You ever have those shivers?

Is it weird that every time I have a Zoom panel interview, I already know what question’s coming next?

Like, not in a “Wow, he’s prepared” kind of way.

In a “Has this man been through this exact trauma 47 times before?” kind of way.

Because I have. And at this point, I’m not just a candidate — I’m a psychic medium for predictable interview questions.

One time, I was in a panel interview with four people. They had the same energy as a high school group project where nobody agreed on the topic. One was overly enthusiastic, one looked deeply unsure about my existence, one kept typing furiously on mute (probably writing my obituary), and then there was Linda.

Linda had the clipboard. Linda had the “I’ve been doing this since dial-up” face. And I knew… I knew she was about to hit me with the classic.

So I said it. Mid-interview. Straight face.

“Let me guess, Linda. You’re about to ask me, ‘Tell us about a time you overcame a challenge with limited resources and tight deadlines.’”

She blinked. Looked down at her notes.

And I swear on my résumé — she gasped.

Actual audible gasp.

Then said, “…Yes. That was my next question.”

The other panelists looked at me like I had hacked into their Google Doc.

Linda leaned in and whispered, “How did you know?”

I smiled and said, “Because this is my 12th Zoom interview this month, and the questions have been in a relationship with my soul since April.”

And look — I’m not knocking the structure. Behavioral questions exist for a reason. But after a while, it feels less like a conversation and more like corporate Mad Libs.

“Tell me about a time when you [verb] a [project/task] while managing [adversity] under [time pressure].”

Like okay, let me just summon one of the 19 trauma stories I keep on deck for professional storytelling.

You get to a point where you can feel the cadence of the interview before it even starts.

“Hi, we’re just going to do a round-robin of questions—”

Ah yes, the sacred ritual of multiple people asking the same question in slightly different accents.

“Can you tell us a little about yourself?”

—Translation: Recite your LinkedIn summary while we sip our coffee and stare silently.

“What would your coworkers say about you?”

—Translation: Lie humbly, but with charm.

“What’s your greatest weakness?”

—Translation: Say something fake like ‘I care too much’ and make it sound like a growth arc.

Sometimes I want to answer with full honesty.

“Tell us about a time you showed initiative.”

Sure. I initiated several snack breaks during a 10-hour Zoom marathon and saved the morale of the entire team.

“Describe a conflict you had with a coworker.”

Do you want the version where I smiled politely or the internal monologue where I held a full courtroom drama in my head?

At this point, I’m ready to start my own panel.

Just me. Four versions of me.

One asks the question, one answers, one critiques the answer, and one judges silently with a Post-it.

Because if I’m going to be predictable, I might as well make it a show.

But in all seriousness, if you’ve gotten to this point — where you can predict the flow, the vibe, the exact moment someone’s going to ask, “Where do you see yourself in five years?” — it doesn’t mean you’re cynical.

It means you’re experienced.

It means you’ve danced this dance enough to know when the beat drops.

And maybe… just maybe… you’re more qualified than the questions know how to measure.

So next time you’re in an interview, and someone like Linda gets wide-eyed when you guess her next move — own it. Smile. Be weirdly accurate. Let them wonder.

And then, please, ask if they have any questions for you.

Because spoiler: They never expect that one.