Last fall, with my applications for a tenure-track job in chemistry finally in the mail, I thought maybe I would have a little time to relax and ponder all of the possibilities (not to mention, get back to work on my research to finish my dissertation).
But the calm didn't last long. Before I knew it, one of the colleges I had applied to contacted me to arrange a phone interview. The college wasn't my first choice, but it certainly wasn't my last choice, so I wanted to impress. How hard could a phone interview be? I didn't really prepare much besides reviewing the college's Web site and the application materials I had sent. The interview came and went without a hitch, and I thought I had performed well for the 30 minutes I was on the phone.
Barely a week later, the department called back and asked if I would be able to come to campus for an interview. The college wanted me to visit within a month, and would take care of all of the arrangements. Was this moving really fast or what? The next thing I knew I was shopping -- in search of every thread of clothing I would need to look the part of a respectable, employable applicant. Suit, shirt, belt, shoes, socks, you name it, I needed it. I remembered the mantra a co-worker had recited to himself before an oral examination and thought I would pick up on it: Look good, feel good, do good. I had a sharp suit, I had read up on the college, and I had rehearsed answers to anticipated questions. This would be my first on-campus interview, and I felt as prepared as I could be.
Flying from the Midwest to New England in the winter could have been tricky, but miraculously, both regions were experiencing near-record warmth, so there was no danger of any snowy delays. I counted myself lucky and thought that someone was smiling down on me. Little did I know that while I landed at my destination, my luggage remained somewhere in Chicago's O'Hare airport. While the baggage-claim clerk entered my information into the computer, I looked at what I was wearing: olive green cargo pants, a green sweatshirt, and tennis shoes. I was more suited to go hunting for deer than a job. (Mental note: Wear at least khakis and a blue jacket on the airplane for any future interviews.)
I left the airport in my rental car without the slightest hope of retrieving my luggage by the following morning. Driving through the beautiful forests and minimal traffic was not enough to soothe my jangled nerves. There was no time to go shopping again. I had to get to town to meet with a real-estate agent and then dinner with two professors. I prayed the restaurant they picked would let me in.
One of the professors picked me up at the spectacular bed and breakfast where the department was putting me up, and upon realizing I was the job candidate, did a double take. I couldn't explain fast enough what had happened. He looked as disturbed as I felt, and we left for the restaurant hoping that the other faculty member we were meeting (my phone interviewer) would have a solution to my problem. What we decided was that if my luggage didn't arrive that night, I would wear a shirt and pants provided by one of them. They also hustled me to a pharmacy to purchase some toiletries so I could at least be well-groomed. The second I was dropped off, I was on the phone to the airline inquiring about my luggage. I made calls past midnight, all to no avail.
After a sleepless night (not quite panicking, but almost), I dragged my nervous self out of bed at 6 a.m., threw the only clothes on that I had with me, and drove to meet two different faculty members for breakfast by 7 a.m. (Do all of these daylong ordeals begin at 7?) I explained to them what had happened -- the first of many times I would be repeating the same story that day. The one benefit of the whole fiasco was that it served as a nice icebreaker in my chats with faculty members and administrators. (However, I think I would have preferred talking about the nice tie I had purchased rather than the Coke stain on my sweatshirt.) I somehow choked down two bites of my scone as I realized the enormity of the day ahead. So much talking, question asking and answering, my teaching presentation (the demonstration materials I had planned to use were, of course, in Chicago with my luggage), and the general prospect of being "on" for many continuous hours -- it all hit me as we left for campus.
I was able to change into casual pants and a shirt generously provided by one of my dinner companions, but I was still wearing my beat-up tennis shoes (not to mention yesterday's T-shirt and boxers). The whole day I was wondering if the interviewers thought this was a tragically funny story or if they were plotting how soon they could get me off campus with a follow-up letter explaining that I would not be offered the position.
The teaching presentation went well, I thought, and following that began a barrage of meetings with people asking me variations of many of the same questions. It all went by in a blur, even though I had promised myself I would try to take notes, remember names, and somehow appear semi-intelligent. Lunch approached, and I was able to eat a little more, having grown somewhat more accustomed (if not really comfortable) with the routine. Eating with students was a merciful change of pace as we talked about college road trips and the weather, rather than my teaching style and what courses I could develop.
After lunch, meetings with the president and the dean of academic affairs (the two most enjoyable interviews by far -- the talk focusing less on chemistry, which I had grown weary of discussing, and more on the college) culminated with a tour of the campus, which offered a fine opportunity to breathe and assess what had transpired that day. Following a student seminar (how nice it was to have someone else in the spotlight), the final hurdle was a meeting with the search committee. Twenty more minutes of grilling ensued (I say "grilling" in the nicest sense; everyone throughout the day was, for the most part, very warm and sincere), and I found my answers becoming more brief and my patience wearing thin. This was not a good way to conclude the day, I thought. Shortly thereafter, I was changing out of my borrowed clothes back into my greens. I thanked my contact profusely for being so understanding and helpful and I tried to gauge his thoughts of how the day had passed. I wanted to believe him when he said that I had made a favorable impression on the committee.
Eleven hours after my first breakfast meeting, I was in the car, drained, heading back to the B & B. What would I do that night? I had earlier scoffed at the idea of an herbal bath when I noticed the package of salts by the bathtub, but suddenly it seemed the only sensible thing to do. When I got to my room, my missing luggage had somehow found its way there (around noon, I found out from the innkeeper). All I could do was laugh and start filling the tub.
I eventually heard back from the college in the form of an e-mail rejection. I wasn't surprised. Would I have been offered the job if my luggage had made it on time? I doubt it. After assessing the interview, I truly thought I had performed well, especially under the circumstances, but I was not a good fit for the college and it was not a good fit for me. It's easy for me to say that now since I have accepted a job offer at another institution about which I am very excited. But this first interview experience taught me valuable lessons -- learn about the college, enjoy the social "down" time of the interview process, use carry-on luggage -- and ultimately helped me land a job.
