The Interview Question I Couldn’t Prepare For
From an early age, I felt the urge to warn people that I couldn’t do anything well. I’d say, “I can play the piano,” and immediately follow it with, “But I’m not good at it, so don’t expect too much.”
I studied Physics at University, not because I liked it, but because everyone told me it was the hardest thing to learn. I thought, If I can do this, I’ll finally know I’m good enough. But when I started having high grades, I realized, If I’m doing well, this school must be shit.
Then I did a Ph.D., the Holy Grail of academic achievement. After a few months on the job, I decided a monkey could do it.
Later on, in my professional life, in the performance reviews with my manager, I’d pay no attention to the positive feedback. Everyone knows that’s just bullshit added to make the review easier to swallow. When we talked about the things I did wrong, though, I’d perk up. And if there was nothing wrong with me, there must be something wrong with the company. It was my cue to quit.
And then, I set my eyes on the perfect job, at the perfect company. The position that would finally prove that I was among the best of the best.
The job: data scientist. The hippest career that a nerd with a Ph.D. like me could aspire to. A stamp on your CV that says you’re a math genius with a knack for business.
The company: the largest Tech multinational in the Netherlands. One of those places where you get to work with world-class talent, eat delicious free lunch, have extra holidays, and, the cherry on top of the cake, receive a big fat salary.
I submitted my application and waited. Even though I fulfilled all the job requirements, I didn’t think I would make it. These guys were a huge deal — their data scientists went to international conferences and published work in scientific magazines. So I was surprised and extremely excited when the recruiter invited me for an interview.
I spent weeks preparing. I perfected my answers to the top 20 most common job interview questions. I spoke to current employees to get extra insights on the company that might put me ahead of the competition. I memorized the company’s Wikipedia page. I could recite my elevator pitch backward. I was ready for anything that I could think of.
Finally, I had the first interview. And then the second. And the third. And after five interviews over several weeks, they remained undecided. So the recruiter told me he’d give me one last chance to impress.
The night before the last interview, I toss and turn all night. Covered in sweat, I keep replaying in my mind all the possible questions and answers.
The next day, just before the scheduled time, I open the video conferencing software. The software is called BlueJeans, perhaps to give aspiring candidates the illusion that this is a casual meeting. But I wasn’t falling for that. I was ready for battle.
Shortly after, the two interviewers connect. I can see a big room behind the two small faces. Their eyes are staring into my soul.
They start by asking the typical questions, and I answer as if I’ve been dreaming of this job from the moment I came out of the womb. But inside, I feel like a robot reading a script.
Then comes the main part of the interview: the business case. It’s a single question that I’m supposed to spend the next 30 minutes answering. It is purposefully vague, with no straightforward answer, and I need to take the interviewers through my reasoning step by step. I am scared shitless because it’s the one thing I couldn’t prepare for.
“How would you detect fraudulent activity on our website?” asks one of the interviewers as I hold my breath.
I write down the question on my notepad and stare at it. I have never thought about this topic in my life, precisely what they expect in the business case. They want to see how I think on my feet.
I reread the question. I encircle some of the words. I start brainstorming with myself, jotting down everything I associate with fraudulent activity (while feeling like a fraud myself). The interviewers can’t see what I’m doing, so each minute I make them wait in silence is extra awkward.
“You don’t need to give us a final answer,” one of the interviewers says after several minutes. “Just take us through your train of thought.”
I reluctantly start talking, hesitating before each word that I mutter.
“That’s an interesting approach,” the interviewer states, cutting me off in the middle of a sentence. “But how else could you go about it?”
His monotonous tone tells me that he doesn’t think it’s an interesting approach. He probably thinks it’s the dumbest approach he’s ever heard in his entire life.
I feel the blood drain from my face. I look down at my notepad and stare at the question again, hoping for divine inspiration to strike.
After what feels like an eternity but is probably just a few seconds, I look up at the interviewers, hoping to find some reassurance. Their faces remain neutral, with no emotion.
“I don’t know,” I finally say. “I can’t think of anything else.”
For the next 30 minutes, the interviewers try to steer me to the answer they want, but my sentences become less and less coherent. Until finally, our time is up.
A week later, I got a call from the recruiter.
“You have a great profile,” he said. “But you didn’t get the job.”
I knew it was coming, but I was still crushed. Over the following months, I obsessed about the interview, thinking of all the things I should have said and done differently.
I wonder if I might have gotten the job if only I hadn’t been so convinced I couldn’t.
