WRONG ANSWER Published February 3, 1997 Previous columns by Harry Goldstein	After sorting through dozens of résumés and cover letters, I thought I'd found her. I even nicknamed her The Answer, as in Jane "The Answer" Doe. She was exactly the kind of person we needed to fill one of our vacant assistant editor slots. She was a week away from finishing her masters in science and technology journalism. Her cover letter was well-written and to the point. Her résumé was easy to read. She had included clips, just as we had requested in the ad we ran in the Times. This showed an attention to detail that moved her to the top of the pile, a stack comprised primarily of hastily tossed-off cover letters, carelessly slapped-together (and at times completely illegible) résumés, many from people who were so completely over- or underqualified, and so obviously desperate, that it almost hurt to consign them to the rejection heap. Almost hurt, that is, until I happened upon Jane The Answer, who we called that same day to schedule an interview. We also called in a guy who stated in his cover letter that he had a lot of experience editing articles by people who couldn't write, which is pretty much what we do all day here at ACME. They were both set to come in the next day, and I wasn't shy about expressing my enthusiasm for Jane The Answer to my colleagues. The best part about her was that her learning curve would be relatively short due to her technical background. The other guy (who I would dub The Dweeb after interviewing him) would definitely have taken more time to train -- although the tone of his letter revealed he already believed himself to be The Answer to our predicament. As for an interviewing strategy, I was left to my own devices. Since it was my first time on the other side of the desk, I thought about what kinds of interviews I've liked best in the past and settled on the conversational approach, wherein -- instead of asking the usual, "so where do you see yourself five years from now?" and "what's your greatest weakness?" -- I would try to get them to talk about themselves in as familiar a way as possible.
My boss concurred with my assessment -- she loathed The Dweeb and adored The Answer.	The Answer came in first. She seemed a bit nervous and was slow to warm to the topic of conversation: herself and the job she was applying for. About halfway through, she finally cracked a smile. Soon after, she was talking about labs in which she'd worked, why she wanted to make the transition from science to journalism, what her dreams were, and how this job would fit into her plans. The big kicker for this job interview is the fact that ACME is moving from New York to Virginia in six months, which seemed perfect for her, in a way. She said so herself -- she could gain some valuable experience -- and if she found another job before ACME moved, well, no harm done. The Dweeb was insufferable, right from the beginning. Dressed more for an interview with a Wall Street brokerage house than a low-key magazine, Dweeb dwelt on his vast knowledge of furniture-making and woodcraft, which he picked up during his three-year stint at a woodworking magazine. He quickly assumed control of the interview and forced me to endure an extended interrogation -- about the job, about how I do my job, my benefits, my future plans, the work atmosphere -- until I thought I was going to suffocate. Now, some of his questions were perfectly valid and they showed that he was interested. But the last things you want to do in an interview are a) step out of your role as interviewee, and b) come on too heavily. This was one heavy Dweeb -- and I couldn't wait to get out from under his incessant questioning and his almost messianic bearing, which I'm sure he thought was merely a show of confidence. My boss interviewed both of them after I did and concurred with my assessment. She loathed The Dweeb and adored The Answer, so much so that we asked The Answer to come in for a second interview to meet the rest of the staff, which she did the next day. Everyone else liked her, too, and tried to make her feel as comfortable as possible. We all treated her as if she were already working here and it was her first day. Mistake.
Her answer was not one I wanted to hear, but I certainly understood.	Unable to mask our feelings about ACME relocating, we presented ourselves as a bunch of people who were looking to get out of a situation with which we weren't terribly thrilled, to say the least. We rolled our eyes and laughed at our own gallows humor. In retrospect, I realize we gave The Answer the impression that she was climbing aboard the Titanic. Really, we were just being honest. In some twisted, subconscious way, maybe we liked The Answer so much that being straight with her was merely our way of showing her some respect. We told the truth and let her decide for herself. Adhering to ACME's stilted hiring procedures, I escorted Jane down to Human Resources. Feeling bound by some unspoken code, I dropped hints that she would be offered the job, although I didn't tell her so outright. Back at my desk, I got a call from the HR director -- The Answer needed a day to decide. Two days later, Jane called back to ask for another day. She had an interview at a magazine she really wanted to work for (!), but wanted to keep her options open. HR wanted to withdraw the job offer. I stood firm -- she was The Answer, after all, MY Answer. We gave her the weekend. Monday she called in and left a message on my voice mail. She was going to take the other job. It was exactly what she wanted, and she could stay there for more than six months. Not the answer I wanted to hear, but one I certainly understood.
Would it have been any different if Jane had taken the job?	I flipped through the stack of résumés that I'd put aside, the fallbacks. No one really stood out. We thought about running the ad again, but decided to farm more work out to freelancers instead, accelerating the inevitable shutdown of our office. An unattractive place to work is about to become more so for the people still here, as stuff that we outsource to a variety of unfamiliar writers comes back to be edited, copy edited, and laid out. Which raises several questions: A. Would it have been any different if Jane had taken the job? B. Weren't the chances pretty high that someone else was going to quit soon after we got Jane up to speed? C. Why would anyone want to go to all the trouble of finding a full-time job, only to have that job disappear in six months? I know the answers to those questions, but maybe I should have asked them before we started our search. The answers are obvious. A. No. B. Yes. C. No one qualified and/or in his or her right mind. Harry Goldstein is a writer and editor living in Manhattan. His work has appeared in Utne Reader, American Book Review, Promethean, AltX, word.com, and other periodicals. ©; 1997 Harry Goldstein, all rights reserved.