Job Versus with Karen: The Interview Showdown No One Trained Me For

So I walk into this interview thinking it’s going to be a normal, professional conversation. You know—handshake, small talk, maybe some vague questions about “company culture” and whether I’m “comfortable wearing multiple hats.” Cool. I brought my A-game and my good blazer.

Then I meet Karen.

Karen is the Senior Director of Vibes, Gatekeeper of Job Offers, and High Priestess of Passive Aggression. Her bun is pulled back so tight it’s holding resentment from 2007. Her smile says “Welcome,” but her eyes say “I already hate your résumé.”

She starts with, “So, walk me through your background.”

I give her my well-rehearsed answer, complete with just enough humility and just enough fake laughter to seem personable.

She nods. Doesn’t blink.

Then goes:

“You’ve had… a lot of experience. Would you say you’re… coachable?”

Ma’am. I’ve survived layoffs, team drama, and a manager who once communicated exclusively through emojis.

I am so coachable, I could star in a Nike ad.

Then Chad from finance—who I assume is only here for free coffee—leans in and says,

“Tell us about a time you failed.”

Cool. Let me just relive my most traumatic professional moment in front of strangers while trying to smile and maintain eye contact.

I start telling the story, and halfway through, Karen interrupts.

“Would you say that failure was… avoidable?”

Oh, I don’t know, Karen.

Was this interview avoidable?

Then it gets worse.

She hits me with the dreaded,

“Where do you see yourself in five years?”

Honestly?

Therapy.

But instead, I say,

“Leading a team, growing with the company, adding value…”

aka Corporate Mad Libs.

Karen smiles—barely—and says,

“Interesting. This role is more… tactical.”

Okay, cool.

Glad I dreamed big for no reason.

Then, as if summoned by chaos, she goes,

“Any questions for us?”

I ask about the team.

She says they’re “like family,” which we all know means drama, vague roles, and someone always stealing yogurt from the breakroom fridge.

Interview ends.

She gives me the handshake equivalent of a cold wet napkin and says,

“We’ll be in touch.”

I know that tone.

That’s the tone you use when you have zero intention of calling but legally need to say something other than “Good luck out there.”

I walk out, get in my car, and immediately start reciting all the answers I should’ve given like a post-game locker room speech.

Fast forward two weeks—nothing.

No email.

No rejection.

Just spiritual ghosting.

And I picture Karen, sitting in her office, deleting my thank-you email while sipping black coffee and gaslighting another applicant about being “overqualified.”

Anyway.

If you’re out there preparing for your next interview:

May your Karen be on PTO.

May your Wi-Fi be strong.

And may your “tell me about a time you failed” story involve you not taking that job in the first place.

Amen.