One of my strangest job interviews was at a university I'll call Dysfunctional U. An early hint that things might not be entirely normal was that the first email message from the chairman of the recruitment committee, Professor V, began "Dear Ms. Silverberg" rather than the customary "Prof." or "Dr." A bigger hint was when he asked me to use frequent flyer miles for the trip.
When I arrived at V's office at Dysfunctional U, he shook my hand with an overly firm handshake, and I screamed. When he opened his hand, I saw that it held his keychain with about a dozen keys, which he had forcefully dug into the palm of my hand.
V's next act was to refuse to let me go to lunch with a group of his colleagues who asked me to join them. V insisted that I have lunch with him. Lunch with him meant that I bought a soggy sandwich and a hot chocolate with whipped cream from a cart on the ground floor of the building, to consume in V's office.
When we went back to V's office, he immediately sat down in the only free chair. With the wrapped sandwich in one hand and the overflowing cup of hot chocolate in the other (V had suggested that I not get a lid), I looked around and realized that the only other chair was filled with a three-foot-high pile of midterm exams, and every inch of desk and table space was covered with sloping piles of dusty books and papers. Was this his version of the Mad Hatter's Tea Party? V didn't clear any space until I pondered aloud that I could rest my cup on V's piles of papers and exams while I unwrapped and ate my sandwich standing up, but since the cup's bottom was already covered in dripping chocolate and whipped cream, I couldn't guarantee that his papers and exams wouldn't get stained.
Until I met V, I hadn't realized it was possible to mispronounce my last name. Each time he introduced me to someone, I repeated my name with the correct pronounciation, but V never caught on.
The most pleasant time I had with V was when I drove him around campus in my rental car. We'd pass an intersection, and he'd say, "You should have turned there." After the third or fourth missed turn, I had trouble suppressing my laughter. By then, I had decided to go with the flow and view it all as quite amusing. This was really getting too silly.
Perhaps the silliest part was that I was a full professor at a much higher ranked math department, but the job ad was for an assistant professorship. Numerous Dysfunctional U faculty had told me, "Of course you won't accept an assistant professorship. But apply anyway. Once people like you, we'll make a case for upgrading the position. But we can't do that if you don't apply." In my application I made it clear that I hoped they would consider making a senior level offer. But I did tire of reminding them of that each time someone asked "Why do you want an assistant professorship?"
The faculty members who wanted me hired warned me not to tell anyone that they supported me, since that would turn the other factions against me. If all the faculty who told me they supported me had really done so, it would have been a majority of the faculty. Professor V eventually notified me that the department decided not to fill the position that year.
Some of my "supporters" told me that things were said at the hiring meeting that they believed were illegal, and they urged me to report it to Dysfunctional U's Office of Equal Opportunity. I pointed out that I wasn't at the hiring meeting, so I had no evidence; such a complaint needed to come from a witness. Alas, they were too afraid of retaliation to report the violations themselves.
Before my visit, several of the faculty had insisted that Dysfunctional U had the most dysfunctional math department in the country. I responded, "I can't believe it's more dysfunctional than Ohio State's." But after I saw for myself some of the infighting in that department I told them, "You were right! Your department really is more dysfunctional than OSU's!" On the bright side, it made me feel better about OSU.