Bummer. You’ve spent weeks practicing answers to the toughest questions, days improving your resume, hours finding the right thing to wear, only to learn you weren’t made a job offer because the interviewer said you had bad manners.

“Bad manners! Can you believe it?” slumped the client.

“Tell me what happened”, I said politely, while correcting my posture and rejecting an overwhelming urge to remove a piece of celery from a niche somewhere between my teeth and gums.

“I don’t know for sure”, he responded, “ the interviewer didn’t say, but it must have been pretty bad to disqualify me.”

I asked him to recall the order of events so we could tag the behavioral culprit. Here’s what he said.

“I got there a little late, gave my name to the receptionist, and took a seat. As the minutes ticked by I started getting concerned and asked the receptionist what was taking so long. She said the interviewer would be with me momentarily. Well, momentarily changed to many momentarilies, and I was getting really worried. I had another interview across town, starting in just over an hour.”

I asked if he had considered that when agreeing to both appointments.

“No, not really. I figured if everything broke just right I could do it. Anyhow, an admin walked up, introduced herself and escorted me to the office where the interview was to take place. When we got there, the interviewer stepped outside his door and asked if I could wait just a few more minutes. He said he had a mini-emergency he had to deal with, and needed to take care of it before we could begin our conversation.

“Sure”, I told him, “ and I have a mini-emergency myself. I have an interview across town that starts in just under an hour. Could you hurry this up please? I said, “please”. I distinctly remember being courteous when stating my request. He looked at me pleasantly enough, went into his office without me, closed the door and I guess he took care of his ‘emergency’.

“I asked the admin if this was his typical behavior, and she smiled and said that he had a lot going on that day.

“Like I don’t,” I said. “Apparently I was a little edgier in my response than I had intended, since she immediately went into her boss’s office, and closed the door before I could squeeze through. In less than a minute the interviewer thrust open the door, invited me in, closed the door, a little sharply, I thought, and asked me to take a seat.

“He oughtn’t to have bothered, since I grabbed for the first chair I could find. Regrettably, it was his.

“He apologized for the delay, but didn’t seem very sincere, and proceeded to review my resume. He told me that it looked ‘in order’, whatever that means, and thanked me for stopping by.

“Don’t you have any questions for me?” I asked.

“No,” he responded. “You’ve given me all I need.”

”Come on!” I begged. “Ask me something.”

“That’s when he stood. I guess he wanted me to go but I wanted to press my case. Which I did, emphatically.

He opened the door, gesturing for me to leave. When I didn’t, he said something to his admin, and before I knew it, a security guard showed up and escorted me, politely but persuasively, to the parking lot and my car.”

“Wow”, I said, so amazed at his story that I had forgotten about the celery that lurked between my molars.

“Yep”, he sighed, “some people are so rude you wonder how they ever manage to get hired.”

With that, he put his sox back on, laced up his shoes, and left.