The Interview That Never Was

I remember that interview process like it was a fever dream.

They said it would be simple. A quick chat. Just to “get to know me.” I put on my best interview shirt—you know the one. The shirt that says, I’m qualified, responsible, and still vaguely hopeful about capitalism.

What followed was a five-stage emotional journey, two tests, three interviews, and one “culture fit” evaluation that felt more like a dating profile analysis than a hiring decision.

One of the assessments asked me how I’d respond to “conflict within the workplace.” I don’t know… like a human? Eat carbs, cry in the car, and then power through because rent is due?

Then came the psychological test to see if I “meshed” with management.

MESHHHED.

Like we were choosing roommates for a season of Corporate Big Brother and I needed to vibe with Chad from Accounting and Lindsey from Brand Alignment who only speaks in acronyms and has a pet gecko named ROI.

Still, I played along. I answered their questions. I smiled through the Zoom buffering. I nodded earnestly when they said they were “redefining what leadership means in 2025” (spoiler: it still meant unpaid overtime and Slack pings at 9:17 PM).

I wasn’t nervous. I was grounded. Qualified. Calm. I even brought a notebook like some kind of overachieving adult.

And then… nothing.

No offer. No callback. Not even a rejection email dressed up in HR poetry like:

“After careful consideration and deep soul-searching under the corporate moonlight, we’ve decided to move forward with—absolutely no one. Our budget disappeared. It just vanished. Poof. Sorry for the six weeks of hoops and the unpaid therapy session we disguised as a ‘team alignment screening.’”

You ever put so much hope into something that you start mentally organizing your workspace in your head? You picture your new badge, your first day outfit, your lunch break vibe—and then boom.

Ghosted.

They didn’t hire me.

But they didn’t hire anyone.

Which somehow feels worse. Like, oh. It wasn’t me. It was you. You weren’t serious. You were just bored and wanted to play “Let’s Build a Dream Team” like it was fantasy football.

And I was the draft pick who actually showed up.

But here’s the thing: I’d do it all again.

Not because I enjoy rejection (although by now I probably qualify for a loyalty program), but because every time I show up—prepared, composed, and fully myself—I prove one thing:

That I haven’t given up.

That I still believe there’s a role out there that doesn’t require an emotional obstacle course and a blood oath.

That I still know who I am—even when they don’t.

So no, I won’t name names.

But if your hiring process takes longer than a season of Bridgerton, includes puzzles, riddles, two trust falls, and ends with “budget reevaluation”?

You don’t need candidates. You need counseling.

And I am, respectfully… unavailable.