I love analogies almost more than I love recruiting. If you couldn't tell from my last post, where I made recruiters analogous to tater tots, just take my word for it. I think resumes are like baby giraffes (awkward, wobbly, difficult to stand on their own without help). I think hiring managers are like the Wizard of Oz (seemingly all-powerful, big reputations, a bit scary and boomey, but once you get to know them, they are really just normal, spell-check reliant people with weird titles and a lot of stress). I think counteroffers are like terrorism. But perhaps the most powerful analogy of all time (I love that this is my blog, so I can make dumb statements like that), is the analogy between interviewing and dating.
Two people, trying to impress each other - (usually one more than the other). They probe each other's skills, history, and style. They carefully avoid certain subjects (religion, politics), and size each other up when the other person looks away.
Interviewing (and dating, come to think of it) is a complicated organism. Books and articles and gobs of research has been done on how to interview well, what makes a great first impression, interview foods that make you smarter, and how to shake hands. I was flipping through a Cosmo (yes, I read Cosmo occasionally - so sue me) and they had a whole article on interview hair. I doubt I could contribute much to that body of literature that hasn't already been said before.
But not much has been written about what a RECRUITER does during that crucial hour our candidates spend with the "wizards" (analogy alert: hiring managers) we recruit for. If you're an engineer, you might not even realize how much we think about you while you are miserably coding away on that whiteboard. We're like the dorky friend who helped you get ready, who's left at home eating cheese and watching Steel Magnolias while you get to go out and be the belle (what's the male version of a belle? If anyone is reading this, please look that up for me) of the ball. If you think we schedule you and forget you, think again.
The day of your interview is a big deal for us. We'll come in to the office, coffee in hand, and say to our teammates, "Hey guys! Morning! Fred interviews today at 1! Think Smart Fred thoughts!" And then the whole recruiting team, people you've never met before, says things like "Go Fred! We like Fred. I bet Fred will be smart today." That's externally. But internally, we worry – worry that you'll get lost, lose interest, bomb a coding problem, call the manager by the wrong name, forget your glasses, forget what C# looks like, forget your zipper down, start to cry. We worry about everything – not because of you– just because we've seen all of these disasters happen before. Don't take that personally.
Then comes the phone call. For a recruiter, it's the second most important call we get. It's the phone call you (hopefully) give us after you're done meeting our Wizard (analogy alert: hiring manager). When we hear it's you on the phone, the blood rushes to our head. Our heart starts pounding. We try to catch our breath. We try valiantly to casually ask, "Hey Fred, how'd it go?" This attempt at calmness almost always fails. It's hard for us to be calm when a freight train of hope just started making clanging and banging noises inside of us. We really, really want you to do well. Some of us, like me, actually cross our fingers and make weird faces as we listen to your debriefing, we're hoping so hard.
On this call, we're like a German shepherd his first day on the drug sniffing job (analogy alert: our ears perk up and we start to prance a little). We analytically listen to the tone of your voice, the way you say, "Hey Elif! It's Fred– just got out of the interview." We instant message our recruiting teammates while we are still on the phone with you – (sorry, we know it's bad manners, but we can't help it) - analyzing your tone, your words, and have internal instant messaging debates amongst our recruiting teammates about what we think your tone means. Those strings can look something like this:
Elif: he sounds good
Tim: How so?
Elif: You know, just cheery. And he described the coding problems as "doable" - that probably means he at least didn't bomb
Tim: Not sure about "doable" – "Great" or "Easy" would have been better
Elif: Yeah, but he called me like 5 minutes after he got out the door – that means he was there for over an hour and a half - that's a good sign
Tim: Did he call on his cell? Does that include drive time?
Elif: Cell, as he was walking out the door. I bet he didn't even pee before he called
Tim: Good sign…
But the rude typing overlay ceases as we ask the key question:
"How did they leave things with you at the end of the interview, Fred?"
Secretly, we're hoping they asked you to "come up" (analogy alert: make an offer) on the first date. But we understand that both you, and your wizard, might be intimidated by making that kind of commitment. We'll settle for a second.
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