the table.

I left the building without further comment.
( MatJ LOOK, Tue 26 Nov 2013, 1:16, 3 replies)

To Me, To You...
A while back I had an interview for a "manage our facebook and use photoshop because we're tech numpties" type job with a charity/business/ex-council department trying to get to grips with not having a tax funded budget.

The interview didn't really start well, one of two interviewers couldn't remember his job title no matter how hard he tried. It was soon clear that neither of them had much of a clue what they were doing and had probably never held an interview before that day.

I was the last of 5 or 6 interviewees that day but they were reading the interview questions off a sheet of paper as if they'd never seen it (or any writing) before. They got more and more flustered trying to keep track of whose turn it was to ask me the next question from the sheet and were passing it backwards and forwards Chuckle Brothers style, only Paul was a flat chested red head midget and Barry a "business" man of the croissant eating persuasion.

About half way through I made my mind up to get the interview over and done as quickly as possible. The second hand embarrassment was spreading like gonorrhea from a whorehouse and I didn't fancy working for a couple of nuggets who were supposedly running a business but couldn't get to grips with taking turns to ask questions.
(danishbacon is haram yes?, Mon 25 Nov 2013, 23:51, 1 reply)

time lord
today i sent the interview panel a message to say i was running 15mins late.

turned up for the interview 2 days early.

take that spacetime.
(andy blip glasgow mega snake, Mon 25 Nov 2013, 19:40, 5 replies)

Career-orientated slapstick
A few years ago I applied for a company describing itself as "young and dynamic", because I was too young at the time to realise that "young and dynamic" meant "you will be chained to your respective oar and made to follow the beat of the paunchy bald guy with the big drum and the come-wither eyes."

The company itself was a tiny affair at the time, owned by and consisting entirely of a girl and her boyfriend, so they rented one office in a business centre and shared the conferencing facilities offered by the centre itself. This included the basement meeting room. I was briefly welcomed by the pair of them on the day itself and invited to follow them down to the meeting room, ticking off as I did so the "be interviewed in a sex dungeon" entry on my bucket list.

The meeting room was small, dark and equipped with an asthmatic coffee machine. It was also equipped with the most motley suite of executive furniture I've ever seen outside of an IKEA. The company owners each perched on a bar stool to interview me, leaving me a leather armchair tailor-made for an eight-year-old. I tried to maintain as much dignity as possible while lowering myself below and beyond the call of duty in an attempt to attain a sitting position. Just as it felt as though my shoulders were about to swap places, I discovered that the My First Executive Chair was actually on wheels. My arms shot out backwards as the chair whooshed out from under me, and I sprawled on my arse looking as though I'd just been hoofed in the chest by an invisible cow.

They laughed it off and offered me the job after the interview anyway, using humour and empathy as a means of disguising their actual cuntishness.
( .Yeti. El amor en los tiempos del cólera, Mon 25 Nov 2013, 17:34, 1 reply)

The ever delightful Mrs Walkie-Talkie files the Job applications at her work.
Her favourite one was a young fellow who had listed becoming a 'level whatever' Troll-mage?* in World of Warcraft in the 'achievements' section of his CV. He went on to say that this showed his dedication to a task.

He wasn't invited in for an interview.

*you know what I mean. I guess it involved a female in skimpy armour.
(FartThroughAWalkieTalkie wished you were dead in ditch on, Mon 25 Nov 2013, 14:20, 5 replies)

The horror
There is nothing that can drive terror into my very soul than the words 'role play' in an interview

Unless they are asking me what computer games I play
(sittingduck Attention seeking, bullshitting fuck-knuckle, Mon 25 Nov 2013, 13:54, 18 replies)

Interview Success! (of sorts).
Many moons ago, during a very brief spell of unemployment, I was in dire need of a job, any job. So I applied to a large advert in the Evening Standard on behalf of that esteemed firm estate agents, Foxtons.

The advert didn't say much, only that 'well-groomed, educated and career-minded individuals need apply.' Being a well-groomed, educated and and at that stage, career-minded chap, I called the number, received an application form and was invited to attend a 'Stage One Group Interview' at their Park Lane offices.

Suited and booted I arrived in good time and was ushered by the receptionist upstairs to an opulent boardroom overlooking Hyde Park. Upon entering, I was issued with a name-tag and told to 'mingle' whilst waiting for the other candidates to arrive. Laid out on the boardroom table was a large selection of drinks, there were bottles of cold beer, cans of Coke and mini Evian waters. Soon we were all present and correct and our 'interviewer' arrived. Looking the picture of a well-groomed, educated and career-minded fellow, he took to the centre of the room and addressed us all.

'Welcome to Foxtons! He cried, 'This is an informal interview, there will be no questions, no CV's at this stage, I'm just going to hang out with you for a while to determine whether or not you're "Foxtons Material". Please, help yourselves to refreshments and get chatting to each other.'

And that was it. He then sidled off the back of the room and with clipboard in hand, began to observe proceedings. Our group nervously began to interact, small talk was made as we all tried to figure out the purpose of this 'interview'.

'Take drinks!' Our host called out from the back. 'It's thirsty work this interviewing lark, make sure you stay hydrated!'

Strange. This was obviously a test - but what kind of test? Was it the drinks? If I took a beer would I be seen as an alcoholic and therefore not 'Foxtons Material'? What the fuck was going on here? Eventually I plumped for a beer. Most of the girls present took Diet Cokes and the guys either copied me and grabbed a Bud, or took nervous sips of Evian.

'Thank you very much!' Mr Foxtons declared, no more than 15 minutes later. 'You've all been fantastic, successful candidates will be called tomorrow and those unsuccessful will receive a letter in the post.'

And that was it. Slowly the group left the room - all of us more confused than when we'd started. The next day, I got a call. I'd been selected to return for a 'Formal Second Stage Interview' with an 'Area Manager'. When I enquired as to their selection process, I was told that all would be revealed at the following interview. So for the second time in as many days, I made my way back to Park Lane. This time I found myself sat opposite a very well-groomed and career-minded chap, who proceeded to grill me about all aspects of life. And finally, during the 'any questions' bit, I asked what had made me a successful candidate for this second interview.

'We look for strong sings of class, manners and social skills. You exhibited these during the first interview and we believe that you have the makings of a 'Foxtons Man'.

Turns out it was all about the drinks. Not what drink was selected - but how it was drank. I'd taken an ice-cold Bud and poured it into the largest glass available - as is my preference. Those classless, ill-mannered and socially inept imbeciles that had taken a Coke, Evian or beer and proceeded to drink directly from the can or bottle, well those people were apparently not 'Foxtons Material'.
( Albert Marshmallow is a completely irredeemable cunt, Mon 25 Nov 2013, 13:42, 25 replies)

Dairy of a wimpy kid
It was 1991. John Major and Norman Lamont had done fucked up and brought the country to its knees. There were billions of people out of work, billions.

I was 18, didn't fancy Uni (fucking idiot) and so I thought I would try and get a job locally with a rather spiffing 3 A levels in Chemistry (D), English Lit (E) and History (E).

The local Dairy advertised for a junior lab tech to basically test milk samples. I filled in the application form, which was a bit of a struggle to answer in places such that it was filled with the sort of questions that struck fear in to the heart of this mollycoddled inexperienced refusenik.

I sat in the waiting room for my turn amongst my rivals. It didn't take long to deduce that I didn't stand a chance. What should have been a horde of green wet-behind-the-ears school-leaving nomarks (not unlike myself) worthy of the position advertised, was in fact a gaggle of suited, experienced go-getters.

I chatted to the two chaps either side of me. They both had degrees and were desperate for a job, any job, so here they were. Marvellous.

My interview simply consisted of a rather vexed and stressed looking woman confirming my name and age and whether I would be willing to work shifts. I am reasonably confident that I answered those questions correctly, and if my chances for employment hinged on those two minutes, maybe I might be head of yoghurts or something by now, but no. Interview terminated, (I even thanked her for her time), I was shown the door, never to be contacted again.

I like to think that I had no chance given the competition, but in truth a non toilet-trained monkey with bad attitude would have been a better bet.
(mersault, Mon 25 Nov 2013, 13:20, 2 replies)

A few years back…

A mate of mine was on the ‘rock ‘n’ roll’ in between bank jobs (providing investment advice, not robbing them). He had sorted himself out with an interview and passed the recruitment agency muppets stage. Now, my mate is generally a chilled out, mellow guy, but he just so happens to turn into a rage filled arse-banana when he gets behind the wheel. (BMW driver – what are the odds?)

So one day he’s razzing down a road when his phone rings. He takes the call and it’s the manager from the bank he’s applied for asking for a follow up phone interview. He explains that he’s driving but as he’s got hands free he’d be happy to continue. Thusly, the manager chap starts with the questions and it’s the kind of thing you’d expect.

After a few mundane questions my mate thinks it’s going smoothly and starts to relax. Even a few jokes go down well. Unfortunately, as this was happening, he found himself stuck behind a car whose driver had selfishly decided to not travel at the required 980 MPH that my mate deemed acceptable. Although getting increasingly frustrated, he continued to answer the manager’s questions until:

Manager: (something along the lines of) “Could you give an example of a successful project you have undertaken?
My Mate: “Well, in my last role I helped initiate a financi-GET OUT OF THE FUCKING WAY YOU SLOW ARSED TWAT! Erm…I mean…erm…...oh.”

He didn’t get the job.
(Mr Twisty Cheeky The worst kept secret in B3ta..., Mon 25 Nov 2013, 13:03, 9 replies)

Mrs Vagabond was made redundant a couple of years ago.
In one of the subsequent job interviews she went to, they had to play-act a scenario.

At one point one of the interviewers said "Do you mind if I just come out of character for a moment?"

She said it was fine, and then later asked "Do you mind if I just come out of character for a moment? How much am I getting paid for this?"
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Mon 25 Nov 2013, 12:56, Reply)

Intersmash
You know, there's a point during an interview when you know you've not been successful. The interviewer changes tack and starts to make the job sound more difficult than it actually is. "The spreadsheets are massive, 100s of rows, dozens of pages each.... You have to create weekly reports for senior management... The chairs aren't very comfortable..." and so on. Doing everything to try and talk you out of it without having to say "Actually, you might as well leave now, we're not going to give you the job, even if the other two candidates suddenly win the lottery or drop dead."

So, what's intersmash?

****
INTERSMASH: (v) To purposefully & dramatically drive a job interview off the rails after the sudden clarity that you are not going to get an offer. Intersmashing options include suddenly speaking in a thick Italian accent or feigning Rapture.
****

I'm from Hull, we have an awful accent, but I was enunciating well. However, he had a Doncaster accent, slightly Yorkshire, but not much. At that point I began talking like him. By that time I thought "fuck it", and progressed to a full on Barnsley accent, pushed my chair back and had my hands behind my head, grinning inanely as if being sucked off under the table.
"Do you have any questions?"
"Yes, what's the promotion ladder like? By which I mean, how long are you likely to stick it out before moving on and getting another job elsewhere? Would it be worth going after your job if you leave and is it good money?" I may even have slipped in a 'by gum' at one point.

After a few more minutes of acting like I'd just caught ADHD, I sat back forward, beat out a short drum fill-in on the desk, yawned somewhat loudly like my dad used to at the end of World of Sport and asked "What else? Anything? Nothing? How soon before you make a decision?" I asked, knowing full well that he had 10 minutes ago.
He stood up, and leaned over to shake my hand. I stood up and pushed my chair over with the back of my knees. I shook his hand, picked the chair up and he showed me out.

Now you're wondering "did I get the job?" No of course I fucking didn't.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Mon 25 Nov 2013, 12:30, 7 replies)

I refused the interview
Following university I was working, temporarily, for the local college. It was essentially an admin role where I worked to match the students with the local work experience places we had to ensure all the healthcare students got some relevant experience during the course. It was ok but far from the "career" I imagined.

That said I was good at it, got on with the other staff and got the job done.

So when they got round to interviewing for the post I didn't apply for it as in my mind I didn't actually want the job. It was fine as a temporary thing but I concluded I couldn't bear the idea of this being permanent.

Midway through the afternoon the head of department, a very nice but formal lady most in the department knew not to cross, came to pay me a visit.

She asked if I'd like to be interviewed for the job, I declined, but she persisted and told me quite frankly that if I went downstairs for the interview I'd get the job as the other candidates were quite dissappointing and they wanted me to stay on.

My mouth just engaged and it wasn't until I was done that I thought through my words, judging by the look it wasn't what she wanted to hear:
"I really don't want to keep doing this job longer than I have to and I really doubt the salary on offer is anywhere near what it would take for me to reconsider".

So they picked the least incompetent candidate who it turned out couldn't start until 5 days after I left for another job, so no chance for a handover. I visited the office about a month later as my then girlfriend was one of the students. Turns out the successful candidate was incompetent as many delighted in telling me. I saw her struggling with the database at her desk and I popped my head round the door and offered my help. I think she assumed I was one of the students or at best the tea boy as I was told "It's very technical you wouldn't understand it".
"Ok" I said and turned to leave. As I walked out I said, "shame as I wrote that database". I didn't look back.
(golddust QOTW now revolves around being a cunt, Mon 25 Nov 2013, 12:23, 9 replies)

An old schoolfriend of mine got a job working for Belfast City Council.
A few years back he gave me a call.
"Joseph!" I says "How can I help you at all at all with the assistance upon me and begorrah?"
"Well, Doctor P" says himself "We're thinking of introducing wheelie bins into Belfast so we are."
"Fair play to you!" was my enthusiastic response.
"Anyway," he says "I know you do be having the wheelie bins in Dublin, so I was wondering if I could pay you a visit and have a look at them? And sure afterwards we could go a few scoops."
"Top of the idea to you, Joseph!"
And that was my Joe bin to view.
( Dr Preference AjcuiVd289, Mon 25 Nov 2013, 12:20, 6 replies)

A demonstration of skills
A past IT interview required that I produce and give a presentation about how to run an IT project.

Giving it due thought I decided that rather than the usual powerpoint trash I would in fact do it as a series of web pages using a stylesheet, thus demonstrating some of the skills I was there for.

All went well and later in the interview the IT "Manager" reeled off her list of questions.

"Do you know what a cascading style sheet is?"
"Yes, and I..." - I was cut off by the next question.
"How would use a cascading style sheet?"

Now from the monotone robotic nature of the questions I twigged she hadn't got a clue about IT at all, so I attempted to turn the conversation in a more useful direction.

"Actually, if we take a look again at my presentation you can see where I've used..."
"We've already conducted the presentation phase of the interview, How would you use a cascading style sheet?" She asked again.
"I'd use one in an interview presentation to ensure the pages shared a common design and save time in preparing it" I offered.

When I got the interview feedback apparantly I lacked technical knowledge in the use of website management. At the time I'd worked as a professional developer for several years.

Sometimes it's the interviewer who's thick not the candidate.
(golddust QOTW now revolves around being a cunt, Mon 25 Nov 2013, 11:51, 5 replies)