Post-Interview Paranoia

Sophie showed me to the exit. It was still raining outside, but less heavy than before. My jumper still hadn't quite dried off yet.

'Thanks for coming, it was nice meeting you,' she said, extending her palm. 'We'll be in touch.'

'Fantastic,' I said, shaking her hand. 'Nice to meet you too.'

The interview had gone brilliantly. Not once had I shown any sign of nervousness or uncertainty. My answers were quick, fluid and detailed, and my interest in the company had shown. A writer for a music website was my next job, I was sure of it.

I turned to the door, just as a guy in a suit did the same from the rain. I stepped aside to let him in, and he shook off his umbrella. As I left the building, I heard him say, 'Hello, I'm Chris,' to which Sophie replied, 'Nice to meet you. Take a seat and I'll be right with you.'

Other candidates? I wasn't sure why this revelation shocked me so much-- it made sense for a company to interview numerous candidates. I'd had this fantasy that I was the only person that had stood out at all; they just wanted to interview me as a formality to make sure I wasn't mental. In this fantasy, they offered me the job at the end, and this had not come true. But actually encountering another candidate completely rocked my confidence.

You did well, I told myself. Think about all of those great answers you gave. I racked my brains, none of the good answers seemed to be in there anymore.

The rain pattered lightly on my forehead as I walked to the station. I took a deep breath to calm down and think.

---

'What improvements would you make to our website?' Sophie had asked.

I was swinging left to right in the swivelly office chair. I stopped, wondering whether it was a sign that I was comfortable, or arrogant.

I already knew the answer to this question, having thought about it yesterday. Every improvement I'd come up with turned out to already be a feature, until I managed to think of one that wasn't.

'There should be occasional reviews for old albums,' I said, with a flinging hand gesture. 'Less well known old albums that your audience may not know. Open their minds to some hidden classics.'

'That's actually a great idea,' Sophie said, clicking her pen and making a note. 'Would that be something you'd be interested in curating?'

I felt like that was a hint at me having a foot in the door.

'Absolutely! I'd love to.'

---

That was a good bit. I was proud of that. I pictured Sophie going back to her team: the head editors, the column writers, the interns and the tea boys and girls.

'Reviews of old albums!' she says.

Her team look on with blank faces. The editors and writers slowly start to nod their heads in unison, breaking into frantic nodding and cheers of 'Old albums!' The interns and minions smile and hug each other.

'Call him right now!' shouts one editor. 'We need him to start today!'

I looked at my phone, sheltering it with my left hand. No calls or messages. Just an email from a clothes shop, which I'd foolishly agreed to receive newsletters from, not realising they'd be a daily nuisance.

My face was blank as I descended into the underground station. People would be able to tell that I was concerned or worried, but nobody would ever ask me why.

I should be more excited, I told myself.

---

'Do you have any questions for me?' Sophie had said, placing her pad on the desk.

I was ready for this too. Of all the interview tips I'd read, this one came up time and again. Saying 'no' was bad, as it displays indifference. Your questions show where your mind is, and what your priorities are. I asked Sophie about her team's dynamics, extra-curricular activities and whether I could get stuck in without training. She'd seemed impressed.

---

I totally nailed that bit, I told myself. Left it on a high note, showing huge amounts of interest. That would set me apart as unique against any other candidates.

I'd only caught a brief glance of the other candidate. He was tall and had stubble. What if he was equally as good as me, but then was marginally better looking, and that tipped it in his favour? And he was wearing a suit! I felt very smart in my jumper, but what if wearing a suit was a better idea? And an umbrella? Gah, I'd been in there with water droplets rolling into my eyes and wet, black shoulder pads on.

I had to hope that 'Chris' messed up. Maybe he won't be as prepared as me. Or maybe he wouldn't deal well under pressure with the impossible-to-expect questions.

---

'If our website was a celebrity, what celebrity would it be?'

I raised my eyebrows at the question and let out a hum to show that I was thinking while I looked at the ceiling. 'Jonathan Ross,' I said.

'Okay...' Sophie said, clearly not knowing where I was going with this answer.

Neither did I. That name had fallen out of my mouth when I got worried that I was taking too long to think.

'Because he has a chummy, informal way of communicating, and he's very popular and has music on his show.' This all rattled out before I could reel it back and develop it.

'Alright,' Sophie said, making a very brief mark on her pad. 'Tell me about a time when you've had to work closely with deadlines.'

---

Sophie had moved on very quickly from that answer, probably because it had been rubbish. Plenty of people might see Jonathan Ross as annoying, and having a show on ITV isn't exactly comparable with exciting and popular.

I shut my eyes and breathed, not wanting to imagine Sophie's team's bitter disappointment at being compared to Jonathan Ross.

A radio DJ would have been better, I thought. Scott Mills or Chris Evans or someone. All of my points would have been just as, if not more valid. And they're more related to music! I bet myself that 'Chris' said Scott Mills.

Sighing myself into a seat on the tube, I tried to put my mind elsewhere. I told myself that there's no point in stressing, especially not about another candidate. I'd tried my hardest, and that's all that mattered.

But I needed this job. It wasn't just a job to me- it was the end of a three month stint of unemployment. It was being able to pay the rent next month. It was a development in my career. It was not feeling useless and pathetic for any longer.

Another deep breath. I tried to focus on tube adverts to take my mind off it. One ad for a fundraising event in the city had an image of a superhero on it, and made me cringe even more.

---

'If you could have any superpower, what would it be and why?'

'Ooh,' I said, and looked to the ceiling again, as if someone upstairs was sending inspiration. 'I would say... not having to sleep.'

Sophie was already writing something, but stopped and looked up at me. 'That's a bit creepy.'

'It wouldn't be creepy. I would just never get tired,' I said. 'I could spend all night writing and doing things that I enjoy, and exploring all the events and gigs that London has to offer.'

'It's not really a superpower though,' she said.

'Isn't it? Super strength then,' I said. 'But super strength to the point that I never get tired.'

Sophie carried on jotting.

---

Ugh! That was a stupid answer too! I rubbed my eyes in frustration. I could have said anything else, like... I don't know... anything!

Another pang of cringe hit me.

---

'What do you do in your spare time?'

'Well, aside from writing, I listen to music, watch movies and TV shows,' I'd said.

'What kind of movies?'

For some reason I'd had to think about this. I watched all kinds of movies, who only watches one kind?

'Anything but cheesy, big-budget Hollywood films with no decent plot.'

Sophie nodded in agreement, but kept staring, as if she was expecting more. I started blathering.

'I like cult films. And British films. And quirky things like Wes Anderson movies.'

She nodded and smiled, and got back to writing.

---

What is wrong with me? I should have focused on the writing and music aspects! I slapped my forehead subtly so as to not look crazy to other commuters.

I pictured Sophie in the office, still talking about my interview. The team had all but lost interest, except a few female editors and tea-girls.

'What a loser,' one says.

'Who doesn't watch movies?' another cuts.

'Wes Anderson movies are so pretentious,' number three jumps in.

Sophie nods and looks at her notes. 'Chris did have much better answers,' she says. 'In his spare time, he paints, cooks and volunteers at a children's hospital.'

'Plus he is the way hotter candidate,' girl two says.

'Yeah,' says three, 'and did you see his suit?'

Emerging from my destination station, the rain had stopped and the sun was now blazing. I decided to walk to the supermarket on the way home to pick up some 9p noodles for lunch. As I turned a corner, the shop came into view. I crossed the road and pulled out my phone.

There was a voice message waiting for me. Trembling, I called the number to listen.

'Hello, mate, it's Gaz. Just calling to check-' I hung up. Not a message I was interested in at that moment.

Just then, the phone buzzed in my hand. I was receiving a call from an unrecognised London number. This was it. I took a deep breath and answered.

'Hello?'

'Hi, Sam, it's Sophie.'