The recruiter, let’s call her Emma, tells me that Nigel, one of the founding partners, is keen to meet with me about a senior position for a household name tech company. I’ve actually met Nigel before, but it was years ago when Snooty Bridge was just starting out and they would talk to mere mortals like me. Nowadays, they only talk to the CPOs and CEOs they recruit for; potential candidates are seemingly of little interest. So, for them to reach out to me is quite exciting. I arrange to meet Nigel on Zoom after work the following day.
I’m in the office that day, and several people comment on how smart I look. I’ve straightened my hair and worn a smart top. Impressions count. I manage to get home in time for the call, having tidied the area behind me so I look professional on camera.
Nigel is 10 minutes late. I start to panic that I might have inadvertently clicked on a link for the wrong call.
But, no, eventually Nigel turns up. At least his voice does. He doesn’t put on the camera and he doesn’t apologise for that, or for being late. I had already gone into the call with the camera on, checking I looked ok and that the angle of the camera didn’t make me look too old or bug-eyed. I wait for Nigel to notice and put his camera on. He doesn’t. Meanwhile, he’s asking me to go through my background and I am focused on sounding experienced, all the while wondering if I should say something about cameras. In the end, too much time has passed, and I am stuck feeling exposed in this uneven situation. At the end of the call, I say it’s been great talking to him, though it really hasn’t. He doesn’t say anything positive at all. He doesn’t even say they’ll be in touch. Snooty.
I rather expect that to be it, but a few days later I get a call from Emma. Am I free to meet with the client on Zoom tomorrow? Oh yes. I spend time researching the business, absorbing data from their remuneration report and their recruitment benefits page. The hiring manager, Susan, is 10 minutes late. She doesn’t apologise or explain, but dives straight into competency-based interview questions. She doesn’t put her camera on, so once again I am alone on camera in a horrible uneven balance of power. I know I should say something, but I can’t think of anything that doesn’t sound rude.
I just press on with my sales pitch regardless, and it seems to be going well. It is a global role, but they are only in seven countries, and I have solid experience of benefits in all of them. At that point, she asks me if I speak Japanese. Er, no. She explains that although they have advertised in the UK, she is now wondering if they should have advertised in Japan as Japanese is likely to be needed for some complex changes there. I’m on camera so I can’t roll my eyes. I tell her that I don’t speak German either but I have worked on complex pension changes in Germany; it doesn’t get much harder than that. To throw in a language requirement at this stage is ridiculous, especially as it wasn’t on the job spec, but I don’t complain. We end the call amicably enough, but I don’t expect to hear any more.
A week later, I get an email from Emma asking me to complete an Excel test for the job. Really? I have nearly 20 years’ experience in reward and you want me to do an Excel test? I think it, but I don’t say it, but Emma must realise it is a bit insulting as she explains it is part of their standard interview process to check skills required for the job. When the email arrives, I peep at the attachment. There is a table of data and I would need to create a pivot table and create a lookup to fill in all the columns. No big deal, but I am now wondering if I even want the job; the hiring manager isn’t organised enough to decide what language the candidate needs to speak, and it sounds like they want a spreadsheet jockey rather than a senior benefits expert. That said, if I pull out now it will look like it is the test frightening me off. My ego won’t let me do that.
When I come to complete the test at the weekend, I realise the Excel test is only part of it. I must also complete not one but two presentations explaining the data, and answer a list of 20 general questions on reward. It is all simple enough, but very time consuming to complete. It takes most of a Sunday that I won’t get back, but I am not letting them get the better of me now.
Two weeks later I get a email of rejection. I’m fine about that; I had already decided even Big Bad Boss is a better option than someone so disorganised. But still, it rankles. I know I completed the tests well, and it is unnerving to think someone else must have done them better. Let’s hope it was someone who spoke Japanese.
Next time...Candid tries to get contracts signed.
