The Cheetah, the Coffee Mugs, and the $42K Salary: A Modern Job Interview Saga

Let’s talk about the time I applied for a job that paid—let’s be brutally honest—enough to cover rent, if I didn’t eat, turn on the lights, or ever develop a personality that required joy, hobbies, or air conditioning.

You know the type.

The posting said things like “fast-paced environment,” “opportunity for growth,” and “must wear many hats,” which is code for: We’re understaffed, underpaying, and wildly overexpecting, but we do have an office dog.

Still, I thought, Okay. Low pay, maybe low drama. One quick interview, a handshake, maybe a free mug with the company logo, and we’re good to go.

LOL. No.

Stage One: The Phone Screen That Turned into a Podcast

Supposed to be twenty minutes. Ended up lasting almost an hour. We covered everything—my résumé, my past jobs, my future goals, my zodiac sign, whether I’ve ever led a team through something called “transformational ambiguity,” which either means a major shift in corporate priorities… or a Marvel villain. I’m still unclear.

But I made it through. I even smiled while pacing in socks on a floor that definitely needed vacuuming.

Stage Two: The Zoom Safari

Next came the video call with the hiring manager who had a background blur that made her look like she was floating in corporate limbo.

Her opening line?

“What animal best represents your leadership style?”

Now, I don’t know what the correct answer is, but I panicked and said “golden retriever.” Loyal. Friendly. Good with chaos and treats.

She tilted her head and said, “Huh. We’re really looking for more of a cheetah.”

Ma’am. I can barely jog emotionally right now. I’m not giving cheetah. At best, I’m giving mildly alert house cat.

Stage Three: The Take-Home “Challenge” (aka Corporate Homework)

Next up? A multi-step “project” to test my “problem-solving agility.” Translation: an unpaid 48-hour marathon of strategic brainstorming, hypothetical forecasting, and PowerPoint design—with no snacks, no thank-you, and no pay.

And I did it. Like a professional. Polished it. Proofread it. PDF’d it. Sent it off like a proud parent mailing a college application.

Then… silence.

Stage Four: The Panel Interview That Turned into a Séance

Finally, I got an invite to the panel round. Four people. One never turned on their camera. One stayed on mute the entire time like they were hiding from the responsibility of eye contact. Another asked, “Tell me about a time you failed.”

So I gestured to the whole interview process and said, “Right now feels like a strong contender.”

The Outcome: An Email That Belonged in the Comedy Section

After all that, I received an email that said:

“We’ve decided to move forward with other candidates, but we were very impressed with your experience.”

Really? Because I’m impressed you made me complete six stages of corporate Survivor for a position that pays less than the guy who DJs weddings and occasionally shouts “Make some noise!” into a fog machine.

And here’s the kicker: they had the nerve to say, “Please stay in touch for future roles.”

Future roles? What am I, a background actor in your workplace rom-com?

My New Rule: If the Job Pays Under $50K, Snacks Are Mandatory

I’m officially declaring a new guideline for the modern workforce:

If a job pays under $50K a year, the interview process should not include more than one round. It should not include a panel, a project, or a personality quiz that asks which sandwich represents your conflict resolution style.

It should last 20 minutes and involve snacks. That’s it.

If you want deep insights, multiple presentations, and strategic emotional vulnerability, I expect a full benefits package, free therapy, and a weighted blanket branded with your logo.

To the Job Seekers in the Trenches:

If you’re getting ghosted, grilled, or gently let down by someone whose email signature still uses Comic Sans and has a quote from Steve Jobs, don’t take it personally.

It’s not rejection. It’s divine redirection.

Away from a job that would’ve had you leading last-minute projects, solving workplace crises, and washing the coffee mugs in the breakroom for $21/hour and an annual pizza party with a two-slice limit.

You deserve better.

You deserve stability, snacks, and a hiring process that respects your time.

And if anyone ever asks you again what animal best represents your leadership style, look them straight in the eye and say:

“I’m a raccoon. Scrappy. Resourceful. And I know when to walk away from trash.”