It was sunny in my dream last night. I was interviewing for a most unusual and prestigious job, the office of which was located in some alpine region. I recall taking a strange monorail-like train, which was both modern in engineering, but antique in design. The low office building stretch among a thick tree cover composed of evergreen and deciduous trees. The train track ran above and to the side of the building so that I got a bird’s eye view of the place. It was white like plaster, but not quite as dusty. It lay like a great white snake among the trees.
I recall feeling neverous about the interview. Although I knew it was for an IT position that I was fully qualified for, the business was not strictly a tech company. Although I cannot remember exactly what they did, the company was involved in some kind of graphic design or something arty. I had some contacts within the organization, so I knew something about the place.
I was led through the long, narrow halls of the office, which though buried in trees, still recieved a lot of sunlight. The office was full of pretty, hip people who looked at me doubtifully. We meandered through the modern interior and climbed the stairs to a sort of isolated loft area.
My interviewer, who might have been Collin Mockery, began with some standard questions that I don’t recall. However, I do know that my heart was racing. He then asked me what I thought of the office music, which was sort of a low-keyed version of Enya. I recall not being prepared for this kind of question. Neverously, I answered “I suppose I could get used to it in 4-6 weeks.” This turned out to be a very bad answer.
I then got an image of the president of the company watching the interview thorough closed circuit TV on a large, wall mounted, white trimmed plasma screen monitor. The president was a forty-something, Silicon Valley-type of dotcom visionary, full of confidence, but short on practical business advice. At my answer, he doubled over with derisive laughter saying, “Wow! He did not just say that! He actually used the delivery cliche verbatum!”
With their leader in fits of laughter, the rest of the office sort of
turned to my direction looking down their noses at me. The interviewer stopped
the interview and said “sorry, I don’t think you’re a good fit here.”
I then had to walk alone down to the lobby, which had a fireplace, to collect my things. Everyone seemed to be gloating over my failure. The one friendly face I saw was an old IT mentor from my UMass/Boston days, who apparently now worked there. He offered his condolences about the job, but told me not to let it get me down.
In real life, I woke up feeling badly used and depressed. It seemed
that I had forever being trying to get in with the “cool kids” and failing.
This dream was yet another manifestation of this unfulfilled feeling.
And then it occurred to me that this sadness was somewhat groundless.
Professionally speaking, I’ve had a fairly respectable career. And yet, I always feel I’m just on the verge of gaining respectability and acceptance.