OK, I think this is one for the record books. It's one of those things that happens in your life that's so weird and surreal that even later that same day you find yourself wondering if it actually happened or if you just dreamed it. I've had interviews not go so well before, but not too many. And I've read stories about interviews gone horribly awry, but I've never read about an interview actually coming to... well, I better start at the beginning.

I saw an ad at one of the job search sites for some company in Braintree named "Government Careers of New England" that claims to help people get jobs with the federal government. On the one hand, it looked very much like a scam to me for several reasons - large garish type, wild promises of easily-obtainable high-paying cushy jobs, etc, no mention of exactly what they do, no mention of how much it costs, etc. My first thought was: "avoid!" But on the other hand, I *had* been thinking about looking for a government job either in security or IT, and the locating/application process *can* be a bit Byzantine, so I figured "what the hell, I got nothing else to do, I'll check them out, and if they're a scam I'll just walk out."

I called them on Tuesday and got transferred to voicemail to leave my name and number. I did, and they called me back two days later. The guy asked what my field was, and seemed pleased when I not only said "IT" but that I was an American citizen and had no issues that might cause problems. "We have tons of openings in IT," he said. We scheduled an time for me to come down for an interview, at 1PM on Friday. So Friday after lunch I left to drive down to Braintree - which I wasn't really looking forward to, given the only reasonable way to get there from here is to take I-93 right through Boston and the Big Dig mess, all in the heavy rains from the fringes of Isabel. I gave myself an extra half hour to get there and was glad I did, because traffic was as bad as I had thought, and getting through the heavy traffic mess, unfamiliar route, and confusing signs along the way - all in the pouring rain - was very stressful. I was not in a very good mood when I got to Braintree.

I found the place, a shabby office building in a light-industrial section of Braintree, and found Suite 200, where I had been told to go. The receptionist said "Go upstairs to Suite 300". So I did, and was preparing myself for an interview with my resume ready. I walked in and a woman handed me a form and said "go sit in that room and fill this out and we'll call you." Apparently I had been mistaken when I thought I would be meeting with someone at 1PM. I sat in the room with about ten other people and filled out the form (which took about 5 minutes) and waited. And waited. And waited. After about half an hour the woman came and took my form. Then I waited some more. Occasionally they would call someone, about one person every 20 minutes. I kept waiting, getting madder and madder as it got past 2PM and I had been waiting an hour. Why couldn't they have made individual appointments for people rather than just telling everyone to show up at 1, knowing that most of them would have a long wait? If they were an employer, I wouldn't have minded, but since this place was, I'm sure, going to ask me for money for their services, I felt they were treating their customers pretty shabbily. They didn't even send someone in to say "sorry for the long wait."

Finally, at around 2:30, I decided that an hour and a half was too much, and I definitely didn't want to drive all the way from Braintree to New Hampshire, through Boston, on I-93 at rush hour. I was just getting ready to leave when a man poked his head in and called my name. So I followed him to his office. He was an older guy, probably about 60, short and stocky. Not in bad shape for a guy his age, but no Charles Atlas, either. He struck me as one of those guys who was probably a tough guy when he was younger and hadn't completely come to terms with the fact that he was older now and no longer a tough guy. He seemed a little rough around the edges (ex-military, I guessed, having known plenty of guys like him when I worked with the military), but pleasant enough. I guess the best word to describe him is "pugnacious". We said hello, shook hands, he pointed me to a chair, and I sat down. Then I entered the Twilight Zone.

As I was sitting down, I made a comment. And I want to stress very strongly that even though I was in kind of a bad mood from the drive and the wait, I did *not* use a tone of voice that was in any way angry, accusing, insulting, provocative, or derogatory. In fact I said it very casually. All I said was: "I'm glad you called me when you did, I was about to take off." Now, granted, in hindsight that may not have been the best comment to start the process with, even though I had said it in a mostly-joking tone of voice. I wasn't trying to give the guy shit, just a gentle reminder that keeping people waiting for an hour and a half was something they notice. I wasn't going to say anything else about it. But, poor choice or not, I was completely unprepared for what happened next. Remember Jekyll & Hyde?

"Get out," he said.

I was sure I had heard him right, but I just assumed he was joking. I made some affable, dismissive comment about how it was no big deal, I was here now, let's get started.

"Get out," he repeated, handing me my form.

I stared at him in disbelief. "You mean you're serious? You want me to leave?"

"We don't need people with bad attitudes."

(I have to state here that the conversations I'm recreating here are from memory and obviously not verbatim from this point on. A lot happened, a lot was said quickly, and all I can do is try to get down the gist of what was said, probably in most cases in a much more coherent way than it was originally said, and probably sometimes a little out of sequence, but the essence of what was said is here.)

I was still disbelieving. I kept expecting him to smile and say "gotcha!' or something. But he was perfectly serious.

"You can't be serious. You want me to leave because I made a comment about how I was kept waiting for an hour and a half? Listen, I was just mentioning it, it's no big deal." I didn't apologize, because I wasn't sorry, but I wanted to make it clear that I wasn't making a big deal out of it.

"Get out. We don't want you."

"Give me a break. You are NOT seriously telling me that you're throwing me out just because I said that."

He started to get mad. He said "Get out!" in an angry, abusive tone of voice. He pointed to the stacks of paper on his desk. "We have lots of people who want jobs who don't have your bad attitude. So get out!"

Talk about bad attitudes. This guy was starting to piss me off.

I tried to stay calm. "Look," I said. "I wasn't trying to give you shit, I just thought it would have been nicer if you could have timed the schedule better and given people different appointment times so that just about everyone didn't have a long wait, that's all. It's not a big deal."

At this point things started to deteriorate rapidly. He kept insisting I get out over and over, getting more and more abusive. Worse, he did it with a high-and-mighty, we-have-the-jobs, we-call-the-shots, we-decide who-is-worthy-of-them-and-you-aren't-one kind of way that was extremely irritating.

"They're not YOUR jobs," I said. "They're the government's jobs. I'm guessing you aren't a nonprofit charity, so I assume you will be asking me for money at some point, which makes me your customer, and it seems dumb to me to treat customers this way." I was starting to get pretty pissed off at his abuse and insinuations, and my tone of voice was getting angry as well.

Finally, when it was clear that he wouldn't be swayed, I got up. I crumpled up my form into a ball and threw it past him into the back of the office. "Wow, you people really are JERKS!" I said, and turned to leave.

"What did you say??" He shouted at me.

"You heard me," I said. "You're a jerk. This place is a scam."

He started to get very abusive with me and shouted at me incoherently about my "bad attitude", and to get out. I shouted back at him a little, and turned again to leave. I was extremely angry at him, and my bad mood from the drive and the wait wasn't helping. "I can't believe what an asshole you are," I said on my way out.

He exploded. "That's it. Let's go. Right now." he said.

"Excuse me? Are you saying you want to FIGHT me?" If I was in disbelief before, I was completely blown away by this. A shouting match was weird enough, but this guys seriously wanted to go mano a mano with me. Fisticuffs. He wasn't kidding. Not even a little bit. He was dead serious.

"Let's go. Come on, you asshole. Right now," he said.

"You have GOT to be kidding me, old man."

I think the "old man" crack was what did it. If he was pissed off before, he became positively volcanic. It was clear that my earlier perception of him as someone who had formerly been a Tough Guy and hadn't come to terms with being 60 years old was right on the money. He was a little bulldog of a guy with a clear anger management problem and a lot of insecurity about not being the toughest guy around any more. From here on, I'll call him "Lil' Dickhead", because I never got his name.

Lil' Dickhead started spluttering and raving about how he was going to kick my ass, how I should come outside, and all that kind of stuff. He was up in my face, shouting at me. I was furious by now, and the "fight or flight" response was starting, adrenaline and all. The stress of the day, and the stress of eight months of unemployment didn't make it any easier to control myself. I *really* wanted to take this guy up on it and flatten him. But I managed to keep control, mostly because while I was tempted for a moment to knock his lights out, the wiser voice in the back of my head reminded me that on top of everything else going on in my life, an assault charge was not exactly what I needed in addition. I retained the presence of mind to not start the fight, but I was furious enough that I wasn't going to back down, which I should have done.

I should state here that I'm not claiming I was an angel in this whole situation. There were a bunch of things I shouldn't have done (participate in the escalating abuse), a bunch of things I should have done (just drop it and leave), and in general just have handled the whole situation better. But if there's one thing I've learned, it's that in tense situations, hindsight is 20/20, and it's always easier to look back later, dispassionately, and say what the right thing to do would have been than it is to think of it, and do it, in the heat of the moment. Despite the fact that I could have, and should have, backed down, swallowed my pride, and simply left, it's also true that I had done nothing to deserve his attitude and abuse, and I was in the right, even if I shouldn't have cared about that. And it's hard to describe here exactly how abusive and abrasive this guy was - the attitude he was giving me that I was somehow unworthy of the Holy Jobs of which he was Keeper, that me having the balls to point out the long wait was indicative of a "bad attitude" on my part, and so on. He could have provoked the Dalai Lama into violence. And I've always had a problem with petty tyrants abusing their power, especially on "helpless" people. This guy was the worst kind of example. He clearly thought his self-appointed position as Keeper of the Holy Jobs made him King Shit.

Anyway, the abuse continued, with him in my face screaming at me to go outside and fight him, and me refusing, calling him insane, insulting him back, and trying to stay as calm as possible. That wasn't very calm - I was trembling with rage and adrenaline, dying to knock this guy silly, so although I couldn't calm down enough to back down and leave, I didn't hit him, either. We shouted at each other for a bit about who was going to kick whom's ass and the usual fighting trash talk.

"Listen, asshole, just because we need jobs doesn't give you people the right to treat us like shit!" I shouted at some point. Since I was having trouble verbally backing down, I figured I'd just leave. I started to walk down the hall. Lil' Dickhead followed me. He really, truly, was bent on fighting me and had eliminated the option in his mind of me simply leaving. Now he just wanted me outside.

"Look, old man," I said. "I've got at least 20 years, eight inches, and 100 pounds on you, and I'm wearing huge steel-toed work boots. Don't push me. And I studied martial arts for a few years. I'll kick your ass." OK, mistake. I really shouldn't have egged him on.

"Jiu-Jitsu, 22 years!" he screamed, pointing at himself. "Hmm," I thought. "If he's telling the truth, maybe he could beat me." But I didn't believe him. It looked more like maybe he had studied Jiu-Jitsu for one month, 22 years ago. And since the subject was brought up, the small rational part of my brain also figured that if we were to get into a fight and I were to injure him, it would look pretty bad for me even if he threw the first punch. I was much younger, bigger, and stronger than him, and any smart injury lawyer would try to use the fact that I had taken some Kung Fu as "proof" that I was some kind of fighting expert. Although it's been years since my last full-time training, although I never got past yellow sash, and although I've forgotten just about everything, it still wouldn't look good. I didn't want to be in court with a sharp lawyer making me out to be an old-man-beating-up version of Bruce Lee.

He continued to scream at me to go outside and fight him as I walked down the hall. I got to the elevator and stairs. The elevator was there. He got in it and looked at me expectantly.

"I am NOT fighting you, asshole, and that's final!" I said. "I'm leaving." He remained in the elevator, and it was clear that me leaving the building was exactly what he wanted me to do. He started to call me a pussy, a coward, and so on. Even with an elevator and two sets of stairs nearby, with him right there, no matter which route I took, there was no way for me to make it down three stories and into my car before he could make it down to intercept me outside. I knew if I got into the elevator, one of us was going to walk out injured. I was trapped.

The elevator door closed and the elevator started going down. I couldn't go down, as I knew he would be waiting for me outside. I wasn't afraid of him, I was much more afraid of *hurting* him if he should happen to jump me outside. So I went back into the office. I figured even he wouldn't be stupid enough to throw the first punch in front of witnesses.

I went into the room where the other "candidates" were waiting. I told them what was happening. They were pretty disturbed. I asked them if they thought it was right that, as customers, they were expected to wait meekly for hours. I told them that I tought the whole operation was a scam and that they would be well-advised to not get involved. I pointed out that having an employee threaten to assault you, try to start a fistfight, and then lurk outside lying in wait to jump you when you left the building was not really the way an organization should behave. I didn't say it all that clearly, though, I was still filled with rage and adrenaline and hyperventilating a little. I probably talked for a couple minutes, and I could see eveyone was pretty freaked out.

When I left the room, Lil' Dickhead was back in the reception area, madder than ever. He had heard at least some of what I'd been saying to them, and started screaming at me about that, calling me more names, how dare I disrupt their business, insulting my manhood and bravery, calling me a pansy, threatening to kick my ass, telling me to go outside, and so on. Had hadn't calmed down at all.

"Tell you what," I said. "You want to fight me, YOU throw the first punch. You want to commit assault, YOU start it. I'll finish it, in self-defense. But I'm not throwing the first punch. You want to take a poke at me, fine. I'll have the cops on your ass."

By now, all the shouting had brought some of the other employees from their offices. I guessed it had taken them that long because the offices had heavy, closed doors, and they were conducting their own interviews and hadn't wanted to interrupt to see what was going on. I started to explain to them how this guy wanted to fight me, how he had been waiting outside the building, and so on. They didn't say much, but it was very, very clear to me from the looks on their faces that they knew this guy was a loose cannon and they had had to deal with his outbursts before. Sensibly, they suggested I just leave. I didn't really want to, I wanted to kick Lil' Dickhead's ass, but I was rational enough to realize it would have been a very bad idea and there was nothing to be gained from staying. I walked out the door.

Halfway down the stairs, I realized I had left the form I filled out in Lil' Dickhead's office. Not knowing exactly how psychotic this guy was, I definitely didn't want to leave a piece of paper in his office with my name, address, birthdate, and other personal information on it. I knew it would be risky going back, but the thought of him trying to take some kind of revenge with that information was not pleasant. I resolved to just go back, grab it, and get out without letting him egg me on any more.

I went back into the suite and walked to his office. I said "I want my form back."

"I gave it to you."

Then I remember that I had crumpled it up and tossed it. I spotted it over on the floor, and started towards it.

He stood up and blocked my way. "Get the hell out of my office!"

"Don't worry, asshole, I'm just getting my form, then I'm leaving." I started towards it again. He blocked my way again.

"Look, don't push me," I said. "I'm getting that paper." I can be pretty menacing when I use my height and weight to intimidate, which I almost never do. I put on my scariest "terminator face" and pushed past him, keeping a close eye on him as I bent down to pick up the paper in case he tried to jump me. I left his office.

He followed me, again insisting I fight him. His face was beet red. I was seriously afraid he might have a heart attack. The word "apoplectic" sprang to mind. I tried to keep walking down the hall, but he blocked my way and called me a pussy again. I was still trembling with fury and barely able to restrain myself.

"I'll tell you again," I said. "If you want to take a poke at me, you go right ahead. But I'm not going to throw the first punch. I'm not going to jail for a pissant little old man like you. Go ahead, hit me. Hit me or get the hell out of my way so I can leave." I stood there waiting, ready to block or slip any punch he might throw.

He shoved me. I said "Don't push me, pal. I'm warning you."

He shoved me again, harder. He was pretty strong for his age. I shoved him back - hardly at all, just enough to show that I would shove back (and was a lot stronger than him).

Finally, he snapped and attacked me. Alas, he picked probably the stupidest thing he could have done. He grabbed me in a classic boxer's clinch, with his head against my chest and his arms at my sides, and pushed me back a few inches into the wall. Not only is this the most ineffectual grappling attack there is, the difference in our sizes and weights made it ludicrous. It was like watching my small cat try to wrestle with my giant cat. 22 Years of Jiu-Jitsu, my ass. Anyone who had studied Jiu-Jitsu for five minutes would have laughed their ass off.

I started to hit him - gently. I purposely hit nowhere near as hard as I can, I just wanted to let him know that I wasn't happy about being grabbed and he better let go (which I was also shouting). Tactically, he had picked the dumbest position to be in - he had no control over me, while leaving basically every vulnerable spot on his body except face and solar plexus exposed for me to attack. I quickly considered and (luckily) discarded about twenty different things I could have done to injure him, from "a little" to "seriously". Elbow to temple, kidney punch, knee to groin or stomach - plenty of things that I would have used if I were in a seriously dangerous fight. But I kept enough of my senses to just keep punching him in harmless places - in the sides, in the back, on the shoulders - and lightly, just to let him know I could hit a lot harder if I wanted to, and he better let go if he didn't want that.

After about 30 seconds (?) of this, the other employees heard the commotion and ran out of their offices shouting "break it up!" They dragged us apart, me unresisting, him resisting, basically dragging him off me. They stood there, physically restraining him, and looked at me. "You should just leave, please" a couple of them said, not angrily, more in a pleading tone of voice. From the looks on their faces, in their eyes, and from their voices, they were sending me a very clear message: "We know this guy is a violent asshole. We know he started it. We know it's not your fault. We hate him. We know you could destroy him. But you better go. We're asking you to be the bigger man, back down, and just go." Sounds like a lot to convey in the few things they said, but it was a clear message nonetheless. I started to walk out again.

Lil' Dickhead kept shouting insults at me on my way out. I paused for a second, turned, and said "What the hell is your name, anyway? I want your name." He just spluttered incoherently some more, hurled a few more insults, and his co-workers restraining him repeated that I should just leave, please. I was tempted to push it and get his name, but realized that I should get out and not extend the situation. I made some vague comments about police, lawsuits, and the Better Business Bureau, and left them there in the hall, his co-workers restraining him, and him shouting insults at me.

I got in my car and left. I probably should have sat in the parking lot for a few minutes to cool off, it was hard to drive and I realized just how much I was shaking and just how much adrenaline was in me. But I wanted to get out of there.

The drive home was very odd. For the first fifteen minutes I could hardly think, I was so mad and still coming down from the rush. I put on some angry music to kind of "sing it out", which worked pretty well. By the time I was halfway home, I was fairly calm again and alternating between (calmer) anger, disbelief and a surreal feeling that it had actually happened, and amusement at the whole thing. I calmed down mostly because I realized that even though I wouldn't call it a "scuffle" since punches were thrown, it was still a very minor altercation and no one had been injured. I wasn't too worried, since he did attack me first, I had shown restraint and not harmed him despite wanting to, and in the end all that had really happened was that two guys had had a shouting match and a little kerfuffle which didn't result in any injury. I realized it was something that I would just look back on and laugh about later in life, a silly story to tell over beers.

I was alternately feeling pretty justified - that I had kept my cool and not backed down to a total asshole - and angry at myself for losing my temper at all. I knew I shouldn't have engaged in shouting at all, that I shouldn't have called him names, egged him on, or anything like that. I knew I should have just left at the first sign of conflict, or at any point before I did. I berated myself for not being more mature, for letting sad, petty little people get me so worked up. I knew I should have just laughed at him and walked out. But even so, thoughts like "he started it", "he was in the wrong, I was in the right", and so on kept making themselves clear, too, so I didn't feel guilty or responsible. I was glad I stood up to him.

Now, looking back, I'm pretty much laughing about the whole thing, chalking it up as The Worst Interview Ever, and realizing that while I definitely could have and should have behaved a lot better, I also managed to keep my head at least enough to not do anything I would have *really* regretted. I know that if I had taken him up on his offer to go outside, I could be in jail right now with criminal charges and a nice big lawsuit waiting. So I'm saying "phew!" about that, though I still am a little worried that he might find some personal injury lawyer and try to go after me even though he was clearly unharmed and he attacked me first. I guess there's nothing I can do about that.

I dunno, I have some more musing to do about this. I might call the place on Monday, ask to speak to the owner or manager, and complain about this guy. I was thinking of threatening to sue them if he wasn't fired, but decided that was taking the whole thing too far, especially since I wasn't injured.

All in all, a very weird day and definitely the worst interview ever.