Teh Intervues

So yesterday afternoon I had another interview. Different company, different job.

When I was escorted through the biometrically-locked door, I was confronted simultaneously by the total absence of office fixtures and the overwhelming smell of mildew.

"We had some flooding a while back," I was told,"Things are still a bit of a mess."

I sat down to a technical interview. I learned the expectations and I knew without question that I could meet them. I politely and thoroughly answered their evaluation questions and then began to ask my own. I learned that priorities are pretty much set by what is on fire and by what can stand to burn the longest. I learned that three weeks ago the management structure was issued walking papers and that 60% of the technical staff had followed them -- Voluntarily. Most importantly, I learned that the sales division has no technical training and regularly sells products that are not a part of the standard product line and that, very often, are technically impossible to deliver without borrowing some kind of alien technology from Area 51.

Afterwards, I was walked to the manager's office and we began to discuss the role and the day-to-day work being done.

Mid-way through, something broke and he had to call some people to get a fix going. I sat for a while staring around the office while he called and typed and emailed and called to make sure that the email had been delivered.

When the crisis had been successfully passed to the appropriate parties, we started the interview process anew. Again, I politely answered questions and asked my own again to confirm my views.

On the way out, I saw a former co-worker who (unbeknownst to me) had been working at this place since April. I greeted him with an enthusiastic embrace and we realized that discussing old times would do nothing to help either of our careers and I left.

Within ten minutes, the recruiter called me with an offer. In an attempt to be nice, I told him I'd think about it. To be fair, I did think about it. Just not very long.

When I declined the offer there was a brief discussion of raising it and how much it would take but I cut that off early. In short, a trauma factory would need a special budget to buy ink to print the commas on the checks I would require.

But I wish them luck.

Oh, and while I can't disclose the name of the crazy place, I can tell you that you have nothing to worry about unless you use a bank which transfers money electronically or if you ever use a credit or debit card. If you do, I suggest a full-on freaking panic.