It was a Tuesday; it was a sunny and beautiful day, if you go for sunny winter days, and I was getting into my car, having just wolfed down a hasty lunch, and began my trek to a job interview. Last week a buddy of mine dropped me a line about a position at his company that just opened up; I had looked at it and had mixed feelings, for it was advertised as a “contract-to-hire” position. The rest of the job description looked not only acceptable but nearly desirable. I was a good fit for what they wanted, and having a buddy on the inside wouldn't hurt. After much discussion and much thought I decided I would carelessly throw my resume at them and see what happens, figuring that getting an interview would at least give me an opportunity to discover more information about the nature of the “contract-to-hire” status.

The day before I happened to mention to my buddy that I sent my resume their way, just making casual conversation, an lo and behold but he was on the hiring committee. Before I could even think to respond he fired back a message to me asking if I had time for him to give me a “phone interview”, which we both knew would be no interview indeed. He called; we talked; I got more details about the job. I didn't learn anything important except the pay range they could afford for the job, and after some math that range was acceptable for a full-time position but a little low for a contract job. My buddy had all the authority to send me on to the next round of interviews should I want it, and not having the information about the “contract-to-hire” nature of the job, and with some coaxing from Holly, I agreed and we set a time for the next day.

I had directions; in fact I had gone over the directions three times, and I thought I knew how to get to the interview from my job. I almost did. There is this funny little social custom about punctuality, namely, be on time, or be early, but never be late. I was born late and I haven't been on time since. With any bit of luck I'll be late to my own funeral. Over the years I have developed a thick skin with regard to being late; I no longer panic. I left just a few minutes later than I wanted to, having been roped into a last minute task. It was bad enough I had to tell my boss why I might need an extended lunch, I didn't want to interrupt something I was already doing. So I left a bit late, and left a message with my buddy letting him know.

My first delay was some construction not one mile from my job. It was but a slight delay, and if I believed in omens it was the harbinger of the doom that would befall my trip. My second delay was an accident which had happened what must have been mere minutes before for the emergency crews had just arrived and were questioning the people in their cars in what appeared to be a cautious manner. The ironic thing about this delay was that it was entirely avoidable; had I not missed my exit I would not have found the accident. My directions told me to get off at “Water St” at a distance of 0.3 miles from my last change of course. I first misjudged that distance, second guessed myself about the exit, and decided it couldn't be it since it didn't mention “Water St”. The next exit was not for miles; I missed my exit. The exit I did take was 33rd avenue, and upon checking my directions I needed to be between 8th and 9th avenue.

In retrospect I discovered that I made a wrong turn at the exit I did finally take. Not only did I turn into the direction of an accident which prevented me from getting back on the Interstate, but going back the way I came would not have helped since that exit did not exist going the other direction. If I would have but turned the other direction from my exit I could have saved myself some hassle, but as it was I had to drive around and cross the Interstate at a different overpass.

My final delay was in actually finding the building. Since the company I was interviewing with was in an office building their name would not be on the outside. Since I had deviated from my original directions they were now useless to me and I had to figure out where they were on my own. I drove down their street once, and did not find them, but instead found myself across the river and and on the wrong side of it. I crossed again and looped around for a second pass, this time an ambulance was in my lane just a head of me, and it was stopped and the paramedics were, if my memory serves me correctly, attending to someone on the sidewalk. I pulled around the block, parked, and called my buddy to figure out where I was in relation to him. I was on block away, and I had turned onto their street too soon and missed their building. By the time I found a parking spot and made my way into their offices I was more than a half-hour late. It was a good thing I asked for an extended lunch.

I was late, and I did not panic. I didn't panic partly due to my uncertainty about my decision to continue to pursue the job. Doing some math and considering the next four months of our lives it would take quite a bit for me to want to take the job. I expected to be greeted by a receptionist, whereupon I could ask for my buddy who was to be my first interviewer (first of three). Instead I was greeted by a “cube farm”, that is to say an office of half-walled cubicles without doors and no sense of privacy. I immediately got nervous and my mental scale about my decision to pursue the job just tipped a little more toward the negative. I caught someone's attention and asked for my buddy, who popped his head up from the cubicle opposite the door I came in.

There was some discussion about whom would now be first given that I was late, and I felt sorry for them, and sorry for disrupting their schedule, but I also no longer cared what they thought about it. At this point I figured they would have to change their mind and offer me a full-time position at a higher salary than I knew they were going to offer before I'd really want to take this job.

The interview room was hot; it was hot and stuffy and I began to sweat. It echoed too, and for a while I entertained the notion that I was being interrogated. Perhaps I have watched too many cop shows; it would have been fun to act the part of a tough crook who wasn't going to narc on his pals, but I was there for an interview so I answered the questions of the first interviewer and was as polite, courteous, jovial, and socially capable as I know how (years of pastoral training came in handy and curbed my geekish nature).

That first interview was ultimately a waste of time from my perspective. I didn't learn anything I didn't already know, and the interviewer was not in any position which could really offer me any details I wanted. He was a UI guy and from what I gathered I would be working with him on occasion so he had some say about whether or not he wanted to work with me. He was a nice guy, but I still wonder why he interviewed me.

Since I consider the first interview was a waste I'm not sure how to classify the second one. My buddy “interviewed” me as the second person in the three man interview process. The strange thing was he had 30 minutes with me and it sounded like he had to spend it. We chatted and talked about life, our homes, personal computer projects, and generally did our best to strangle the life out of Father Time. Finally I was greeted by my third and what I hoped to be final interviewer.

This third interviewer would in fact be my boss, and being thus he had all the details I wanted to know. I was prepared to ask him some questions about the job, about why it was “contract-to-hire” and not just a contract or just a hire position. I didn't even get to that point. He volunteered the information for me, and it was as I expected. I appreciate his candor and his understanding of my situation. He had asked if I was in a full-time position now, and knowing that he seemed almost apologetic that he could not offer me a full-time job. Fact is he didn't have any money in his budget to hire someone full-time, and even if he did I gathered he couldn't because a position hadn't been opened. The job is “contract-to-hire” because there is money enough for 4 months, and after that there is nothing. They hope for enough growth in that time to offer the contractor a full-time job, but they can make no promises. It was at this point my mind was made up; I would check with Holly to get her final answer, but I would have to turn this opportunity down.

The strange thing was, I was given a fourth and what I suspect was an impromptu interview with their COO, a sales guy would would have some impact on the job. I suspect it was not planned because the COO had not even seen my resume yet and scanned it while I sat there. He asked a few questions and was a nice guy (but then aren't all sales guys nice?). Finally I was done with the interviews. Four interviews, a crazy trip over, and a normal trip back and three hours of my day were gone. Spent, and ultimately . . . wasted?

The best part about the day was the joy I had in returning to my job. Looking at another company, seeing the environment they have to work in, witnessing the bureaucracy and red tape this other company had, made me really appreciate the freedom I have in my job. I have my own office, with full walls, and a door; I can turn my music up as loud as I want; I get to work on a Mac; I call my own shots, and report directly to the owners. My job can be a lot of fun; sure it doesn't pay as well as I want, but there are days I actually look forward to going to work, and the rest of the time, I don't mind it at all.

In the end I sent them a kind email letting them know I was going to pass on the job. I have more thinking to do about the kind of job I want, and the kind of job that I have. I realized that I have more to lose than I thought I did, which means it might be harder to find a job that will give me more to gain than I can lose. It might be out there, and then again perhaps things will pick up at my current job and a sufficient raise will come my way.