Musings of a Veterinarian

The Worst Job Interview Ever Part 3: The Explosive Finish

July 11, 2013 By: Dr. K Category: Opinion

Part 1

Part 2

No amount of discussion could convince me to work at Animal Veterinary Hospital. The man sitting next to me on the bench seat of the pick-up wasn’t prepared to give up that easily. I guess he thought if calling me a bitch didn’t end the interview, me telling him he was annoying wasn’t going to stop him.

He yammered on and on about the virtues of his practice as we cruised the winding roads of the neighborhood. I half-listened while formulating my thoughts on getting out of this interview. I’d let it go too far and was in so deep I didn’t know if I could dig out of this grave. We pulled in to the empty parking lot of a school and idled.

Shaffer went on, “The way I see it, we can be like good cop bad cop. You can go in there and be the gentle compassionate one. Really win them over. They’ll like you. If they don’t listen to you, I can go in and tell them to shut the fuck up.” Say whaaaa?

“Umm, ok.”

“I have clients I tell off all the time. They like it. I tell them to stop being assholes. People need that. But you can be the nice one for the ones that like that.”

“I think I could be the nice one, ” I trailed off and sneered in disbelief that this guy continued to top himself.

He put the truck into gear and backed out of our parking spot. “Let me show you where you’ll be staying tonight.” Shaffer had been kind enough to book a hotel room and make a dinner reservation for us that evening. I was to stay at the historic hotel, located on a beautiful vista, and join him in the morning for the working interview. That wouldn’t be happening. But how to get out of it?

We drove and drove with his droning voice ruining my appreciation of the sun-filled brisk afternoon. We rode higher and higher, heading up the rolling hills to the hotel. The path was filled with twists and turns, clearly forged by cattle meandering their way across the valley. I was starting to get that familiar tingle in my stomach. The beacon to impending motion sickness.

As a kid, my car rides consisted of sleeping and puking. I slept through as many trips as I could to avoid the nausea that, to this day, accompanies travel. My motion sickness is so bad, that on a college trip to Costa Rica, I was plane sick, car sick, sea sick, and snorkeling sick all in the same week. Snorkeling sick, you ask? The bobbing up and down in the Pacific ocean while my eyes were fixed on the bottom 20 feet below me triggered a vomit tsunami of fresh fruits and rice over the side of the boat.

And that pre-puking warmth and sweat was starting to spread from my brow to the back of my neck. I focused my eyes forward on a fixed point on the horizon. Was Shaffer talking? I had no idea. I heard humming in my ears and swallowed hard in the hopes the misery could be choked back down to the angry pit of my stomach. There was no hope.

“Is there a place you can pull over?, ” I blurted on the verge of panic.

Shaffer rapidly pulled over into the parking lot of a closed greenhouse. I grabbed the door handle in a dizzying haze and hopped out of the truck. I ran to the tailgate and let loose. I vomited. All over the ground and my shoes. Behind the truck. The truck my interviewer sat in knowing I was puking my guts out. The day could not have gotten worse. Then it did.

Feeling tremendous relief but doing the walk of shame back to the passenger door, I had no idea what to say. ‘Uh, sorry I puked’ didn’t seem appropriate. I climbed in the car, grabbed a piece of gum, and buckled up. Shaffer reached over and gave me two gentle and knowing pats on my left shoulder before putting the truck in gear.

“Why don’t we head back to the hospital.” That was the best thing I heard him say all day.

We drove back in silence. I should have been embarrassed but I wasn’t. This guy was insane. His shamelessness led to my shamelessness.

“I think you should go home tonight since you’re not feeling well. You can come back for the working interview on another day.” Vomit saved the day!

The remainder of the ride back to the practice Shaffer gently reminded me I really wanted to work at his practice. We pulled into the parking lot and parted ways. With a sigh and shake of my head I climbed into my car, locked the door, and pulled out my cell phone. My husband wasn’t going to believe this story.

Two weeks later I received a thank you card for interviewing at Animal Veterinary Hospital. The note also asked if I knew of anyone else who might be interested in working there, to please pass on the information. I only shared my story.

1 Comments to “The Worst Job Interview Ever Part 3: The Explosive Finish”

  1. Wow, that was pretty awesome and amusing. Thank you for sharing!


2 Trackbacks/Pingbacks

  1. VMDiva | The Worst Job Interview Ever Part 2: Captive 11 07 13
  2. VMDiva | The Worst Job Interview Ever Part 1: The Introduction 11 07 13

Leave a Reply