The Phone Interview

If there is something I fear the most in an office setting, it is definitely the phone interview. I can deal with irate bosses (mainly by avoiding them), I can deal with annoying co-workers, and I can occasionally even deal with a broken copier machine. But those phone interviews... they are my downfall.

Granted, I had never been in a phone interview before, on the interviewing side, no less! I'm a terrible interviewee, so I'd never dreamed of actually becoming an interviewer myself. But it just so happened that as I was zombifying myself with InDesign lessons on my computer, Marcia, editor-in-chief of the Washington College Magazine, (completely different from the Washington College Review) walks in and strikes up a conversation with the other two girls working in the same room as me. Just as I was losing interest in whatever it was they were talking about (I never know when to include myself in these conversations. I don't know about half of the things they say, but I don't want to be rude and ignore them, either) and the droopy, zombie-eyes were coming back, Marcia nonchalantly leans on the doorframe and turns to me.

"Hey, you want to try something new out? I'm sure you're getting sick of doing...whatever it is you do all day," she said.

Hallelujah! Don't get me wrong, I love learning about InDesign and Photoshop, but my eyes were going cross-eyed by now and my brain was ready to explode inside my head. Some of the steps were pretty tedious and even though I was becoming very accustomed to the InDesign interface, I still felt like I wasn't really learning an exceptional amount of information. Half of the pieces were already done for me and I just wanted to make something cool from scratch! "If I have to format another fake newsletter...!"

I gave Marcia a nervous smile and said, "Uh, sure! ...What do you need me to do?" I realized a second too late that she had asked me a loaded question.

"Okay, could you set up a time to interview this alum that just won an award for Chemistry? You can then write an article to put in the new issue of the Magazine. I'm not sure if you have any interest in the sciences at all, but it doesn't have to be too in-depth, and you can just ask the alum to clarify anything for you, if you've got questions." And from the mouth of Prof. Olsen from Arthurian Literature class, I had just succumbed to what is known as the RASH VOW!!!

What was I thinking? I had never interviewed anyone before, and my journalism experience comprises of a big fat zero! How would I know what to say, what to ask? And sure I'm interested in the sciences, but I don't really know anything specific about them! How am I supposed to know how the quantum mechanics of the biomolecular processes of protein-folding affect the calculations of classical molecular methods in computational simulations...?

"Sure!" I said.

"Great! I'll send you an email with info the article needs to include and a CV of the alum. Just send me back the article when you're done so I can see if it's good enough to put in the magazine. Thanks!" Marcia said, and left.

I sat back in my chair, awaiting the doom-filled email to drop into my inbox.

Okay, okay, all lightning strikes and thunderclaps aside, Marcia didn't ask all that much of me. I knew most of my fear came from my inexperience, and my irrational fear of talking to strangers on the phone. It was just something I would have to overcome if I wanted to truly become a well-rounded writer. I kept telling myself that as I saw the email come in and stared miserably at the alum's phone number for over an hour.

The two other girls in the room left for lunch, and I knew this was my opportunity to conduct the interview without feeling incredibly stupid (more so than usual) if I did something wrong. I wrote out a few questions and mentally prepared myself for another 15 minutes before I whisked up the phone and dialed the number before I could think about it twice. It rang. And rang. And rang. ohmanpleasedon'tpickupthephonepleasedon'tpickupthephonepleasedon'tpickupthepho--

"Hello?" A man's voice asked. Aw, crap, here we go!

As I bumbled through the interview, I felt like how I was probably viewed in these sorts of situations: Young, stupid, and inexperienced. And I hate that. I was grateful with how understanding and good-natured the alum was as I interviewed him. By the end I was dizzy, terrified and my heart was racing. I'm embarrassed to say this, but I was so stressed out from the ordeal that I couldn't work on the article for the rest of the day.

I felt absolutely lousy. Wow, E, you sure are a top-notch intern. I bet the one last year flew through stuff like this with flying colors. You're still floundering around in grayscale... I called my mom for some pep-talk and advice, which she gave through stories about the beehives and additions to the gardens she kept on her farm.

I guess the sort of advice my mom gives is slow-acting, because I didn't feel completely rejuvenated or sure of myself until the next morning, in which I sat down at my desk at work and just jumped into the article head-first. I finished drafting, revising, sending it out to both Marcia and the alum for editing and coming up with a final version in a matter of a few hours. Granted, my piece was edited quite heavily with changes, but at the end of the day Marcia came up to me and said, "You know, I think the piece is ready to go. Thanks."

And that was that. I had written something (with the help of others) that was officially going to be published in a printed magazine. Granted my name isn't going to actually be attached to the article (no one's is for these mini-news stories) but it still feels like an accomplishment, a step up from where I had been standing before. I may be bumbling, but I'm bumbling in the right direction.

Besides, the next day Marcia came up to me and said Meredith, the head honcho, had overheard me conducting the interview and told her I sounded very professional. I wondered if Meredith and I were thinking about the same interview, but I told myself she probably didn't hear all of my nervous giggles.

Now I'm just waiting for Marcia to give me a new assignment. Maybe. As long as there are no phone interviews involved.

Becoming an Intern: A 3-Step Process

This summer I am interning in the College Relations department of Washington College, the partner-position of my main job as Student Editor of the Washington College Review. So far the job has been easier than expected--granted, there's not much for me to work with yet, but it has been a smooth transition nonetheless.

Ironically, this entire endeavor started on a whim. I had read the campus-wide email one day second semester, and for some reason I didn't delete it, even though I wasn't particularly interested in the position. I wanted to go home this summer, see my friends, get away from all of the drama and stress I had been encountering at school that year. But there was a small voice nagging in the back of my head, probably the remnant of a conversation I had had with my mother earlier that week: "You need to get a job this summer. College tuition is going up and you need to contribute more to your education. We can't have a repeat of last summer." In the previous summer, I had been unable to find work thanks to the wonderful state of our economy.

I thought about it long and hard--and I looked at an email my mom had sent me listing a series of internships and possible jobs I could apply to. After cleaning and organizing my room, I felt myself rejuvenated and confident; ready to take on the work force and show 'em E. Walburg's coming to town!

In reality, I was sitting at my desk, despairing at my lack of money and said, "Fuck it. I might as well just send in the damn thing to make my mom happy."

I honestly believed I would not get the position. I sent in other applications, expecting to maybe get one of those, and looked toward May thinking "I wonder if Jimmy John's will hire me back this summer."

About a month and half after I had sent in my application for the Student Editor position, I get an email saying it was time to set up interviews. I blinked at my screen, trying to remember what the heck they were even talking about until I jogged my memory. Oh yeeeeah...

The day of, I was actually pretty nervous; I even put in some effort to look nice and pulled out an old white blouse I hadn't worn in 3 years and slapped on a black skirt. (Hey, I said some effort, not total effort...) Tripping my way down the Cater Walk to Prof. Volansky's office, I finally made there in one piece, passing by one of my competitors along the way. She smiled and said her interview had gone wonderfully. Great.

I get into the office, though, and find Michele Volansky is one of the easiest people to talk to that I have ever met. Comes with being an actress, I suppose, but it was still comforting. I left feeling like I had done a pretty good job, even though I spouted out some of my worries about my lack of skills in certain areas. It's one of my downsides as an interviewee; I'm painfully honest about myself, even if it makes me look bad. Still, though, I thought, "oh come on, you've got some pretty intense competition. You'll never make it."

The next day I received an email saying I was one of the top three finalists for the position. I was stunned. I was doing so much better than I ever expected and now I had something invested in this. There was a followup interview, and a week went by. I walked into work one day (also College Relations. I had had an in and didn't even realize it!) and was speaking to one of my superiors about my hopes to get the Student Editor position. She blinked and said, "But you have it already."

I stared and said, "what?"

She looked a little peevish and said, "Oh, Michele didn't tell you yet? You've got the position. But I suppose you aren't supposed to know yet since Michele didn't email you. Please don't tell the other competitors, they..." but I had stopped listening by then.

Me? I got the position? Really?

I was giddy and completely relieved that I wouldn't have to freak out looking for a job this summer. Granted, I would have to spend all that time in sleepy little Chestertown but hey, I would be making money and putting a fantastic addition on my resume. I called my mom in a rush, all smiles and shaky fingers, spewing out a hundred words a minute. Her reaction?

"Oh, that's nice! So does that mean you won't be able to work on the garden this year?"