After 143 Zoom interviews (give or take a few I emotionally blacked out of), I’ve started considering myself something of an expert. Not in being hired—let’s not get ahead of ourselves—but in spotting the moment the interview goes from “We’re excited to meet you!” to “We already made an internal hire, but legally we have to talk to you.” You know the vibe.
At this point, I can spot a red flag faster than a recruiter can say, “Just a few quick questions before we dive in.” Because that’s always how it starts. Innocent. Casual. But then HR leans in with a line like:
“We’re a really fast-paced, ever-changing environment—how do you handle chaos?”
First of all, Susan, it’s not a personality trait to thrive in dysfunction. That’s trauma bonding. Secondly, if you’re asking me how I handle chaos before telling me what the job even is, I’m going to assume the role is part office manager, part firefighter.
And then comes the “fun” question:
“So, what made you interested in this opportunity?”
This. This opportunity that was labeled “Marketing Manager” but in the description included IT helpdesk support, event planning, social media management, and something called “culture maintenance”? I applied because the economy is unstable and I need health insurance, Karen. That’s why.
But of course, I smile. Because I’m on Zoom. And professionals smile on Zoom, even when we’re dying inside. We have plants in the background. We angle our camera slightly upward to hide the existential dread. And we pretend not to panic when they say:
“We’re still defining the role as we go.”
Ah yes. The role is a vapor. A corporate mirage. You’ll hire me, give me five Slack channels with no context, and ask me to “own” a project that hasn’t been explained. Got it.
Then there’s my favorite HR classic:
“We’re like a family here.”
Okay. Which family? The healthy, supportive kind—or the one from a reality show where everyone yells at Thanksgiving and someone always ends up crying in the bathroom? Because based on the manager interrupting you three times and the mystery guy who hasn’t spoken since joining the Zoom, I’m leaning toward the latter.
And let’s not forget the question that always shows up:
“Do you have any questions for us?”
Oh, I do. So many. What happened to the last person in this role? Why does the Glassdoor review say “may God have mercy on your soul”? Why are three people interviewing me and only one of them turned on their camera? And why, when I asked about salary, did the recruiter suddenly say “Oops, looks like we’re out of time”?
Zoom interviews are a performance. You prepare your lines, set your stage, and hope they don’t notice the cat climbing up your chair mid-sentence. And yet, no matter how well you do, you still get ghosted with the haunting email:
“We’ve decided to move forward with other candidates, but we’ll keep your résumé on file.”
Translation: You’ll never hear from us again, but we might use your ideas in the next meeting.
But here’s the real talk: if you’ve sat through these interviews, stayed calm through audio glitches, and managed to answer, “Where do you see yourself in five years?” without saying “On a beach far away from this job market,” then you’re already winning.
Because while they were evaluating your “culture fit,” you were evaluating the culture. While they were asking if you could “pivot quickly,” you were wondering if they had actual job descriptions or just inspirational quotes taped to whiteboards.
You showed up. You stayed professional. You kept your dignity intact even when the interviewer said:
“We’re not really looking for experience—we want someone hungry.”
Ma’am, I am starving. But also, I’m not 22 and I’m not working weekends for exposure.
So here’s to the Professional Zoomers. The ones who make eye contact through a webcam, who follow up politely even after being ghosted, who dress up from the waist up and rehearse their “I’m very passionate about this role” speech even when they’re running on coffee and disappointment.
You’re not behind. You’re not the problem. You’re just too real for systems that are still pretending they know what they’re doing.
And when someone finally looks you in the (virtual) eye and says,
“We’ve been waiting for someone like you,” you’ll know it’s not just a line.
You’ll know you earned it. Not because you smiled through another awkward Zoom, but because you never stopped showing up—even when they gave you every reason to log off.
