You’re a nurse. You go in to interview for a new job at a hospital. You’re nervous, but confident you’ll get the job: you’ve got ten years of experience, and a glowing recommendation from your last hospital.
You get to the interview room. There must be a mistake, though. The room number they gave you is an operating room.
You go in anyway. The interviewer greets you, clipboard in hand. He tells you to scrub up, join the operation in progress.
“But I don’t know anything about this patient,” you say. “Or this hospital.”
They wave away your worries. “You’re a nurse, aren’t you? Get in there and prove it.”
You’re a therapist. You’ve spent years counseling couples, helping them come to grips with the flaws in their relationship.
You arrive for your interview with a new practice. They shake your hand, then take you into a room where two men are screaming at each other. Without introducing you, the interviewer pushes you forward.
“Fix them,” he whispers.
You’re a pilot, trying to get a better job at a rival airline. When you arrive at your interview, they whisk you onto a transatlantic flight and sit you in the captain’s chair.
“Fly us there,” they say.
You’re a software engineer. You’ve been doing it for ten years. You’ve seen tech fads come and go. You’ve worked for tiny startups, big companies, and everything in-between. Your last gig got acquired, which is why you’re looking for a new challenge.
The interviewers — there’s three of them, which makes you nervous — smile and shake your hand. After introducing themselves, they wave at the whiteboard behind you.
“Code for us.”