A man is shipwrecked on a desert island. He builds a raft using the last of the resources at hand, one that is sturdy enough to brave the seas and get him rescued. He spends all his time and energy building the raft but recognises soon it will be too heavy for him to lift so he heaves it down to the water’s edge. He erects a mast and even turns a washed up shirt into a flag to put atop. He can visualise his escape from the island and he can taste the salt air. All he needs is for tomorrow to pile on supplies of smoked meats and fish, and bottles of fresh water that will sustain him for up to two weeks and eventual rescue.
In the night he dreams a huge wave comes in and snatches the raft from him. He holds on to the thick guide rope and buries the soles of his feet in the wet sand but the raft is too heavy and the rope too slippery and he can’t hold on. He gives it one last inhuman effort but alas the raft is taken by the ruthless ocean. The storm rages around him and he falls to his knees pounded by rain. He watches hopelessly as his salvation drifts off into the night, until finally it disappears into the darkness.
The same is true of a final interview. You have invested so much in getting to the final stage that you can almost reach out and touch the salary, benefits and everything else that goes with regular employment. And at the same time you know it can all be snatched from you by a simple act of nature – maybe the CEO doesn’t see you as a fit for the company or one of the interviewers is in a bad mood.
I’ll tell you how it goes sometime after tomorrow. I hope I will wake and my raft will be there waiting to carry me to salvation. I have a second interview and hope to make it to the third and final interview stage. I am building my raft of research and tethering it together with strands of knowledge. I can only hope it is sturdy enough and that nature doesn’t decide to screw me over.
This second interview angst is killing me.