The interviewee would call from the lobby and say “I’m your eleven o’clock,” and then go up to the room and knock on the door. It was impossible not to feel like a hooker, especially since the search committee members sat on one bed while I sat on the other. I remember arriving to one interview soaking wet from a sudden downpour on my way to the hotel, and when I started to take my raincoat off, the chairman said, “Have we told you about the wet T-shirt portion of the interview?” I pulled my coat back on and sat down on the bed, making a giant wet spot.
