If I've gotten the job . . .
why am I still dreaming about the interview?
I was one of three candidates for a teaching position (the others, also women, looked like children--or at least like college students. One was named Julie, I think). While I was waiting my turn, my husband listened in on the candidate before me. "Wow," he said, "She used the word 'ethnu' in her presentation. I've never heard that word before." I was irritated that he seemed impressed with her.
The interview consisted of assimilating a whole pile of books, articles, and magazines--while the committee looked on. When time was up, I had to formulate questions and teach from the books I'd read in a hurry. Fortunately, one was about Picasso and Braque, and I felt that was in my wheelhouse. Another was about Flemish painter Memling; the book title called him Fred Memling, but I would show my superior knowledge to the committee by referring to him as Hans Memling. One older article discussed an archaeological breakthrough: round, hard stonelike objects found in the American Southwest were not, in fact, turds. They were the preserved, calcified thoughts of the Desert Fathers who settled there hundreds of years ago.
When time was up, I began formulating a comparative question about the high Cubism of Picasso and Braque to a senior faculty member.
My real-life alarm went off at that point, though. Did I get the job?
I was one of three candidates for a teaching position (the others, also women, looked like children--or at least like college students. One was named Julie, I think). While I was waiting my turn, my husband listened in on the candidate before me. "Wow," he said, "She used the word 'ethnu' in her presentation. I've never heard that word before." I was irritated that he seemed impressed with her.
The interview consisted of assimilating a whole pile of books, articles, and magazines--while the committee looked on. When time was up, I had to formulate questions and teach from the books I'd read in a hurry. Fortunately, one was about Picasso and Braque, and I felt that was in my wheelhouse. Another was about Flemish painter Memling; the book title called him Fred Memling, but I would show my superior knowledge to the committee by referring to him as Hans Memling. One older article discussed an archaeological breakthrough: round, hard stonelike objects found in the American Southwest were not, in fact, turds. They were the preserved, calcified thoughts of the Desert Fathers who settled there hundreds of years ago.
When time was up, I began formulating a comparative question about the high Cubism of Picasso and Braque to a senior faculty member.
My real-life alarm went off at that point, though. Did I get the job?
posted by Jennie-Rebecca at 8:28 AM
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