Undergraduate Page
ON BEING INTERVIEWED
By RUSSELL GREENWOOD (Queen's College, Oxford)
IN the Army most interviews were brief and unambiguous. At least, they were from the standpoint of a private soldier approaching his Commanding Officer. There was little question of putting your personality across ; on the contrary, the most effective method of gaining your objective was to simulate something approaching corporeal non-existence, and to translate yourself into the disembodied efficiency of a parade-ground order—the whole performance, of course, to be sounded with the " Sir," discreetly respectful. For there were a dozen ways of saying " Sir " ; it was the old soldier's secret weapon, including as it did the sir-incredulous, the sir-resigned, the sir-expectant, the sir-fulsome and the sir- scornful, to name only a few.
By and large, Army interviews were easy. But how very different is the problem facing the undergraduate in his second civilianhood. For the professional interview has become le grand art above all other grands arts, so supremely important that mere degree-chasing seems faintly anachronistic. The civilian interview bristles with intricacies and unexpected ramifications. The first requisite, obvious though not always appreciated, is that the interviewee should arrive on time, or preferably a little before time, since pre-interview con- versation with lesser lights such as porters and typists can be illu- minating on occasions. The Army maxim that " time spent on preliminary reconnaissance is never wasted " has a multitude of terms of reference, and this is one of them. Dress, too, is important, though, as in the Army again, it is more tactful to be negatively correct than affirmatively striking. Herrick's approbation of a sweet disorder is strictly inapplicable, of course. Nor is it wholly beneficial to be dressed in the manner of the profession aspired to, for this suggests a certain degree of presumptuousness. I incline to the tweeds theory, in that tweeds create the impression that you are " up" from somewhere, and it is good for the interviewer's morale if he Can be made to feel that your visit has involved an ascent. Undue concentration on overcoats and headgear is redundant. A friend of mine once appeared in smart navy blue overcoat, new bowler hat, and umbrella rolled until it looked like a black rapier. He con- fessed that he felt so naked and forlorn when he had to discard them all that his confidence entirely deserted him. He had pre- viously spent some time walking up and down outside the inter- viewer's window, but his performance apparently passed unnoticed or, if noticed, it was misconstrued.
Next to dress comes personal appearance. Indeed it is probably more important, but it is less of an art than a palpable fact, except in the case of female candidates. The extent of preparation that may be undertaken by the male sex is (assuming that washing is a diurnal function), firstly to have a haircut, the severity of which depends upon the nature of the potential profession, and secondly, a close and bloodless shave. The latter will not apply if a beard is worn, but beards are generally considered unstrategical, though I am told ,Otere is a nice distinction between the beard R.N.V.R. and the beard Chelsea. Allied to appearance there is the problem of movement and non-movement during interview. It is usual to adopt the sitting position. I was once taught at O.C.T.U. how to sit at atten- tion, but the result en masse appeared to me so grotesque that I have avoided it ever since. Folded arms are the most popular solution, but the traditional association of this pose with Rugger photos tends o give the features an uncharitable brutality. At all costs, however, he hands must be removed from sight, nor should they be allowed to come into contact with any foreign bodies that scrape, click, jingle Or squeak. The cardinal sin is headscratching. It is a habit easily formed by members of the so-called ,intellectual classes, a habit singularly satisfying to the scratcher, but one profoundly distasteful to the observer. If movement there must be, a gentle rhythmic beat with the sole of either foot is not unsatisfactory ; it is neat and inconspicuous, but only to be recommended in well-carpeted rooms.
Perhaps the greatest physical difficulty of all is that involving the eyes. Ideally they should be closed throughout the performance, but convention forbids. However, extremes such as ecstatic con- templation of the ceiling or intent examination of the minutiae of the desk are to be shunned ; the former carries with it a suggestion of unpractical remoteness, the latter of unamiable inquisitiveness. The general line of direction ought to be towards the interviewer, and the ultimate problem becomes whether to Gaze or to Transfix. But the question may be sidestepped by the employment of an ingenious Oriental device ; it is to effect a compromise by choosing a point roughly one inch above the interviewer's left eye and con- centrating the focus steadily on that point.
So much for the purely subjective aspect ; there remains the broader subject, the general concept. of interviews. Tentatively I would divide them into two kinds, the Interview Direct and the Interview Oblique. The latter has become increasingly popular in our post-Freudian world, and threatens to supplant the former. This is sad, for the Interview Direct, hastening into the midst of things, ensured the incorporation of certain well-defined topics. It was thus possible to accumulate beforehand an assortment of en- lightened observations culled from the right week-end magazines, and to present them with just that hint of hesitation, that controlled stammer, which concealed their unoriginality. But the Interview Oblique is incalculable ; it is a perilous journey of the Alone into the Unknown. Insidious questions of the " Do you spend much time on the river ? " variety are introduced, delivered always in a tone of pseudo-friendliness. It is impossible not to suspect the near- presence of a psychiatrist. Nor is there any infallible defence, except to avoid precarious subjects like immoderate enthusiasms, childhood obsessions, family eccentricities and leisure pursuits of an exotic nature.
Another recurring phenomenon is the Interviewing Board, which is intended to overawe. Numerically it may reach the strength of a cricket team, but the resemblance is confined to numbers. The primary impression, t have found, is one of a mushroomery of enormous foreheads which combine to nod the candidate towards an ominously vacant chair. But initial forebodings are rarely fulfilled, and it soon becomes possible to regard the Board as a single person slightly diffused. They are unlikely to speak all at the same time, and if they do, the candidate is justified in looking sternly at them. Naturally, the problem of where to direct the eyes is multiplied, but mutatis mutandis the same principle applies as before, and the gaze may be concentrated one inch above the left eye of the person who spoke first, last or most, according to preference. It is cus- tomary for the Interviewing Board to include a woman in order to disconcert all male candidates ; she speaks rarely, but smiles, Giaconda-like, throughout. Possibly she is present for the express purpose of assessing reactions to the smile. A radiant smile in return would be the ideal solution, but, as in studio photographs, heightened consciousness is apt to transform the radiant smile into an idiot grin. Fortunately there is little likelihood of sex actually rearing its ugly head.
But no one is safe4 we must learn to expect the unexpected. I know a potential bacteriologist who, prepared for a severely technical interview, was amazed to hear himself talking volubly about stained- glass windows, the ambiguity of newspaper headlines, and duck- shooting in Northern India. As it happened, he had spent eighteen months as an A.D.C., and was consequently adaptable. But probably the only reliable interview precept which covers all cases is that of firm adherence to the Aristotelian mean, to the happy medium between aggressive confidence and self-effacing diffidence. If any- thing, the accent should be on the latter—not necessarily to the extent of Cordelia's " tardiness of nature which often leaves the history unspoke," though even this is preferable to an ostentation of knowledge, assuming that the interviewer is not King Lear. A well- rehearsed modesty makes error so much more forgivable. Besides, it would be tactless to make the interviewer feel for the security of his own position.
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