I was mingling at my department's reception last December, at the annual conference of a major association in my discipline -- religious studies. I was hoping to stay just long enough to network with a few well-placed professors, but to avoid talking with other colleagues on the market (and also to crash another reception with a reputation for better food). I felt fortunate to have had one conference interview. At least I was able to say that I had interviewed somewhere.
Suddenly a fellow student cornered me by the buffet. We exchanged the most basic of pleasantries and he asked the inevitable question: Did you have any interviews?
I described it, playing it up a bit. He nodded sympathetically, clearly waiting for me to reciprocate. I did, and he dramatically loosened his necktie and sighed. "I'm absolutely exhausted. I had five interviews today, and two yesterday." I congratulated him as he told me the details, but I wasn't really listening. This scenario repeated itself throughout the weekend, and then again at another conference in January. One friend had four interviews, another five. A guy I know in classics had 20. It was depressing. Even my professors seemed puzzled and disappointed at my poor showing.
But by the second week of February I had resigned myself to rejection from the jobs I had already applied to, and I anxiously hoped for a last-minute replacement position somewhere in New England.
My reprieve came on a Thursday afternoon. Midafternoon is usually given over to telemarketers and fund raisers so I almost didn't answer the phone. The caller turned out to be the chairman of a religious-studies department at a large state university out west -- way out west. "Congratulations," he began. "You've made our shortlist." This caught me a bit by surprise, as I was unaware that I had made even a longlist. In fact, I received nothing from the department, not even the obligatory affirmative-action card. I had just assumed that the position had been eliminated because of budget cuts. I had also assumed that a university this distant would rely heavily on phone interviewing, especially for a tenure-track position. (It is very close to Magnum P.I.'s house.)
We chatted briefly about the position and I reiterated my interest in it. "What kind of timetable did you have in mind for the interview?"
"Oh, we'd like to see you as soon as possible, preferably next week."
He promised to call the next day with more details and I hung up, giddy. I called my wife and my parents, but they were all out so I settled for leaving cryptic messages on machines: "Good news, I got a campus interview for a tenure-track job -- and I get to see Don Ho play 'Tiny Bubbles'!" And then there was: "Hi, Mom and Dad, I need to get Uncle Dick's phone number. Thanks." (I hadn't seen Uncle Dick in 17 years, but he, too, is near Magnum P.I.'s house.)
Traveling 5,500 miles for a job interview is more difficult than it might initially appear. First I had to book a last-minute flight to the north Pacific, trying both to make it as convenient as possible for me, and to be considerate of my hosts. They promised to reimburse me, but I didn't want to press my luck by sticking them with a $2,800 airfare bill. And while I am an ardent fan of online travel services, they seem to be more effective for obsessive bargain hunting than convenient, quick service. I still don't understand why it took four days to "overnight" my ticket.
During those four days I had to prepare a sample lecture for 150 undergraduates and a presentation of my research for the department's faculty members and graduate students. (I learned my lesson from my last interview and called back twice with specific questions about the format and content of both the lecture and the presentation.)
I left my house at 2:30 a.m .on a Tuesday. Including the drive to the airport and time waiting at LaGuardia, Chicago-Midway, and LAX, I logged a solid 19 hours of travel time. Much of this was on a budget airline, which provided a level of comfort that one might expect from a bus line, albeit with less of a bus-station ambience.
I arrived in the evening, and with my body clock completely out of whack, tried to rest for my lecture at 9:30 the next morning. No one arranged to pick me up at the airport or take me to campus, but I figured that things were just different here. At least I had Uncle Dick around, so that lent the place a faint familiarity.
As hectic as the last four days of writing, planning, and traveling had been, I was calm. This was partly because of the absurdity of having traveled 5,500 miles for a job interview on four days' notice. My calm was probably also due to the climate and the ocean, clichéd as it may sound. I felt only the slightest performance anxiety as I sat on my veranda watching the sunrise over the Pacific, eating a not-so-tropical breakfast from the 7-Eleven attached to my hotel. Hey, at least I got a free trip to the tropics.
Walking to the department it was immediately clear how out of place my interview suit was. The open architecture of the campus allowed me to see into classrooms, and by attire alone it was difficult to distinguish between professor and student -- all of them donning shorts, flip-flops, and T-shirts (or perhaps colorful floral print shirts for heightened formality). My Uncle Dick had already chided me for wearing a suit, but since it was all I had brought I wore it jauntily without a tie.
The first day included an undergraduate lecture and a single interview with the department's entire faculty. The lecture situation was less than ideal: a deteriorating lecture hall, about 100 square feet of blackboard, and an ancient overhead projector. There was also nowhere to hide: no podium, only a waist-high table to put my notes on. So out of necessity I ad-libbed the hour. The students seemed to enjoy it. Some even came up after class to ask thoughtful questions. The faculty seemed impressed.
The interview with the faculty was not so successful, but by late afternoon it had become clear this had less to do with me than with interpersonal tensions within the department. As had been the case throughout the day, department members were not shy about airing their complaints about each other and about the administration. The main fault line in the department seemed to be between those with a more contented attitude (dare I call it Aloha spirit?), and those intent on increasing the prestige of the department. One professor declared during the interview: "This department is dying. We need new energy, innovation, development grants, conferences." This apparently was to be my job.
Some members of the department realized that the interview had not gone as smoothly as they might have desired. Driving me back to my hotel, a professor apologized: "I just don't think we've done a very good job of recruiting you," she said shaking her head. This may have been true, but I honestly felt that I had seen the true colors of the department, and it was better than what I was used to.
Everyone was on good behavior the next day for my research presentation. When I showed up at the department the faculty were still in a meeting. I couldn't help but assume that they might be talking about me.
The day ended with my "celebration dinner" as the chairman strangely called it. This was poorly planned as well. I first sat around in his office while he returned phone calls. We then hiked a solid mile in the afternoon rain to his car. Dinner culminated with advice on how to negotiate salary and benefits with the dean -- a good sign.
Two days later I was offered the job, and eventually I accepted it. Even with the tendency toward disorganization and the occasional bickering, it was a collegial and informal place, with great potential for growth. It was about as far, spatially and academically, as I could go from my graduate school -- stodgy, full of big egos, distrustful of change. It was a welcome change.
Thinking back to the misery of my conferences, I wish I'd heeded the advice of my dissertation adviser, who alone ridiculed the obsession over conference interviews. Neither of my campus interviews (and subsequent job offers) were in my sights by the time others were already celebrating their success. I have no idea how I made it to the top of this pile, while I was never considered for jobs that seemed the perfect fit. However it happened, while 5,500 miles might be a long way to go for an interview, it seems a nice place to be for the next few years.
