On April 2, I drove down to Coral Gables for a job interview. At the facility, I had four rounds of interviews with various employees -- my potential supervisor, people who would report to me, possible coworkers, the person I would succeed -- and each round lasted an hour, so we were all pretty invested in this whole process. I knew that I wasn't the only person being subjected to the inquisition (the fat stack of resumes still haunts me) and I was also aware of my two big weaknesses: limited fundraising experience and no graduate degree in botany. Still, I knew that finding someone who fit in with their team was important to them, and I got everyone to laugh during my time with them. I considered this a minor coup and it gave me hope.
At my first opportunity, I penned thoughtful thank you notes on cards bearing my initial in hand-calligraphy to the people who interviewed me, one for my potential supervisor and the other to the team who would report to me. I was only half-way home when I stopped at a Post Office to send my cards away, so high I was on this interview. I got a call the next day asking for my references (which I had given them during my interview, but whatever), and I emailed them within the hour. Then I waited.
As the days ensued, I had time to mentally replay my interview, over and over and over again. I came to terms with my weaknesses and knew that those would likely disqualify me. This is okay, I thought. I was a little surprised they even interviewed me given these weaknesses, but, hey, maybe I wowed them somewhere in my cover letter and who could blame them for finding me charming and irresistible? I have that effect on lots of people.
They had told me they would give notification in one or two weeks. After two weeks passed, I considered contacting someone, but I remembered that the decision-maker was leaving town for a week following my interview, so I gave them a bit more time. Then the three-week point rolled around and I was all, "Eff them! I'm not calling those emm-effers! They can contact me, if they have something to say!" (note: my internal monologue is never family-friendly; I am, though, making an effort not to swear so much, goddammit). I didn't think it was fair to have to chase them -- plus, I was busy preparing my insolent replies for whenever they finally did decide to call me.
That day came yesterday, one day short of the four-week mark. The woman I would replace called me, starting the conversation with, "I can't believe it took so long to get back to you." Yeah, no foolin'. It turns out that the team loved me, thought I would fit in really well, blah blah blah, but ultimately the supervisor wanted someone with more grant-writing experience, just as I expected. She asked if I would be interested in any other positions there and I said yes, though I know they will not have any other positions there -- she was just being polite and I was just being polite back. And then that was that. Rejection, after a four-hour interview and four weeks of waiting.
If I could do it all over again, I wouldn't change much. I knew from my initial application that the job was kind of a stretch. My only regret is using my nice notecards on them. I'm sure they didn't savor the hand-calligraphy as they should have.
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