#28: 3 words that'll supercharge your interviews.
OK. I wrote most of this over the Christmas break. And now I’ve re-read the opening paras, I realise you might struggle now to get the feels for it. But cast your mind back just a couple of weeks to Christmas Eve Eve… Wham!, Shakin’ Stevens and Paul McCartney are in your eardrums all day long….
“All I want for Christmaaaas is yoooouuu”
The sound of the Spanish barman singing along to Mariah Carey as he brought over my cold “pint” (0.4l) of Dorada, in a dishwasher-warm glass.
You can only have the table till 8:30 though as it’s reserved after that, he said. Well it’s only 6:45 now, I thought, and shortly I’ll be heading back to the hotel to gorge myself on the smorgasbord of salads, meats, potatoes cooked 8 ways, wine from the tap and of course free flowing, pour-it-yourself beer.
So at that table I stayed, to ponder what life lessons could be gleaned from my internal monologue and shared with you, my loyal reader.
Well here we go…
It seems pulling a beer (I’m talking lager here) is an art lost on 94% of the guests in my hotel. I only learned how to do it by watching another guy at the barmanless bar.
Pull the tap, let the foam run clean (about half a second), shove the glass under at 45 degrees, pour, straighten glass, allow a little head to form while knocking back the tap.
I’ve witnessed the pouring of hundreds if not thousands of beers over my 29 and a quarter years of legal age drinking, and even more if you count those that came before.
So why had I found it so fucking difficult and ended up with copious amounts of head (insert your own euphemism), pointlessly tipping foam out and continuing to pour, like somehow I knew what the hell I was doing… before I became capable of pouring a nice, clean pint? Or glass. Or paper cup.
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Three words:
Knowledge.
Technique.
Practice.
Knowledge, technique and practice, I’ve just decided, should be the motto of every school across the land. Cut out of A1 sheets of brightly coloured sugar paper, letter by letter, and emblazoned on the sports hall-cum-assembly room walls for every 5 to 18 year old to see, day in, day fucking out. Translated into Latin for the posher schools.
Reinforced by teachers, those words would stick so solidly in the minds of their students, burnt into their retinas, that they would come back to these fundamentals with every new skill they attempt to learn. Maths. Languages. Art. Media. Quidditch.
My year 5 French teacher, Mrs Spridgeon (who was actually French, and unaffectionately known as “Sprog”), had this down to a fine art. Although it felt like a form of legalised torture—it seemed absolutely no one in the school of 9-13 year olds looked forward to her lessons. Petrification was more likely. She was strict. Old school, and I’m talking mille neuf cent quatre vingt neuf (that’s 1989) old school.
👆Yes, whilst clearing the loft on 2nd January I found my 33-year-old French exercise book.
Every lesson, we had to write the date, long hand, in our exercise books. We learned the verbs to be and to have in a table form and were endlessly tested on them, both written and oral (reciting them stood at her desk—nothing filled our young souls with terror quite so much as the promise of a French oral verbs test).
We then then applied these verbs, verb endings and other techniques to written, comprehension, and spoken work. A lot. We learned the technique, and undertook vast swathes of practice. Repetition, repetition, repetition.
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And it went in, whether we liked it or not. Thinking back, it was a bit of a blunt instrument, a tour de brute force and ignorance. I wonder if the concept of learning knowledge, technique and refining with practice had have been taught and then applied, whether we’d have enjoyed those lessons—and recognised that this wasn’t just for the sake of it, but that we were knowingly engaging in a step by step process of learning.
They say youth is wasted on the young and 20-20 hindsight being a wonderful thing. Imagine if we’d have understood and appreciated these principles as kids. Would we have had the vim and vigour for learning then? I’m sure Mrs Spridgeon was nice really.
I’ve come to the conclusion that as we get older, we either learn what we need to learn (either by choice or necessity) and/or learn what we want to learn. Becoming good at a thing, gaining knowledge, learning technique and practicing it just because of an underlying interest (or just for shits and giggles) brings an amazing feeling of “fuck yeah!” that no amount of school could’ve have inspired.
For me, that’s been learning to play the guitar and sing, using new software—like accounting and design packages, developing skills as a writer, all things I’ve invested in in some way and that I truly enjoy. And I’m sure I’m not alone.
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So why the reluctance to invest in ourselves to improve our capability at work, our chances of promotion, or likelihood of landing interviews? Employees cannot go on just expecting employers to put them on courses. Take control of your knowledge acquisition, appreciation of technique, and practicing what you’ve learned until you become a goddamn expert in it - and it takes you where you want to go.
The point is not to let the world happen to you, but to take control of it and get what you want. But don’t expect to be great at everything without a bit of learning and personal investment.
Think about those French verbs. You simply don’t know what you don’t know - but find a teacher, coach or mentor who can impart the knowledge, share the technique, and create the right environment for practice, and you’re away.
I can still recite these in my sleep, and though I only managed a grade C in GCSE French with last minute cramming, the legacy of those studies, and Mrs Spridgeon’s approach to teaching, lives on through my comfort with travelling in France. Being able to make myself understood and have simple conversations with a fairly decent if basic vocabulary; reading signs, menus and anything else useful—these are life long skills acquired through knowledge, technique, and practice.
So whilst doing the work and prepping for those tests (and the sheer anticipation) was purgatory, I don’t regret the time spent one iota.
Taking interview skills coaching is not like standing at Mrs Spridgeon’s desk, shitting yourself that you’ve misremembered you are (plural) as nous avons.
It’s a safe zone. You can fuck up. I can give you the knowledge and the techniques and tools. Then we practice, refine, practice, refine, and practice—until you’re comfortable in how to choose and deliver examples and answers naturally without sounding over-rehearsed.
But like those French lessons, it’ll be ingrained so you can use those tools and techniques for years and years to come.
À bientôt
Phil
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In the socials…
Its been quite quiet this last couple of weeks what with me being on holiday and deleting my LinkedIn app, so here’s some other helpful stuff for your interviewing.
Here’s one about “where do you want to be in 5 years?”
Here’s one about dealing with your own blind spots before interviews
And here’s another about why some people succeed and others don’t
If you’re new to reading A Sterne Word, or new to me in general, I write about:
Making job hunting less arduous and frankly, quicker
Developing life skills that are useful outside of job hunting
Stories that’ll educate, amuse, inform and challenge you. All with a dose of pop culture and nostalgia.
I’ve a 25+ year career in recruitment behind me, and now I can share everything I’ve learned about job search and life to make yours better 👇👇👇👇👇👇