what's my line?

Yesterday, I interviewed for an advertising sales position at a local soft rock radio station. This is a station which I rarely listen to, not being a large fan of the whole ‘soft rock’ genre. Generally, one Celine Dion song per year is more than enough to satisfy my soft rock quotient.

But this particular station gets heavy air play in dentist offices throughout the city, having that ‘elevator music’ feel that is supposedly ‘soothing’ for those about to have their molars pulled. So I knew that there must be some demand for advertisers…if, for no other reason, so that toothpaste companies can alert people to new flavors and whitening factors associated with their brands.

I pulled into the parking lot, rode up the elevator to the third floor, and once entering the lobby, was instructed by the receptionist to fill out an in-house application. I sat on one of the threadbare chairs which were centered around a glass coffee table and began filling in the required information. While I sat, a Celine Dion song wafted through the lobby…thus fulfilling my soft rock requirements for the remainder of 2006.

Fifteen minutes later, I was sitting across from the sales manager. I have been on enough interviews that, not withstanding the occasional curveball, I can anticipate exactly what questions will be asked. Because, while I’m sure that the different sales managers I’ve interviewed with are all quite good at selling, they tend to be somewhat lazy in their interviewing techniques. Clearly, they have all read the same Interviewing 101 book.

And so the dance began. ‘Tell me about a time you had to deal with a difficult client,’ she asked. ‘Describe a time you went above and beyond the call of duty to ensure that a project deadline was met,’ she asked. ‘How do you go about organizing your day to make sure that nothing slips through the cracks,’ she asked. And, like an actor auditioning for a role, I had my lines memorized.

‘If I were sitting across from one of your co-workers, what are some adjectives they would use to describe you,’ she asked. My brain froze. The only co-worker that came to mind was Bettie Jo…and I knew exactly how Bettie Jo would describe me. Though these weren’t terms I cared to share during an interview.

The seconds ticked away in silence. I knew that a response was needed fast, yet I simply couldn’t think of any adjectives. Later, as I rode back down to the elevator to reach my car, words came to me in torrents. Responsible. Punctual. Hard-working. But at that moment, sitting in that corner office, nothing came to mind.

Finally, just to break the silence, I said the only word that I could think of “Fired. Oh, and asshole. Is that an adjective?”

“No,” the sales manager replied.

“Well then, asshole-ish,” I said. “Though, in my defense, I never really cared for most of my co-workers either.”

Staring at me from across her desk, she told me, “we’ll contact you if we’re interested in inviting you to the next round of interviews,” and then suddenly took a great interest in a sheet of paper upon her desk. No hand was offered for me to shake. No movement was made to open the door for me.

As I pulled out of the parking lot, telling myself that I really didn’t want to sell soft-rock advertising space in the first place, I decided that next time I would write down some impressive adjectives on my hand. Because this way, if I forgot my line, I would only have to fake a nose scratch and read my palm.