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CHAPTER IX

Personal Interviews—Or Jobs at First Sight

To anyone reading this book, the repetition of success after success may seem fabulous. But there is one consideration that must not be overlooked. These successes only came as a result of infinite planning, of making mistakes and profiting by them, and of a careful analysis of what caused us to succeed or what caused us to fail.

We got no's at the start, but we did not keep on taking no's time after time. Frequently during the early days of our job hunt, the two of us would come together at a designated meeting place, both with discouraging news. Sometimes the report was that most disappointing of all—a job that was al­most but not quite won.

It only took a few of these almosts to make us stop and get down to brass tacks. The thing we had to discover was what would turn these almosts into all-the-ways. And we analyzed, we discussed,…

we criticized ourselves and each other, we checked and, finally, we felt that we knew what would make an interview click.

In the course of this chapter, we are going to use certain interviews that we had, to illustrate outstanding salient points. They are real inter­views, from real life, that resulted in real jobs.

Our findings are probably very unscientific. We did not approach our problem from the viewpoint of the trained psychologist or philosopher—neither of which we are. We only know that by the simple trial and error method, by testing certain pro­cedures with employers, and being very much on the alert as to what went over and what did not, we discovered an interview technique that seems to work.

Now, we do not for a minute want to give the impression that we felt all we had to do was walk into an office and take the interview over. Far from that! But we did know that if we had our points marshaled and well in hand, we could not only hold up our end of the interview but give the best possible picture of ourselves.

And that was a highly significant discovery. For in obtaining a job the interview is the last hurdle that has to be taken—the last victory that has to…

be gained. Beyond it, shining and secure, stands the job itself. The letter in answer to the adver­tisement must be skillful and elicit a favorable re­sponse, the telephone call must have won an inter­ested reaction, but unless the interview clinches the job, all the encouraging preliminaries have been wasted.

Of course, if we had been registered at employ­ment agencies, and had suddenly been sent to talk to a prospective employer, there would have been no opportunity for the specialized kind of prepara­tion we are about to discuss. That point has been taken up in the chapter on the agencies.

We found that any interview readily divided it­self into two parts: preparation for the interview, and the interview itself. Neither part is more im­portant than the other. A splendid job oppor­tunity can be as completely wasted through spotty interview preparation as by a badly handled inter­view. And do not think for a moment that by getting ready for an interview we mean merely a hot bath, a finger wave and a new lipstick, or a shoe shine, a shave and a haircut. Those details are important, of course, for definitely you must look your best. But you must also be at your best.

The actual preparation generally requires both…

brainwork  and   footwork.   It  may not be particularly difficult in itself—but it does take some thought. For the whole concentration is going to be: "I am the one person for the job. What can I tell him to prove it?" This is something more than the mere ability to answer questions about experi­ence, former jobs, employers and references. It is having a very clear estimate of the extra qualifi­cations that can be applied to the job. For it is not the fact that a person can fit into the minimum requirements that will land the job, but the special plus values that he brings to it. 

However, we can make these points much more vivid by actual illustration. One of our interviews concerned the position of millinery saleswoman. The procedure would have been the same if the job had been in shoes, jewelry, men's furnishings, lingerie, stationery, bird cages or radios. This was the picture: We saw the advertisement in a news­paper, we answered it and had now been notified to come in for an interview.

The letter reached us at noon one day, telling us to present ourselves at ten fifteen the following morning. With that setup, we had just one after­noon and evening in which to make our prepara­tion.

Since there were only five hours before the mil­linery shop would close for the day, the first natu­ral step was to pay it a visit. Now, we were familiar with that store, the way people do know stores in their home city. But what a different viewpoint we now had regarding it as a possible employer of us, instead of just a place to look at hats or buy a new one!

There were the salespersons to consider—how would we measure up against them? What price hats was the store pushing, and were there any unusual display features? What class of customers were patronizing the store, and did the place seem busy? Also in the back of our minds was the in­tention to be on the alert for any individual ex­cellences that might make this store stand out from others.

The visit was illuminating and adequately ac­complished its aim. We next swung to our second source of information: advertising in the daily newspaper. We wanted to get an impression of the store through its advertising over a period of time. So instead of buying just one day's paper, we went to the newspaper office and looked back through the files.

We discovered that the establishment evidently…

was making a bid for the smart business girl's trade, for the young married group and for the college crowd. We gleaned that impression from the whole character of the display. For one thing, the hats were snappy and youthful looking; for another, they were modeled on young faces; for a third, they were medium priced.

Since we had gathered that the store was after the young trade, we wondered if it would not be quite a feather in our caps to say that we had excellent success with mothers and daughters—a notoriously difficult combination to sell—and also that we had a good line-up of business girls who would buy from us. This latter list, by the way, was predicated on fact—or would be before the next day's dawn. For here and now, it must be ad­mitted that part of the evening was spent in calling up business girl friends, and asking them for some of their patronage in the event that we took a millinery job.

We then proceeded to plan the salient points that we were hoping to make during the interview. We had them clearly in mind and we also had them written down for a last quick glance.

The partner who went for the hat interview now takes over:…

The place was a medium-sized, popular-priced shop in the heart of the business district. A sales­woman left me standing in the front of the store while she went to call Mr. Aimer, the manager, from whom I had received my letter. Once more I had a chance to have a glimpse of the novel hat bar, with its long, wide shelf and the mirror that ran full length above it, and of the other features that had caught my eye the day before. I knew that if I were seeing them for the first time now, keyed up as I was by the approaching interview, they would scarcely register.

After I identified myself to Mr. Aimer, he led me to his little office at the back of the shop. On the way I remarked: "What a novel idea your hat bar is! I don't believe that I have ever seen one before."

"Hat bar?" he repeated. "Well, that's quite a name for it! We hadn't called it anything, just con­sidered it as a smart, space-saving way to let the customers try on hats."

"But I think every bit as smart as the hat bar," I continued, "is the way you've displayed those children's hats." I was referring to a most engag­ing bouquet of colored felt hats just about thimble size, but perfectly made, and displayed in the mid-…

die of the children's table on a tree of tiny hat racks. They were as cunning and intriguing as anything I have ever seen.

Mr. Aimer said they had gotten lots of com­pliments about those little hats, and that many mothers had wanted to buy them for their chil­dren's dolls. But they were only a display feature and were not for sale.

The next moment he got right down to business. He picked up my letter from his desk and said: "Let's see—you worked for Gilmer in Chicago, didn't you? How long were you there?"

"Three years," I answered. "And I would still be there if it had not been for an illness in my family that brought me east. My home is here now.”

"Yes, I understand that, Miss Stacy," he said. "But there's this thing about fashion lines. A sales­woman really ought to have a following."

"But that's just what I have, Mr. Aimer." And I took out a notebook and handed it to him. It contained a list of almost one hundred names, ad­dresses and telephone numbers. "These are people who have promised to buy hats from me wherever I locate in the city. Many of these people have daughters, just the sort of young group your hats…

especially appeal to. You know, Mr. Aimer, I have been following your advertising with a great deal of interest."

"Yes," he answered. "We think Miss Case does a good job there."

"I don't know whether this is the time to men­tion it," I continued. "But I have had very good success in selling women shopping together—even with mothers and daughters, often as not, I sell each one of them a hat."

Now Mr. Aimer gave his first sign of appro­bation. "You are a very enterprising sort, Miss Stacy," he said. "Personally, I am not at all sure how far we'll get with this list of yours, but I feel that you'll be able to build up a trade all right."

Then I let him see how I had been studying his styles, his price range and his sales appeal. He could tell that I would put everything I had into pushing his business ahead.

That interview won the job. And why not? With all the preparation that went into it—all the effort to stand out as possessing initiative, style sense, sales ability, interest in the business, a desire to see it grow. I did not fall back on any such trite remarks as I would work hard and do my best. Mr. Aimer knew that from my whole attack of the prob-…

lem. I drew for him word pictures of how I actu­ally had worked hard, how I had done my best to prepare for this job.

That type of preparation for other interviews brought just as encouraging results.

We had a very interesting interview in a field that we had about decided was closed to us. It is one of the largest industries open to women, and employs them in great numbers. It is a glamorous industry, too, and has proven prosperous even in the depression. It is no less than the business of beauty.

And why was it closed to us? Well, it had one serious drawback. Our understanding was that in learning this business, a person either had to pay for the course or work for nothing in exchange for the lessons. To the unemployed individual that was an insuperable obstacle, for it is generally necessary to be earning money right from the start. So we could not regard beauty as a promising field, inasmuch as it required a certain ability tempo­rarily to finance oneself.

Then one day a simple little three line ad caught our eye. It said: "Willing worker will receive pay while learning hair dressing."

Now no woman needs intensive preparation on…

the subject of beauty parlors. Especially the woman who faces the fact of forty. Think of all those hours under the dryer—and the finger waves—the permanents! No, that was one interview for which we were well prepared. But there was some special preliminary at that. For we made a quick visit to our own three-for-a-dollar beautician and had her do for us her dead level best.

The wording of the ad had seemed rather un­usual, and had concluded with an address only— no telephone number, no post office box, no news­paper code, just a city location. It is Elinor Stacy's story now.

I went one rainy afternoon, looking as slim and well groomed as ever I could. I opened a door and found myself in a large room that was very clean and bare. In it were perhaps fifteen young women all in white, each working busily over the hair of another young woman who sat in a chair in front of her. Each worker was separated from the others by small inside partitions, so that the effect was one of many little, individual booths. There was a pleasant woman in charge, and she came to me at once. I introduced myself, and then she ex­plained: "I teach everything about the hair. Sham­poo, waves, treatments. I teach it all."

"But the ad said that I would be paid while learning."

"That is right. If you will help me keep my apartment clean and the shop, and help me get my meals, I will pay you and also teach you every afternoon—all afternoon." She stopped for a mo­ment. "But maybe you would not like that. You are used to better things? You have had a good job, haven't you? A secretary, perhaps?"

I nodded. She was a foreign type, and I think perhaps well educated. She spoke fluently but with a slight accent. There was an air of authority about her, and also of balance and judgment. She im­pressed me as the sort of person that might come to quick conclusions. I liked her at once, and she must have sensed it.

"I thought so," she continued. "But the work is hard. And I cannot pay much."

"You advertised for a willing worker," I said. "And that is exactly what I am. I do not mind hard work, and I would like to learn your business."

Well, she told me about her business, and much, much more. She had come from Geneva twenty years ago and had nothing "but just these two hands." Now she owned five buildings, and could live comfortably if she never worked again. "But…

I like this business, and so will you," she said. And she explained that she could pay me ten dollars a week, if I "would just be deciding to come," and we could "work together like sisters."

It seemed to me that the conviction with which I had told her I did not mind hard work had com­pletely won her to my side—that willingness, added perhaps to my attitude of courtesy and deference.

We had been very keen to land something in the collection field, for that seemed one that ought to be open to the person with less business experi­ence. So when we read an advertisement in the evening paper that asked for a collector we were in­terested at once. The question was partly whether a woman could qualify, for the little boxed ad did not specify which sex. The first thing we had to know was what special qualifications in either a man or a woman would be the right ones for the job.

We went to a friend in the credit section of a department store, and he gave us a picture of what would be required.

"To be an A Number One collector," he said, "first of all you must know how to get along with people. You must be friendly but not too talka-…

tive. You need a nice balance between firmness and the sympathetic manner. If you let the customer put you off with excuses, you have a mighty good chance of losing that account. On the other hand, if you are too hard-boiled, you give offense right and left and keep away trade."

Our interview plan for the collecting job fol­lowed closely the spirit of our letter of application, which in turn had tried to reflect what the credit man had told us.

Mrs. Matthews had that interview:

The position was in the collection department of an installment house. Ordinarily few women were employed. But there was one big point in my favor. It was the fact that the firm was in process of making some changes in policy, one of which concerned their method of collecting slow accounts.

It seemed to me that a woman with the right qualifications might fit into this new picture. And what gave me confidence was that I actually felt I had these qualifications. In the first place I had always been able to handle people—even difficult people—and still retain their liking. In addition I was an amateur collector of some standing. Ever since I can remember, in community chests and charity drives I have always been given the most…

difficult districts and the hardest cards. And I could always be counted on to make my quota.

All of this I knew would be apt to be so much twaddle to the hard-boiled credit manager. But it was not twaddle. Making people part with money is a peculiar gift. Either you have it or you haven't. My job then was to convince the manager that with a little coaching I could step from the amateur into the professional rank. But how could I prove this to him? A definite plan came into my mind.

When I entered the credit manager's office, the first question shot at me was the one I had been ex­pecting: "Mrs. Matthews, have you had any prac­tical experience?"

"Well, I'll tell you what I have done, Mr. Burke, and then you can see what you think of it." I told him frankly about the experience and success I had had in collecting money. "But, Mr. Burke," I added, "I realize that I could hardly expect this alone to make you decide in my favor."

He said, not unkindly: "Well, what else have you to offer? I've talked to three other applicants this morning. Suppose you give me one good reason why I should select you rather than one of the others."

Here was the chance to test my plan.

"All right, Mr. Burke, I'll try. Would you be willing to do this? Would you turn over to me four hard accounts and let me see what I could do with them? Then you could let the results decide."

Mr. Burke took me up on this forthright propo­sition.

There was a governess job interview that seemed to swing to Miss Stacy (the interviewing partner on the occasion) from a small incident at the em­ployer's home. But let her tell about it.

We were talking agreeably enough when the young seven-year-old son marched into the room. He ignored me, made a flip statement to his mother about something he had been doing and stalked out.

The mother said: "We must not mind Timmy. He gets so preoccupied with his own small affairs that he does not see anyone."

"I understand little boys," I answered. "If I should come here, Timmy and I will get along all right. You know, children that age are all little rascals, so full of pep and life that they never seem to tire. Grownups sometimes forget that they were once little people themselves."

That was apparently the correct note to take,…