I turned up to a job interview 1 hour late, for a role I wasn’t qualified for, that I applied for via tweet.
I’ve now been working here for almost 2 years.
In October 2014 I made a rash decision to try and leave university. I was a freelance web developer making websites for a living for the extra cash. University wasn’t the problem – I was.
I applied for University out of jealousy of the friends that had left me the year before. Their lifestyles were dramatic, exciting, they went out every other night and overall they had better career prospects just for going, even if they were getting into debt. Why hadn’t I gone as soon as I’d left college?
I’d applied with a few weeks until the deadline. I received the offers I wanted and, with that, made my way to Liverpool.
It wasn’t what I expected. The first year was a blast – without sounding like too much of a teenager from the 90s – and it was exactly like my friends said. Long nights out, long nights in the library, Long Nights. But as it drew to a close the most exciting people dropped out of the course and I was left with the people who wanted to work. Their degrees came first and rightly so. This was where it felt like the people who’d dropped out had plotted this all along. They’d come for the first year and had a financial damage limitation plan that came with dropping out only a year in.
I looked for local jobs as a developer, and only three came up that suited my profile. No response after a month of waiting. It reached the end of September and a sponsored tweet appeared on my Twitter timeline.
I lived across the road from the office, I was a junior, and I worked with the web. It could not have been easier. The opportunity to work in a team environment and not get the life sucked out of me was exciting. I responded to the tweet and the Director emailed me after exchanging details. My interview was at 11am Tuesday.
Tuesday came and I made my way to the office. I sat down waiting for my interview slot early, a whole twenty minutes early in fact. Once the director, Richard, invites me in and I sit down opposite him he breaks the bad news.
You’re an hour late you know? Your interview was at 10am.
I don’t remember much of the interview after that. It was like the first 6 words just put me into melt down. I spent the next half hour trying to find a way to redeem myself. That was the developer in me, just going all out to fix the problem. After navigating the line of questioning the end finally came. The age old question was asked:
Why, out of 20 designers I picked to attend an interview, should I pick you?
Out of nervousness my answer spewed out of my mouth faster than I could think of it. I reeled off the first cliche response that every careers adviser tells you to write in college.
Well… I’m incredibly punctual and a hard wo…
I didn’t get the design job. The humour was well received and it’s a running joke in the office now. But the design job wasn’t for me. I’m a developer and it would have been like a Bricklayer doing Interior Design. I could have done the job, but I’m a much better bricky.
Richard, called me a few days later to tell me I hadn’t got the job but invited me to coffee at a place round the corner. During the meet up we discussed why I wanted to leave University, what I’d done up to now in terms of development and where I wanted to be in the future. We parted ways and I was more prepared to stay at university. That was the end of that… or so I thought.
3 months passed before I next heard from Rich, it was unexpected but he needed a developer. My portfolio had expanded and I’m guessing how I interviewed served me well. I was an in house freelancer to start with but now almost 2 years later I’m leading on projects I’d never even imagined.