The interview (908 words)

 

The large door swung open, held by a stern-faced security guard, as I stepped into the imposing building. My appointment was with the Managing Director for the position of staff officer to the CEO. Though it was a middle-rung role, insiders had assured me it carried immense clout and influence. My credentials were impeccable: a diploma from a prestigious business school and experience in leading companies in the industry. I was confident this interview would be a mere formality.

I was led into a spacious room where five others were already waiting. I sized them up quickly. One man was short and stout, his ill-fitting suit straining at the buttons. Another, with two days' worth of stubble and dishevelled hair, looked like he hadn’t slept in days. A third, tall and lanky with a vacant expression, resembled a scarecrow that could be blown over by a gust of wind. The fourth, biting his nails nervously and twitching his lips, was a ball of anxiety. The last one seemed like he might be real competition—smart-looking but dressed horribly, in a bright yellow shirt and an askew tie. His pants were too short, barely reaching his ankles.

I, on the other hand, stood out. Tall, with curly hair, a square jaw, and sharp features. A blend of Hrithik, Salman, and Ranbir, all rolled into one. I was dressed in a smartly tailored suit. I was used to turning heads and pushing my way to the top, especially in the presence of female colleagues.

Across the room sat a young woman in her mid-twenties, with two others standing beside her. The seated woman was strikingly beautiful but exuded an air of arrogance as she glanced around. She seemed to be checking off names on a list, probably an HR clerk. I was the last one she called.

“Your name?” she asked without looking up.

“Sandip. Sandip Saxena,” I replied confidently.

“Where is your profile? Your CV?” she asked, looking at me for the first time.

“I sent it with my application. I didn’t bring a copy,” I said nonchalantly.

“Shouldn’t you carry one to an interview? If the interviewer asks about your profile, what will you refer to?” she asked with a hint of irritation.

“I didn’t think it necessary,” I replied, sensing some stifled chuckles from the other candidates.

“You seem to have a casual approach to this interview and are not adequately prepared,” she said sharply.

My temper flared, especially when I caught the smirks on the other candidates' faces. Who did she think she was, a lowly HR clerk, questioning me? I forced a smile. “I trust you won’t send me away for that. If there are questions about my profile, I can handle them. Don't be worried.”

“Far from it. Why should I be concerned when it’s your gaffe?” she retorted, her eyes narrowing.

“Mind your words, Miss. As a receptionist, I expect more civility in dealing with people,” I shot back, returning to my seat, fuming. The girls beside her stared at me as she walked away with a smirk.

About thirty minutes later, a different woman entered the room, announcing that the MD was unavailable. Instead, the CEO would meet with each candidate. One by one, the others were called, each leaving through a separate exit. My anticipation grew. I cursed myself for not bringing my CV and for losing my temper with the HR clerk.

I was the last to be called. By now, my confidence had waned, replaced by anxiety. As I entered the office, my heart nearly stopped. Sitting at the CEO’s desk was the same young woman who had been screening us earlier. I felt a cold sweat break out. I quickly wiped my face with a handkerchief.

“Mr. Sandip, please take a seat,” she said with a smile, gesturing for me to sit. A glass of water was placed before me, and she waited patiently as I took a sip, trying to steady my nerves.

“Shall we start?” she asked.

“Yes, of course,” I replied, my voice shaky.

“In your resume, on the second page, you mentioned your role responsibilities. In the second line, you said…” she trailed off with a mischievous smile.

I froze. “What did I say?”

“You should know better,” she said, the smile never leaving her face.

I swallowed hard. “I apologize, Madam. As I mentioned earlier, I forgot to bring a copy of my resume.”

She chuckled. “It doesn’t matter.”

She then proceeded with the interview, asking pointed questions about my work experience. I answered each one as confidently as I could, but her eyes never left mine, assessing me with every response.

Finally, she asked, “How soon can you join? I need someone who is alert and not forgetful. I assume there’s nothing uncivil about my expectations?”

I managed a weak smile. “I can join in a fortnight.”

“Good,” she said, extending her hand. “I look forward to a happy and fruitful association with you.”

I shook her hand, still dazed. “I apologize for my earlier behaviour. I was indiscreet.”

She laughed softly. “No need. Your reaction was what clinched the position for you. I dislike timid men. Welcome aboard.”

As she walked me to the foyer, I realized how gravely I had misjudged her. The entire interview process had been a test, not just of my qualifications, but of my temperament. I had passed, but not in the way I had anticipated.

(Normally I would have brought Cupid with his arrow at the end of the story but desisted this time to infuse some element of unpredictability!!)