I've been on a lot of job interviews. Seriously. My last count was something like 19, maybe even 20, over the past six hiring seasons in the social sciences. That's more than some people go on in a lifetime.
Maybe it's the psychological distance and detachment that takes root after the first dozen or so, but I'm realizing more and more that they are about less and less despite how important they can be in determining your entire future.
Research on tools used to determine how well someone will do on the job shows that the straight-up interview is generally not a very good predictor of on-the-job performance. Things like "work samples" -- snapshots of your doing what you will be hired to do, like lecturing or giving a job talk -- have been found to be much better at helping decision-makers know who's going to do the job well.
Yet in a daylong campus visit, the bulk of the time is spent in traditional, sit-down interviews. I'm certainly not suggesting an eight-hour research talk/lecture nor a mere 45-minute campus visit, but I would really like to get the word out that while you committee members may think you know how well a candidate will perform on the job, you probably don't.
At one campus visit I had this year, I loved the college and felt as if it was a really good fit for me (an emphasis on teaching, an opportunity to get to know and work with undergraduates, a cohesive department, a good location close to friends and family). In fact, let's call it "Dream College."
I wanted that job. A lot. I needed them to want me for the job.
Yet only once during my daylong visit was I asked that dreaded but, in this case, fundamental question: Why do you want to work here?
I typically loathe that question, particularly in phone interviews. I feel as if it's only asked to allow the candidate to stroke the egos of the search committee or make sure that a candidate has done his or her homework. But it's a given that candidates should think through their answer to that question, therefore nullifying any predictive power it may hold. In other words, all of the answers should be great.
During my interview at Dream College, though, I was looking forward to being asked the question. I was completely ready to tell the members of the hiring committee over and over how glad they would be if they hired me. Except no one on the committee ever asked. The only person who did was an interim administrator from a different department.
In retrospect, the committee members really didn't ask me much of anything.
In past interviews, especially for jobs I wasn't all that interested in, I looked forward to those moments in the tightly packed schedule when my questioners would wax rhapsodic about their teaching or their history with the college or the nature of their relationship with the administration. Whatever. The topic didn't matter, so long as I didn't have to do the talking. It's like a three-minute vacation during an otherwise grueling day.
But such breaks only come as a relief when I don't have much to say for myself or much that I haven't already said to five or six other committee members.
At Dream College, I was chomping at the bit to talk about myself but had to sit through literally hours (in nice, neat 30-minute chunks) of people talking about their research, their teaching philosophy, their real-estate situation, their pets.
I've got the small-talk thing down cold and can do it in my sleep, but I wanted to shout (like the only child that I am), "What about me? Don't you want to know about me!? Me! Me!"
Aware that that might not make an ideal first impression, I looked for openings in the conversation to highlight some of the important things the committee members should know about me that might predict my performance on the job: "Oh, you like dogs? I do too! But not as much as I like integrating technology in the classroom!"
While I never resorted to that, maybe I should have, since I left Dream College feeling like I was prevented from wowing them despite my best efforts.
Chances are some people reading this will think, "But collegiality is an important ingredient when it comes to fit, and what better way to assess that than to sit down and chat with someone?"
I'm glad you asked. After having worked with more than my share of entirely uncollegial, and often outright hostile, people, I thoroughly appreciate the need to make sure someone isn't going to be a complete lunatic on the job. When you're in the (metaphorical) trenches of committee work, you want someone who's going to share her last (also metaphorical) smoke with you. So, yes, being nice and chatty and smiley and friendly is very important. But most people can be nice for a full day, and presumably are wearing their "happy face" during a daylong interview. Shouldn't we, perhaps, dig a little deeper?
I certainly don't presume to know how things should be done, only how they are actually done at 20 or so institutions. The majority of my interviews led nowhere, including, I'm sad to report, the one at Dream College.
That may be a matter of odds (four candidates, one job), or maybe I'm just missing something important here. Are the people who are getting the jobs that I'm not the ones who do make the link between beloved pets and beloved classroom demonstrations? Should I be telling interviewers to pipe down and listen to me talk about my latest research projects? Maybe my handshake isn't quite firm enough or I'm not smiling quite broadly enough.
The questions, at least from me, keep coming.
