My “interview” with Cleo yesterday turned out to be a rather strange affair.
Arriving at the office, the receptionist directed me into the conference room where about 9 other girls were already waiting. Most were dressed rather casually, which made my shirt and trousers seem like an overkill – and I thought I was not dressed smartly enough.
What made it worse, however, was the fact that I had with me two big folders containing my portfolio. As I plomped them down onto the table, I found much to my unease that the other girls only had cute little handbags.
After about 5 mins wait, and two other girls joining the group, I realised that the room was filled with way too much tension and silence. Everybody was trying hard to find an empty spot on the wall to stare at, or silently twiddling their thumbs.
In a moment of insanity, I decided that I should try to break the ice. I broke out into a cheerful, “So, does anybody quite know what to expect?” and tried to flash what I thought was a friendly smile.
I was rewarded with the girls staring back at me like as if I had just spoken in German or Swahili for that matter. On the up side, I did get a few blank looks and slow shaking of heads. But that was the most I got out of them.
Needless to say, I decided to shut up from then onwards.
The meeting was not an interview per se. We were set a subbing test (the correcting of grammar and sentence structure and the like), and given two tasks to take home – one was a 500 word article and the other was to write up a calendar of events.
The Cleo saga continues…
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