Shrill Posturing

"So...this is going to sound like an odd question", leveling my eyes at her. "How would you go about baking a cake? I don't want you to tell me how to do it, I want you to tell me how you...you personally, would go about doing it."

I'm humoring, complicit with the look on her face, though I can see she is not going to take the question seriously. She's not in a position to question the questions: "I would go to the store. I would get a box of cake mix. I would read the side of it and figure out what ingredients I need..." And her mind wanders a little; she pauses for a moment. The moment I've been waiting to break in.

"No, I don't think you understand the question. A cake. How would you go about baking a cake."

She gives me the look I was waiting for. A blank face, all attention and seriousness. All searching for how she could have misinterpreted such a stupid question in the first place. Absorbing her mis-step. "Okay, I think I understand. First, I would find a cookbook." I raise my palm up to signify that she should stop right there - "Really, this is what you would do?"

The cake question was never my idea. Someone asked me it when I was the interviewee, a long time ago. I never did find out the right answer, nor did I get the job. It was a mean turn I wanted to give back to the universe - some day, at some opportunity. When Rebecca arrived reeking of marijuana and sporting a relaxed confidence, I felt it was now or never. "I understand it seems like a simple process - baking a cake. Let's try this one more time." I'm a bit astounded. If I were her, I would be angry by now - but Rebecca just looks terrified. I've harshed her mellow. She collects herself, swallows deeply, and gives it another try.

"If I were to bake a cake. First off, I don't know if I would ever bake a cake. If, If I were, if I had to...I'd talk to someone who knows how to bake a cake from scratch...is this what you're looking for? Bake a cake from scratch?" I shrug, like it doesn't matter to me. Either way you want to play it, Rebecca. I add an expectent nod to continue. "Okay, from scratch then. So I'd do some research. Look online? Get a recipe? Then I would go to the store to buy all the things I need to bake it. Funny, I don't even have a pan for baking cakes. Not a round one. I guess I would know by now what cake I want." And her enthusiasm bottoms out, as she sees that if there were a right or wrong, she ended on the wrong end of it. "I guess I should have said that first."

I pretend to jot a short note on my legal pad. "That'll do it for the cake question. People either get it or they don't."

"Don't stress too much over it - I can assure you it has little or no bearing on the outcome of the interview." Having had my fun, I feel the need to retreat a step: "It's just...there are so many directions you could go here. It has little to do with this position. But you could find yourself leading a project, or, something like that." I add, "It beats being asked where you see yourself in five years. Now that...makes no sense at all."

After escorting Rebecca out, politely shaking her hand and letting her know when I'll be making a decision (a date that usually slides, since hiring people isn't as simple as baking a cake) - my phone rings. "Hello?"

It is the director: "There's been a mixup with recruiting. Your 2 o'clock? Don't hire him."

"Can I ask why?"

"Sure - he came highly recommended. Internal Referral. But someone in recruiting misplaced his READ...as it turns out, he failed it." This shouldn't be a big deal. The READ is a test as inconclusive as asking cake-baking questions. It asks straight away if you've stolen from your place of work. If you've done drugs. Whether you've physically assaulted someone. Except it goes on like that for 150 questions. The end result - you've either answered all the questions honestly, and shown you're imperfect in a few areas. Or, you've answered it dishonestly and are too saintly for your own good. It has a few trippable metrics in the background, but relying on the READ as a reliable tool has been a running joke to hiring managers since it came in-house.

"So? We've both taken the READ test and failed! Has there been a change in policy?" My boss laughs. "Well. If I can get a copy of his, I'll show it to you. This guy failed pretty much everything about it."

I hang up the phone. I need a moment to absorb how stupid this is. This test no one takes too seriously, this weak sieve that doesn't serve to weed out, concretely, the psychologically unstable or the morally crippled - except under the most extreme conditions. And what happens the single time it sets off an alarm? It gets misplaced and I have to fake an interview. What if I happen to like the candidate? I look over his resume. Saying he is over-qualified for the position I'm filling would be a gross understatement. I've never seen a more perfect resume: a logical progression of increased responsibility at two different businesses. His most recent occupation, I know for a fact, just outsourced their tech department wholly - I doubt he was fired. The number of computer languages. Multiple platform. Not just multiple platform hardware ops experience, but coding experience for them as well. When did this guy find the time to do all the bad things the READ exposes? Did he just get yes and no confused while taking the test?

I give up trying to make any sense of it. I've received my directive. I have only a single dim bulb of inspiration - play it grim. From the get-go, from the initial handshake, make sure he knows his chances are slim...for reasons beyond either of our control. The phone rings: it is Sandy; my appointment is here. "I'll be there shortly." I'll have to imagine some creative reasons as I make my way.

He's African-American. As soon as I see him, I am counting how many African-Americans we have in all of our technical departments. I can't get past the number two, and quickly calculate the percentages: even if I could hire this man, we'd still be woefully below any ideal quota. His smile is warm as we shake hands; I note that this experienced expert is about to be interviewed by a man almost half his age. And Jesus. As I flash my access card to gain entry to the interior offices, I can't help noticing he's following me with a terrible limp. Like he has a club foot...the second notion I muster to replace like he's had a gunshot wound.

"I know, I'm overqualified. You're probably wondering why I would apply for this job - it's almost entry level. I've been at this for over a month - and it's been rough. This morning, I had a second interview for a lead position at another company - made it to the final three - but didn't get the job. It would have been perfect for my skill set." I'm wondering if other companies have READ tests. But all I can tell him is that the market is tough, and techies all around are being asked to do more with less...am I really repeating the kind of trite sayings that annoy me when I hear them? Yes I am. "Well," he tells me, "I don't want to give you the idea that this is the job of my dreams. In five years, I'd imagine I would be in a position more aligned with my experience." A small part of me wonders how I'll use this against him.

We arrive at conference room 7E, and I ask him to make himself comfortable. I wait for him to choose a seat, and find one opposite where we can see each other face to face.

I make my normal introduction, iterating the values of the company. I recite the mission statement for the immediate department he is applying to (he was wrong - it wasn't near entry level. It was entry level). I ask him exactly a dozen questions, taking notes. Questions passed on to me from the previous manager; questions that I could never quite peg for what insight was to be taken from them. Usually, it comes down to either a good or bad feel for a person. In light of the other candidates, this guy is my first notch in the good side. I add a thirteenth question - where does he see himself in five years - because I believe it is a question he wants to answer. I take him on the tour of the multiple IT departments, the server lab, the computer room that he would be working in if he were hired. I show him my desk. I have used up the necessary hour to show how I treat every applicant very seriously, and we return to the conference room.

"Now, I know this is not your dream job. And we always want people who are working to better themselves, competing for a better position. I want to be honest with you about where this job comes in at..." I write a number on a yellow sticky. I'm never good at lying, so I pick the lowest number in the pay scale, despite his over-qualifications. He looks blankly at it for several seconds.

"You're joking, right?"

"I'm not." I need something between the lie and the truth: "Personally, I think you are over-qualified, and I would bring you in at top scale just to get you on. But for budgeting reasons...I can't bring anyone in at but the lowest pay. I'm probably telling you more than I should, but that's what is going on in the background. If I want an add to head count, which this position is, an add - I have to do it on the cheap."

It is ridiculously low, the number. I believe it will be enough to deter him - it's almost a ten dollar an hour difference - but he only sighs. I don't know what he's been through these past months. I don't know how seemingly hopeless it has been for him. And he doesn't know that the only way I can come away from this, feeling good about it - is if he is part of the decision process. But he only sighs, takes it in, and says: "Okay." This is not working.

"That, and we are going through a restructuring. We might lose this position." It is a complete lie. I have a fear he is going to leave this place, and stop looking because he lowered his standards so low that he couldn't possibly not get this job. In a way, he is correct in this assumption: in a perfect world without READ tests, he would be a shoe-in.

He looks at me blankly: "You could have told me that from the start." I think for a moment that he will become angry. It comes over his face, but he is professional enough to quell it. "This does amount to an afternoon of my time."

I switch gears into my normal wrap up. We'll let you know when we come to a decision, etc. That I'll pass his resume on to other departments, etc. He is no longer making eye contact with me; I don't have his full attention. I can read it on his face: he is too busy wondering what he will do next, because he is a fighter. That he is mentally dismissing me, in my presence, is a balm to the empathy I'm feeling for him right now. I deserve to feel this small. I'm playing the part of the complete tool: not knowing for certain why I'm 'following orders,' only knowing that I'm doing the exact opposite of what, if things were up to me entirely, I would be doing right now: offering him this job outright. As we walk to the door and I see him out, he tells me thank you absent-mindedly. I want to believe he has completely written me off, by now.

"Dean. I just interviewed a candidate you might be interested in. Daniels referred him."

We have about 12 open positions, all told. Most of them are only internally posted, so the public never sees them. As I'm handing the resume to Dean, I'm working on another lie. I could have handed the resume to Dean before I got the call...I can figure it all out later. I could be defiant and simply tell Roberts that I think this guy is a good hire? I don't know. Unlike my interviewee, I don't really have a plan. Part of me wants to make this somehow work for everybody. Another part of me just wants to redeem myself, even if it means making it someone else's problem.

Dean reads the resume, his eyes growing wider with each line.