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Once in a while the interview panel meets someone who they collectively fall in love with. The candidate enters the interview room sporting an impressive halo and from that moment on they can do wrong.

It’s at times like these when the stony faces crack, the hardened hearts soften and to a man and woman, we show our sensitive sides and yearn for the candidate to bestow their approving looks on us mere mortals.

“Like ME.”
“LIKE me.”
“No, LIKE ME. PLEASE like ME
.” We whisper to ourselves out of earshot to anything except the dogs out in the forecourt who can detect our collective misery from over 800 yards.

We become pathetic in our desire to be loved and the canny candidate will spot that yearning and exploit it to the hilt.

This afternoon was a case in point. The very lovely Mr. Llewellyn walked in almost invisibly but a quick turn of the head, a wink of the eye and a shake of his gravitas had us all swooning and hanging on to his every word. Even Harrison, with her penchant for obsessively shiny shoes was bowled over by the state of his footwear. He made us laugh, he made us cry, he quietened down the dogs until they were no more than a sigh in the mid afternoon heat haze that seemed to have enveloped the Interview Room.

Indeed, he was such the perfect candidate that our chairman, Woolfit, suggested we throw caution to the winds and offer him the job there and then. The panel were unanimous in their approval for such radical action. Bungle undid his top button; Hengquist threw off her shawl; Latchitt tore off his shirt to bare a remarkably hairy chest for one so old; and even Harrison was moved to striking out in a bossa nova, her chair in hand as she swooned around the room, mindful of the ongoing gaze of the candidate.

But to our collective horror, the frightful Llewellyn proceeded to double cross us. Instead of graciously accepting the offer of employment, he declined it loudly and unequivocally. He threw his papers on the desk in front of him and marched out of the room leaving everyone in a state of fuddled confusion and mindless mayhem.

Soon the confusion mutated to anger though when we realised what he had done. He had rejected us. Us, the Interview Panel. The ones who offer the work had suddenly found ourselves in a place where our work in offering work had become redundant.

To say we were furious would be understating the case. Hell hath no fury like an interview panel scorned and we were now about to unleash that fury on unwitting Candidate No. 9 who was about to be pushed in through the door.