When I interviewed for a job at a British university, to my surprise they brought all the candidates together at the same time, and put us up in a grand historic mansion with beautiful gardens and grounds. This kid from Queens had come a long way.
It felt like something out of an Agatha Christie or Dorothy Sayers mystery. Was I in "And Then There Were None", where whoever survived till the end was presumed to be the murderer? Or was the survivor the one who got the job? Or both?
The weather was dreadful, with unrelenting rain. One reason the job ad had intrigued me was that someone once told me there were palm trees in the area. My queries about palm trees were met with quizzical looks. Some palm trees did grow nearby, but they were all quite short.
I was older than the other candidates, and the only female one, and I felt a bit like a mother hen. When the powers-that-be needed the candidates to meet in the lobby to go somewhere as a group, they put me in charge of corraling the others. And when one of the candidates did mind games on one of our rivals to undermine his confidence, I pushed back. Since I had a secure job and other offers, I could afford to be supportive of the other candidates, though my sense that we were in a murder mystery did lead me to keep a watchful eye on the bully. If we were in "The Lady Vanishes", I might be the lady.
The Vice Chancellor (the British equivalent of a university president) hosted a formal dinner for the candidates, the external assessors, and assorted university dignitaries, administrators, and faculty, at a different old country estate. I half-expected Miss Marple or Lord Peter Wimsey to show up and reveal all. I looked at the many pieces of silverware at my place setting, and decided to follow the lead of the locals before choosing which utensil to use when, just in case the hiring committee was watching us and keeping score.
I was seated next to the Vice Chancellor, who was quite charming and interesting. In his position as head of the university, he had traveled the world and met many fascinating people. Someone who impressed him greatly was Libyan leader Muammar Gaddafi. He told me what a nice person Gaddafi was. How does one respond to that, during a job interview? As tactfully as I could, I reminded the Vice Chancellor about the plane that exploded over Lockerbie, Scotland, to give him a chance to put his views in context.
We were served three or four different styles of potato. Mashed, roasted, scalloped, and boiled? One kind was on the plate, another was in dishes we passed around the table ourselves, and yet another was served to us from serving trays by the people who waited on us. Was I really supposed to eat that many different kinds of potato? Or stick to one? Was this another test, to see if we fit in, and were discriminating enough to know which potatoes to accept or reject? I ate them all.
I hadn't realized that the job offer would be made before I left, and that I was expected to respond on the spot. They kindly granted me an extension so I could think about it. They treated me so well, that I was sad when I turned down the offer.