I spent much of yesterday interviewing. A thankless task: seeing grownups squirm and sitting just feet away from you is never pleasant. And, anyway, if you’re anything like me, you can probably read people in five minutes. Ten, tops. Bull-shitters, given enough time (and rope) will soon hang him themselves during the course of the conversation. Steering the discussion away from the job and into more generic territory is usually a tad more fruitful; though not without its pitfalls. As soon as I leaf through the part of their CV labelled hobbies or interests I’m usually ready for my first proper drink of the day:
* Watching F1. Dull.
* Socialising. What does that mean?
* Walking? Where to, the pub?
* Computers. Watching porn?
Not that my achievements amount to a whole hill of beans:
* I can tie my own shoe laces
* I'm pretty good at parallel parking
* I can make a non too shabby curry
* I used to be a Likely Lad
* I'm the proud owner of a Blue Peter badge
We'll be in touch.
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