I almost wonder if I shouldn't just mail off a videotape of myself dancing, singing, and spieling on my own behalf.
A: What you describe is, indeed, the commencement of a professorial career: the new Ph.D., fresh from the rigors of intellectual competition and bursting with new ideas and enthusiasm for teaching and learning, has to perform a successful dog-and-pony show for half an hour in order to get her foot in the door.
If she fails her audition—and most of those interviewed won't get the role—then it's quite possible that the career and the life she's worked for through all the years of straight As and honor rolls and scholarships and fellowships may all wither, turn to ashes, go down the tubes. (Ms. Mentor's readers may supply their own favorite metaphors.)
Is this fair? No.
But out of injustice, says Ms. Mentor feebly, can sometimes come opportunity.
Not getting an academic job is not the end of the universe as we know it—although after twenty-two straight years of schooling, you may think so. If you'd asked Ms. Mentor's advice much earlier, she would have told you not to leap from college into grad school. Ms. Mentor feels it is much wiser for everyone, even valedictorians and summas and magnas and dean's listers, to dip at least a toe into the Real World. Scholars need the experience of full-time wage earning, office politics, handling bureaucracies and paperwork, dealing with impossible or good bosses, as well as car owning, cat feeding, apartment renting, cooking and cleaning and being adults.
In short, Ms. Mentor would have preferred that you do a real-life research project—“What do I want to be when I grow up?”—rather than plowing straight on through school.
But that is all water under the widget. Now your hurdle is the interview—your audition.
When Ms. Mentor first surveyed the field some fifteen years ago, there were over one hundred fifty books on interviewing, but very few on how to be interviewed. More useful, Ms. Mentor found, were business management texts that told candidates the power spot to sit (to the right of the most powerful person in the room); the best time to schedule one's interview (between 9 and 10 A.M. on the second conference day); and odd pitfalls to avoid, such as invading an interviewer's space by placing a handbag or coat on his turf.
Most helpful, though, are advice books for actors on how to audition. Much of what they say about body language and eye contact and firm handshakes applies. Smile; sit comfortably but neither lewdly nor nervously (wear a longish skirt); look directly at everyone; don't fiddle with jewelry, clothes, or lint spots (a good reason not to wear black). Be rested and well-fed (don't skip breakfast); be lively and enthusiastic.
Practice your spiel—the description of your dissertation. Do mock interviews with fellow students, roommates, and faculty members. Get them to ask you obvious, strange, illegal, and rude questions (you'll find samples in letters to Ms. Mentor). Have a couple of clever sound bites, work on looking poised and nonchalant, and remember what actors say about sincerity: once you can fake that, you've won it all.
Likability sells first, and then knowledge. Be ready with well-researched questions about the school (you'll have studied their homepage and their catalog). Know the names of faculty in your field. Suggest what you can do for the department and the school: where you fit in, what unique talents you can offer.
And afterward, if you don't get the job, do not blame yourself. A now-famous biographer once lost a job at Amherst solely because at her Modern Language Association convention interview, the hotel room's fireplace went berserk and began spewing black smoke into the room—whereupon our heroine had an uncontrollable coughing fit and could not complete the interview.
Sometimes real life intervenes. You won't interview well if you've just had a death in the family, or your wallet's just been stolen. (That happened to a young woman Ms. Mentor knows, and she wonders if an envious classmate was sabotaging her interview.)
But self-blame is useless, and Ms. Mentor urges you to persevere. Actors do get jobs, and so do academics, and much of it is a matter of technique. With practice, you will get better. Ms. Mentor can guarantee that.
Not Moby Dick
Q: When our annual job market convention comes up, I'm going to be seven months' pregnant, and unmarried. (Suffice it to say, the father of my child is a very generous, handsome rogue who likes to spread his seed into every available furrow.)
Given the fact that I may look like a whale and won't want to answer questions about my “husband,” should I
A. Not bother to go, since I won't get a job anyway?
B. Go, and hope for the best?
C. Lace myself up tightly, claim to be fat, and hope I don't have a conniption fit?
A: Ms. Mentor votes for B, but acknowledges that you do have a problem: many a hiring committee won't see past a big belly to appreciate a big brain.
Still, the convention will be your only chance this year. If you do get interviews, prepare a few little jokes about the forthcoming event and claim you have perfectly reliable child-care arrangements (whether you do or not). Your mission is to neutralize the obvious question: Are you a mom or a professor?
Sometimes, truly, lying works best, such as claiming that you have a husband who's a freelance writer who'll be doing child care at home.
But Ms. Mentor does not encourage you to lie. She only presents alternatives, and trusts you to make the best choices.
Just avoid having a conniption fit. It will make a permanently negative impression.
A Matter Of Morals
Q: “Tell us about your morals,” said a group interviewing me at our job market convention. I told them I was raised among Pentecostals and snake-handlers (true), but that now I go to a Presbyterian church (rarely), and don't smoke or shoplift. I didn't mention that I do drink wine and that I have sex with my boyfriend in a non-missionary position.
What kind of question is that: “Tell us about your morals?” Is it legal? How should I have answered it?
A: Ms. Mentor is reminded that a decade or two ago, one very Christian university became famous at the Modern Language Association convention for asking such questions of job candidates. It seemed that a faculty member had recently absconded with a student—and her morals—and his ex-colleagues didn't want it to happen again. Naturally, of course, the university became notorious at MLA for being the only school whose interviewers mentioned Sex.
Are such questions legal? Probably, although they do border on asking about “creed,” and maybe marital status as well.
How should you have answered them? Ms. Mentor thinks you did fine. You were honest and tactful, considering the provocation.
Whether you could actually fit into such a community, if the job is offered, is another question—but you haven't asked that. So Ms. Mentor, with her usual prudence, will remain silent.
Without Cane, Yet Able
Q: I'm worried about how best to present my disability during job interviews. I have a degenerative hip condition, and I've been advised not to walk long distances, stand for long periods, or climb stairs. However, in a pinch, I am able to do all these things, and on good days my limp is not immediately apparent.
I'm worried that at interviews people will see me sitting down at every opportunity, and taking the elevator whenever possible, and assume I am lazy. In fact, one college where I teach as an adjunct has expressed concern (behind my back, of course) over my “low energy level.” Since I actually am very energetic (otherwise I'd never be able to work full-time and complete a dissertation), I believe they are reacting to my disability.
I don't want interviewers to get the impression I'm lazy, but I don't want to be constantly explaining, “I'm using the elevator because I'm disabled.” I could try to “pass” by climbing stairs,