Personality Test

I took a deep breath, slung my purse over my shoulder, and marched toward the sliding glass doors of the shopping mall. My reflection winked back at me. I saw a young woman who looked competent and professional, wearing a white blouse, business skirt and little black flats. Today was my job interview at the jewelry store and I wanted to look the part. I’d worked part-time jobs before, but this was my first attempt at a real nine-to-five position.

            The manager met me at the door, and we hit it off right away. Even though I didn’t have any previous sales experience, she wanted to give me a shot. All I needed to do was take a personality test and I was good to go. She led me to the staff computer.

            Knowing I had aced the interview, I practically floated to the swivel chair. Stars filled my eyes as I imagined a glorious future in sales, becoming a top store consultant and a jewelry connoisseur.           

            Eager to start, I leaned forward and studied the screen. A grey text box prompted me to read each statement carefully, then indicate how much I agreed or disagreed on a scale of one to five. Simple enough.

            “On a scale of one to five, how likely are you to argue with your coworkers?”

            I hate arguments and avoid conflict like the plague, so I clicked the number one.  

“On a scale of one to five, how likely are you to steal merchandise from the store?”

            I would never steal merchandise! I marked one again.

             “On a scale of one to five, how likely are you to bring a weapon into the workplace?

            Okay, this was getting silly. Who in their right mind would admit to that, even if it were true? I shook my head and continued reading. Some of the questions assessed personality traits, but most seemed intent on probing for potential criminals.

            I was about halfway through on the progress bar at the bottom of the screen when I reread the grey text box with the instructions. Then did a double take. My pulse thundered in my ears and my palms began to sweat.

            I read the instructions again.

            “On a scale of one to five, with one being the most likely and five being the least likely…”

My hand flew to my mouth, and I stifled a scream. I had assumed that one meant least likely and five meant most likely. In short, I was answering every question exactly the opposite of what I’d meant.

I searched furiously for a back button but there was none. Every answer I had already submitted might as well have been etched in stone.

I tried not to panic. Maybe there was a way to restart the test. I’d have to admit I hadn’t read the directions well. It would make me look careless but what was the alternative? Those questions had asked me about every criminal activity imaginable!

I’d been overconfident, blinded by delusions of grandeur. There was nothing for it but to admit my mistake and take the hit.  

            I raised a trembling hand. The manager came over and I tried to explain that I had misread the instructions. She told me not to worry and to finish the test to the best of my ability.

            Doubtful, I completed the assessment. Would my correct answers in the second half make up for all my mistakes?

            I watched the manager walk over to her computer to check my results. Her eyes widened and her mouth puckered like she’d just swallowed a lemon. This wasn’t going to be good. She called a security guard, and he escorted me from the store.

            I walked back to my car in a daze. How could I have failed so spectacularly? I couldn’t even blame the manager. I’d basically admitted to stealing, carrying illegal weapons, and committing arson.

            Fast-forward a few months, and I was working at a coffee shop. It wasn’t my dream job, but I’d memorized all the drink combinations.  Decaf, non-fat, caramel soy latte, anyone? During peak hours, the drive-thru was fierce, but I loved the rush of keeping our little countdown timer in the green—meaning customers waited less than three minutes. Through the lulls, the antics of my co-workers kept me going.

            One day we got a new hire, Lindy. She came in wearing her team shirt and visor, ready to go. We fluttered around her, peppering her with questions. She seemed taken aback by our enthusiasm—anytime we worked a shift, we got a free coffee, which probably had something to do with our energy level. The new girl shuffled her feet, bit her lip, and answered our questions with a shy smile. I could tell Lindy was nervous, but we didn’t get a chance to talk much before my manager whisked her to the back for training.

            The restaurant had a computer program that all new hires had to go through on their first day. It tested you on basic customer service and math skills—no personality assessments, thank goodness—and trainees were expected to go through it in an hour or so.

            Lindy was back there a long time. Occasionally, I caught a glimpse of her as I went to restock things from the supply closet. She was still working on the computer. Eventually, the store manager went in and talked with her. The next thing I knew, Lindy was walking out the door with slumped shoulders. From the drive-thru window, I watched her walk to the gas station across the street and sit on the curb.

            I took my break and went over. We sat together, and she told me she’d been let go because she couldn’t complete the training within a reasonable time. Frustration and embarrassment clung to her words as she hunched over, fidgeting with her hands.

I asked if I could share a funny story, then described my disastrous attempt at applying to the jewelry store. By the end, we were both in stitches.

            Lindy turned to me, still chuckling, and asked, “They really called security?”

            We both burst out laughing again.

            All too soon, I had to go back to work. I know Lindy was still disappointed, but her shoulders no longer slumped, and she waved me off with a grin.

I never saw Lindy again, but she’s always in my heart. If I had to relieve an embarrassing job interview to brighten her day, I’d do it again, every time.