You Look Like Somebody’s Mom” — And Other Reasons I Didn’t Get the Job

Renee here. Daughter of a beautician, mother of two college girls, and occasional recipient of unsolicited compliments from strangers in the dairy aisle. I wasn’t born yesterday. In fact, I was born back when phones had cords and hiring managers actually read résumés.

Let me tell you about the interview. You know, that one. The worst one.

I had applied to a Dallas-based company from Denton County, which, if you’re unfamiliar with Texas geography, is just far enough away to question your life choices mid-commute. But I was excited. This one was in-person. Not Zoom. In-person! I shine in person. I sparkle! I was ready to impress.

I walked in and was greeted by a 20-something who looked like she just finished a TikTok. She gave me that look—you know the one. The “Are you someone’s mom here to pick them up?” look.

I smiled. She flinched.

The office was a sea of youthful enthusiasm and ping pong tables. I sat, smiled at the decor, and reminded myself that I once played ping pong competitively in college. I am relatable. I am hip.

Finally, the manager walks out. Early 20s. Fresh from leadership camp. Leads me to his office. Doesn’t even glance at my résumé. He launches into a 20-minute TED Talk about the company, his life philosophy, and their five-step synergy framework.

I wait patiently, thinking he’d eventually ask me something—anything—about my skills, experience, or why I’ve applied.

Instead? He ends with:

“If I decide to move forward, I’ll call you.”

Excuse me, what?

So, I smiled. Politely. And calmly said:

“How will you know if I’m the best candidate? You didn’t ask me a single question. You didn’t even look at my résumé. Not one trick question, not even the ol’ ‘Tell me about a time you failed.’ Just a TED Talk and a wave.”

I told him I could do the job blindfolded. That I played ping pong in college and had a table in my garage. And that if that table in the corner was any indication of company culture, I was more than qualified.

Then I stood up. Walked out. Head high. Tossed a “Have a lovely day!” to the front desk squad like a queen leaving the palace.

But wait—there’s more.

Later, I worked with a 20-something who told me, to my face, that people over 60 were a strain on the economy. Like we’re old bananas. Like I should be shrink-wrapped and tossed in the clearance bin.

He said, “Yeah, that applies to you.”

I stood there frozen. Not because I was shocked—but because my inner Wonder Woman was trying to find her lasso.

I moved departments. Eventually left.

Now? I’ve got no Botox, no filters, and no perm. My shoes? Iconic. My coffee? Named Joe. My energy? Somewhere between “don’t mess with me” and “I bake better than your grandma.”

I am someone’s mom. The best job I’ve ever had. But don’t mistake that for being outdated.

Because if you ever read my résumé—or met me—you’d know: I’m not done yet. Not even close.

So, to the recruiters squinting at my photo thinking, “She reminds me of my mom…”—good. Call her. She’d tell you I’m a catch.

And I play a mean game of ping pong.

—Renee 💁‍♀️