Cyrus believes he won’t get the job – albeit ahead of an impressive list of others – because he gambled on being different and didn’t stress about the outcome.
“The hall was full of nervous, sweating candidates, pacing the floor or reading last minute notes,” he says.
This is me, I am I, is Cyrus’s philosophy which rather echoes the Joan Armatrading song, Me, Myself,I. Only, Cyrus is a cheerful chap, not full of himself ‑ he’s comfortable being different, thinking obliquely and if the others don’t like it, too bad, it’s not going to keep him awake.
He says the interview, conducted by a panel of three, contained all the routine questions: What is your weakness? What is your strength? How will this strength help you perform? Tell us about your work ethic. Why did you quit your job?
“How we ended up talking about my, and their favourite charity, I’ll never know,” Cyrus confesses, adding, “I just don’t think I answered any of their questions directly. Never mind, at least we all ended up talking animatedly and for a long time so that’s nice, even if you’re really there to be interviewed for a guard’s post on the railway and you’re chatting about the recent fatal death in King’s Cross.”
“Yea, sadly that’s also a sign they’ve mentally crossed your name off the list so they’re just as happy to branch out into conversations of a different kind, talk that doesn’t include the boring interview subject matter they expect to be chatting about all day.” This from my well-informed friend Barney, the prankster, who these days appears to be leaning heavily against cynicism.
“True,” agrees Cyrus, “I am after all no longer a spring chicken. Fifty’s hovering around the corner. I can see her beckoning, with narrowed eyes. Who really wants a fifty-something for a job when the Y generation has turned up in decent numbers? But good luck to them, I’ll just head for the next doorway and knock. One of them will open soon, I’m sure.”
“Why did you leave your last job anyway?” I ask Cyrus, to which Barney adds, “Yes, tell, although I know if you Google that question you’ll find the standard response is to say something like, ‘The company was downsizing….Or I was spending too much time on travel and am looking for something closer…Or, My boss and I agreed it was time I move on to somewhere I could grow more steadily…”
“None of the above. I found myself working in a hollow. Guys with impressive qualifications but kinda restricted in their thinking latitudes. Black or white, no grey. Even a hollow can become oppressive believe me.”
“You’re never going to find the perfect job, you’re always going to end up searching for a false ideal, Cyrus. Maybe it’s time to get realistic and knuckle down,” says Barney, who has held more jobs than Cyrus and me, and has himself been known to be finicky.
At about that time Cyrus’s phone rings. He checks the screen, says, “Ah, who is this now? Right in the middle of coffee. I’ll call back later,” then thinks better of it and presses the receive button. After listening for nearly ten minutes he offers a thank you, ends the call and turns to us, beaming. “Guess what? The job. I’ve got it!”
“Wow,” offers Barney, adding, “And after that disastrous interview?”
“That’s just it, mate,” explains Cyrus, “The guy on the phone, the one who chaired the panel, he says the three of them were looking for one person who’d bring some difference into the room because pretty much everyone these days is run of the mill. In his own words he said something like, ‘If you’re being chased by a police dog, try not to go through a tunnel, then on to a little see-saw, then leap through a hoop of fire. They’re trained for that.’ I guess inadvertently I gave them something else.”
Kevin Martin is a journalist based in Sydney, Australia
