Karen, If You Need Help, Blink Twice: The Day I Survived a Corporate Panel Interview

A while back, I had one of those interviews. Not just a regular one-on-one, not even a mildly chaotic two-person Zoom. No. This was the full panel interview experience—four people, six job titles I couldn’t pronounce, and a lingering sense that I had accidentally enrolled in a live taping of Corporate Gladiators: HR Edition.

From the moment I logged on, I knew I was in for it.

Four boxes lit up across my screen. Each face wore the expression of someone either deeply suspicious or slightly constipated. The top left corner, however, was reserved for Karen. You know the type.

Shoulder-length bob, beige cardigan, glasses perched with managerial precision, and a voice that had the emotional warmth of a printer error message.

Karen was the HR Generalist-slash-Culture Officer-slash-Gatekeeper of Dreams. And she was leading the charge.

The others were… fine. One guy asked me about metrics. Another nodded like he was being held hostage off-screen. A woman named Tricia complimented my background and then asked if I could “elaborate on my cross-functional synergy experience,” which I’m 85% sure is not a real thing.

But Karen?

Karen was the boss level.

No smile. No soft landing. She opened with:

“So, Alex, I noticed a few gaps in your résumé. Care to explain?”

No “Hi, how are you?”

No “Tell us about yourself.”

Just straight into the courtroom drama.

So I leaned in, gave the most honest yet polished explanation of my life decisions, sprinkled in a little humor, and smiled like someone who wasn’t low-key spiraling inside.

She stared back. Blinking once. Slowly.

The next few questions were standard: leadership styles, problem-solving, “how would you handle a conflict between coworkers who both bring tuna for lunch”—you know, classics.

I did my best to stay upbeat. Professional. Engaging. Like I hadn’t already rehearsed these answers while brushing my teeth.

But with every answer, Karen remained stone-faced. Her camera didn’t so much capture her as protect her energy. I started to wonder—was she angry? Was I failing? Was she even real, or had they uploaded an AI HR bot named “K.A.R.E.N.” to test my emotional endurance?

Then came the turning point.

Someone asked, “What does a good team culture mean to you?”

I took a breath and said, “Honestly? One where interviews don’t feel like an episode of Shark Tank. I mean, this feels less like a hiring process and more like a corporate escape room.”

That got a chuckle from two of the panelists.

Karen? Nothing.

She blinked. Once. Then again. Slowly. Deliberately. Like she was buffering… or silently crying for help.

That’s when I said it.

With the deadpan delivery of someone who’s passed the point of caring and entered the realm of comedy-as-self-defense, I leaned toward my webcam and said:

“Karen, if you need help… blink twice.”

And she did.

Now look, maybe it was a coincidence. Maybe her contact lenses dried out. Maybe she was blinking out Morse code for “get me out of here.” But for a split second, I saw it—the faintest glimmer of suppressed laughter.

Not from her mouth. Not in words. But in the twitch of her right eye.

The ice cracked. The façade flickered.

Karen smiled. Barely. Like a woman who once dreamed of being a painter but now spends her days asking strangers on Zoom if they’re “team players.”

We finished the interview. No job offer came.

But in that moment, I realized something:

This wasn’t about the job.

This was about connection. About resilience. About finding the shared humanity in the ritual performance that is modern hiring.

Because sometimes the only way to survive a panel interview is to recognize that you’re not the only one trapped in it.

And if Karen is out there reading this…

Just know: we saw each other that day. You blinked. I joked. And for one beautiful second, we both escaped.