Interview Dojo

We are conducting interviews today in an effort to find my replacement.

I hate boring interviews.

Help me spice it up for the candidates by giving me some funny or odd questions to ask.

Things like:

• I can't ask how old you are, but...were you eligible to vote last month?
• What size shoes do you wear? We're looking for someone who can fill mine. Although I'll probably take them with me, so you should just use yours. Yours look like they fit pretty well anyway.
• Would you like to get me some coffee?
• Do you hate celery, I mean salary?
• Do you love overtime?

What else should I ask?

.

Marvin, the Robotic Quarterback

I used to be an intern at Intel. I made web pages and built workstations.

I didn't get to go in the fab very often, which is best. If you've seen the ads with the factory workers in the multi-colored bunny suits dancing around, the fab may seem like fun.

It's actually really, really hot in one of those suits. And you can have whatever color you'd like, as long as it's white.

The cool part is you get to feel like an astronaut. You can wear a full mask with an oxygen pack. And if you're like me, you breath like Darth Vader and say, "Houston, we have a problem."

I had a very important job inside the fab. I had a clipboard of green stickers that said "Year 2000 Capable". I went through each section of the fab and put the stickers on equipment that had passed the Y2K rollover test. This was nearly every piece of equipment in the fab (minus that one boxy-looking one in the corner that made the ominous humming sound).

Since everyone was dressed the same, nobody could tell I was but a lowly intern. What they could see was my clipboard. This meant I could be an auditor - or worse, management. I would head over to a group of fellow astronauts to ask a question, and they would disperse before I got there.

Once I went into a suddenly empty wafer transfer room (it's probably not called that, but since I don't really know much about the equipment, I get to make stuff up and you probably don't know the difference).

I was putting stickers on the various machines, minding my own business, when I heard it.

*clink, rattle rattle*

I looked up, confused.

*clink, rattle rattle*

I turned around.

*clink, rattle rattle*

There were several microchip wafers on the floor. Even as an ignorant sticker intern, I doubted the floor was in integral part of our production line.

*clink, rattle rattle*

I followed the arc of the next wafer to see where it was coming from. One of the big expensive machines (let's call him Marvin) had a robotic arm that passed the wafer off to the robotic arm of the next big expensive machine. Marvin decided hand-offs were boring and he'd like to try touchdown passes instead.

For lack of a better plan, I started catching them. This worked fine for a minute for so, but then my hands were full.

*clink, rattle rattle*

I wandered down a corridor, trying to find someone older and more responsible. All the responsible-looking folks were hurrying away from me. I started hollering and waving, bunches of wafers stacked in my hands.

Once they found out I was a high school kid and not an auditor, I quickly became a suspect. It took considerable amounts of explaining and convincing to the higher-ups that I hadn't fiddled with anything.

At least Marvin was Y2K compliant.

Have you ever gotten in way over your head on the job?
.

Home Aloan

I've griped about the home loan industry before, but today I'm going to up the ante:

I'll tell you about the worst home loan officer in the world.

This is a deep, dark secret of mine.  I'm not proud of it.  I wish I could take it back, but I can't.

I used to be a loan officer.

The worst one in the world, in fact.

I was in college at the time, and had no idea what I was doing.  I would make cold calls to folks with 10% interest rates, and get hung up on while telling them about the 5% rate I wanted to refinance them into.  I could literally free up enough money for these folks to buy another house, yet I couldn't close the deal.  To me, no meant no.

My boss, Dave, was the exact opposite.  He would say, "They don't mean no.  They mean not right now.  Big difference."  Dave was the ultimate schmoozer.

He asked for a phone number off my list of rejections.  He dialed it while on speaker phone so I could watch the master.  He got a guy in a grocery store, pushing his screaming kids down the cereal aisle*.

Three minutes later, my boss had completed the application with him and arranged a follow-up appointment.  This guy was good.

I was so bad at this job, that I just started fixing the other loan officers' computers instead of making cold calls.  This was short-lived however, because my pay was 100% commission-based.  I lasted three whole months before I threw in the towel.

I did close one loan, though.

I love my in-laws!

--
* He was probably pushing them in a cart.  Either way, they deserved to be pushed - they were obnoxious.

The Garbage Man

Note:  I wrote this in high school, and it still amuses me.

-------------------
Do you like your job?  Chances are, you don't.

It seems to me most people don't think highly of their employment situation. Of all the available jobs, the one most people would rather have is "a different one". There's always something folks gripe about: The hours are long, the pay is low, the boss is a tyrant...blah, blah, blah. Little do people know that the best job is not just one more step up the corporate ladder.

What is the worst job you can think of? I used to think that being a garbage man would be the worst. On a cold December morning, he had to get up early while everyone else slept in. He had to drive a stinky truck around a well-to-do neighborhood and throw away snobby people's waste. The snobs themselves would watch disdainfully from a second-story window with a cup of hot chocolate. The poor slave would glance up enviously as the marshmallows in the steaming mug peered over the rim at him mockingly. Then the onlooker would hastily shut the shades and go sit by the fireplace to read the paper.

Then, when he got home, things didn't get any better. He could not wash off the smell of rotting fruit and baby diapers. He was lonely. He turned on some Garth Brooks and watched a rerun of an old sitcom. What were his plans for the weekend? He'd probably rent a cheap movie and watch it with his goldfish. I did not envy the garbage man.

Now, of course, I do. He has it so easy now. Thanks to mechanization, he just sits on his bum and moves levers. He doesn't have to deal with overbearing bosses. His job description reads something like this:

1. Dump Trash.

His evaluations go like this:

Boss: What have you done lately?

Garbage Man: Dumped some trash.

Boss: Keep up the good work.

He's never late for work, either, because he never has to take a shower. He doesn't need to take a shower because he doesn't get stinky and dirty. He does everything sitting in his heated truck with a Country Apple scented air freshener.

He comes home, meets his wife at the door, and sweeps her off her feet with a kiss. Then he takes her to the Olive Garden.  After, they go to the opera. Then they return home to sit on the back porch and gaze at the stars.

Yes, I envy the garbage man. He has the best job.

And he never has to take a shower!