“How does anyone who works in an abattoir put their feet up at the end of the day and relax?” I found myself musing in that liminal space which is both post- and pre-candidate. “A bit of light butchery? A long standing taxidermal project based on a seascape of Whitehaven?”
We had had a long, trying day by the time Candidate No. 8 had left us high and dry and we needed time to recuperate. Which we did, in our usual sanguine fashion.
So it was with some relief that we could welcome Candidate No. 10 into the interview room and proceed through the pitch and the putt that constitutes the interview transactional dance.
We are ultimately professionals so were able to put the immediate past behind us and concentrate on the relative merits of the candidate which in the case of Number 10, were quite considerable (although not a patch on their predecessor, Number 8, we would quietly confide to each other in the conveniences at the end of the day.)
I am happy to report that The Panel was well behaved and sat in their seats throughout the process. The Candidate was interested – but not too interested. He smiled – but not for too long. He answered all questions with courtesy and reverence. He asked pertinent questions and spoke when he was spoken to. He stood up and sat down in the right order. The time fairly flew by.
The process concluded with the usual dazzling array of smiles from us and a humble tugging of the forelock by him. We assured him we would be in touch by the end of the week and he backed out of the room, bowing all the way.
Job well done we thought. Only two more to go and then it’s back off home, put our feet up on our respective spouses and while away the evening before doing it all over again tomorrow. Just two more to go.