The Interview That Wasn’t
My descent into a corporate interview that made less sense the deeper it went.
I haven’t had particularly odd jobs in my life.
Far from it, actually. I did a brief stint in a candle shop when I was 18 — and got fired shortly after calling in sick with the flu.
Other than that, it’s all been fairly standard. Bartender for a big chunk of my life, then sales, and eventually drifting into corporate roles where I seem to have now settled in the flexible workspace world.
Sure, there have been weird moments within those jobs. But this story isn’t about that.
This is about the strangest interview I’ve ever had.
It happened last year, during what I now refer to as The Great Unemployment Debacle of 2025.
Eight months without a job.
Burnt out. Properly depressed. Watching the money from my last role slowly evaporate while my inbox filled with rejections — or worse, nothing at all.
Opportunities stopped feeling like opportunities and started feeling like survival.
900 applicants here.
400 applicants there.
Another CV sacrificed to the AI screening gods.
Three separate video interviews in a single day, talking rehearsed, jargon-loaded nonsense to my own reflection on a laptop screen.
Shirt, blazer — business from the waist up.
Below the webcam? Absolute chaos. At one point I’m fairly certain one of my testicles had made a guest appearance just out of frame.
Another Teams call. Another polite smile. Another void.
Times were tough. My patience was thinner than my bank account.
One morning, during my usual coffee-and-Seek ritual, I stumbled across a role that actually looked decent.
National Office Manager. Prestigious financial services company.
I did what we all do.
Ran my CV through ChatGPT for the hundredth time. Tweaked it. Rewrote it. Added a cover letter that no human would ever read.
Sent it off into the abyss.
Not long after, I got a response.
I’d been selected.
…to answer three questions. Via email.
The email informing me of this was — and I’m not exaggerating — 728 words long.
Seven hundred and twenty-eight words to tell me I’d earned the privilege of doing more homework.
Some highlights included:
“It is a privilege to progress to the next stage.”
“This is your chance to shine and secure one of the most rewarding roles in finance.”
“With a reputation that attracts top applicants…”
They also kindly provided prep material.
Nine videos.
Nine.
Some were full-length podcasts. Six of them featured the CEO talking about himself.
Same outfit every time — expensive three-piece suit, tiny round glasses, slicked-back hair, and a watch the size of a small tugboat.
He looked like the kind of bloke who says “circle back” in real life. The kind of bloke who might “touch base” when the secretary walks past.
Now, yes — this is where a rational person would’ve pulled out.
But I wasn’t rational.
I was eight months unemployed.
At that point, if they’d asked me to write him a handwritten letter of admiration using my own blood, I’d have at least considered it.
So I did the questions.
And I didn’t just answer them — I performed. Elite-level corporate flirting. Made them feel like they were the only company in the world.
And it worked.
I got invited to the second stage; an in-person interview.
The invite email somehow dialled it up even further:
“Being part of COMPANY means becoming part of a legacy…”
“This is your chance to set yourself apart…”
“…a face-to-face opportunity for us to gain a deeper understanding of who you are, your character, and your potential as a future leader”
“…connect with us on a more personal level, demonstrate your ability to stand out in a competitive field, and showcase the qualities that make you an ideal candidate”
Right.
Then came the dress code:
Men: Suit and tie, polished leather shoes.
Women: Professional attire, closed-toe shoes.
No worries.
I showed up looking sharp. Depression temporarily benched. Existential dread parked outside.
Honestly? I looked good. Like… suspiciously employable.
The “training office” was a visual assault.
Ornate lamps next to larger ornate lamps.
A water feature gently trickling while an air freshener blasted something that smelled like chemical rainforest.
Furniture so plush it felt like I’d fallen into a Lamborghini.
It was loud. Expensive. Tasteful in the way new money thinks it is.
I hated it.
And yet — I was trying to convince myself I could belong there.
“Shut up,” I told my gut feeling. “We need money.”
Eventually, eight of us were crammed into a room clearly designed for five.
We were led into a boardroom.
Group interview.
Game on.
I sized them up. They sized me up.
I was ready.
Whatever they threw at me — I’d handle it.
Two interviewers stood at the front.
A brief welcome.
Then the first question:
“Why do you want to work for us?”
Right. The classic.
We went around the table.
One woman rambled about the stock market.
Another admitted she thought the job was something else.
A bloke — inexplicably — started talking about America.
Amateurs.
My turn came.
I delivered. Smooth. Confident. Charming. Exactly what they wanted.
Ticked every box.
I sat back, quietly impressed with myself.
Ready for round two.
“Great, thank you so much for coming in today. We’ll be in touch.”
…what?
That was it.
One question.
That was their process.
728-word email. Nine videos. Multiple stages.
One question.
We were ushered out like we’d just completed a fire drill.
In the lobby, I turned to the American bloke.
“That was weird. Felt like The Hunger Games,” I said.
He smirked.
“They were probably watching us from another room. There’s probably microphones in here too — they heard that.”
He said it like he’d cracked the code. Like he’d won?
They never got in touch.
A month later, I got the automated “vacancy has closed” notification from Seek.
And honestly?
Thank God.
I do sometimes wonder who got it.
Maybe Sydney’s youngest female stockbroker.
Maybe Mr. Star-spangled-banner.
Maybe the only person willing to watch all nine videos twice.
Either way, organising birthday cakes and handing out $15 Apple gift cards to gilet-clad, wannabe Wolves of Pitt Street probably wasn’t my calling.
But for a while there, I would have taken it.
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