By Staff
Leada Gore, Editor
When I graduated college in 1992, the job market was bleak. The newspaper headlines the day I graduated trumpeted "the worse job market in decades" – not exactly something you want to hear as you're receiving a diploma.
I was prepared for quite a long job search and it ended up taking about six months. Ultimately, I landed a job at a newspaper. I learned later it was because my boss said I didn't have any bad habits. None that showed, anyway.
Before I was hired for that job, however, I interviewed at a large retail store that sold items for your home. They were looking for an assistant manager and I was looking for a job. The fact I had no real experience or desire to work retail didn't slow me down. I needed a job. Any job.
I made it through the first interview wearing my official interview suit I had received as a graduation present. It was red with shoulder pads, a real power suit. The problem came when they wanted me to interview for the second time. This time, I was going to meet the district manager. Knowing I couldn't wear the same suit again, I dug out a two-piece green number from the back of my closet. Other than having a loose button, it looked OK. I sewed the button on, picked up my resume – printed on bright blue paper so as to be memorable – and headed out the door.
When I arrived for the interview, the store manager and the district manager stood up and offered handshakes. I shook the manager's hand and moved on to the district manager, only to see he was missing several fingers. I wasn't quite sure what to do, but grabbed the two remaining fingers and offered a limp shake.
I sat through the interview, answering questions I could tell weren't getting me anywhere. No, I didn't have any experience in management. No, I didn't want to travel. No, I hadn't thought about working weekends.
Throughout the interview, I noticed the two men looking more and more uncomfortable.
We wrapped up the interview, thankfully foregoing the handshakes this time around. I left the interview and went back out to the car. I slid behind the wheel and looked down and realized the button I had fixed – the top button – had come off. I sat through an entire job interview with the top of my shirt undone. My answers may not have been too good, but apparently it was quite a show.
To add insult to injury, I didn't get the job.
I'm sure somewhere, however, those two are still laughing about that silly girl who sat through an entire job interview with half a shirt on. To this day, I cannnot bring myself to shop at that store. I'd hate to run into either man again.