Cameras off

A while back, I had a five-panel Zoom interview. Five people. All their cameras off.

I log in, dressed like a budget morning show host — blazer, crisp shirt, pajama shorts nobody can see. My hair? Perfect. I even did that weird thing where you check your teeth in your phone camera beforehand, just in case.

I enter the meeting room.

Silence.

Just a grid of black squares with names.

It felt less like a job interview and more like I’d accidentally joined a séance for lost corporate souls.

I clear my throat. “Hi everyone! Thanks for having me!”

Nothing.

I imagine them sitting in dark rooms, eating cold lasagna, watching me like a reality TV audition.

Then one of them un-mutes.

“Can you tell us about a time you handled a difficult situation?”

I launch into my best story. I’m gesturing, smiling, delivering what I think is a Tony Award-winning monologue.

Nothing.

No head nods. No awkward courtesy laughs. Just five cold, black voids.

I start sweating. I can feel my armpits staging their own protest. My forehead? Olympic-level waterfall.

Another voice pops up.

“How do you handle tight deadlines?”

Great question, Carl-from-IT-who-might-be-a-ghost.

I start answering, but I can’t tell if they’re impressed or Googling “how to fire up a camera.”

Halfway through, I get bold.

“Maybe we can turn our cameras on so I can connect with you all better?”

Dead silence.

I imagine them all simultaneously sipping from novelty mugs that say “I’d rather be golfing.”

At some point, I start questioning my own existence.

Am I actually in an interview?

Or did I stumble into a live corporate escape room where the real test is to keep talking until I break?

I catch my reflection in the Zoom window.

I look like a motivational speaker who took a wrong turn at a middle school assembly.

Meanwhile, they’re probably making sandwiches, folding laundry, or finishing yesterday’s Wordle.

Then someone says, “We’re really enjoying your energy.”

Which is hilarious because I have no idea if they’re smiling or planning an intervention.

The interview drags on for an hour.

I tell stories. I share accomplishments. I make a joke about the weather.

Nothing.

No chuckles. Not even a polite emoji reaction.

At the end, the host unmutes.

“Thank you so much for your time. We’ll be in touch.”

And just like that, click. The black squares vanish.

I’m left alone in my living room, staring at my dog, who looks deeply disappointed in me.

I stand up, my pajama shorts on full display, and do the only thing I can think of: slow clap for myself.

Because if no one else will applaud my performance, I sure will.

Later that week, I get the email.

“We’ve decided to move forward with another candidate.”

No problem.

I’ll just add it to my “Rejection Greatest Hits” playlist. Right between “You’re overqualified” and “We went with an internal candidate.”

The whole experience taught me something.

If you can survive a five-panel, camera-off Zoom interview and still leave with your sense of humor intact, you’re basically unbreakable.

So here’s to us — the warriors of awkward virtual rooms, the performers for invisible audiences, the legends of black square interviews.

Next time? I might just leave my camera off too. Wear a Snuggie. Eat nachos. Answer every question with interpretive dance.

Because if they’re not going to show up on camera, why should I let them have all the fun?