Interviewer becomes the interviewed
I ask a lot of questions.
When I interview someone, they’re stuck in the hot seat for an hour or more. I don’t mean it be that way; I just want to make sure I have all the details straight. So I go back over the same topics more than once. I try to nail down the timeline. I try to unearth the backstory. Basically, I just listen as long as people are willing to talk.
I’ve always sympathized with my interview subjects. I knew, at least on an intellectual level, that being interviewed by me is an exasperating, draining experience.
But I never experienced anything similar myself — until last night.
My niece, Linnae, called from Pennsylvania. She’s in junior high, and for a class assignment, she has to write a four-page biography of someone she finds interesting. She chose me.
I’ll admit, I’m flattered. I’m sure she put it off until the last moment and turned to me in desperation or something, but I choose to believe she truly finds me fascinating.
Linnae asked if she could interview me. I said yes, thinking that she’d ask a few questions and be done with it.
Instead, she subjected me to an hour-long interview that covered my life in 10-year increments.
She started out simple: parents’ names, siblings’ names, how many years there are between us. What were my parents hobbies or interests? Where did they work? What did I like to do?
Gradually, though, Linnae pushed for more in-depth questions:
“Were you in a fraternity? Why or why not? What did you think about the college you chose to attend? Where did you go on your honeymoon? What did you do there?”
On and on.
“Please describe for me your dating life between the ages of 21 and 30,” she ordered. “During those years, did you suffer any serious setbacks in your life? How did you feel about your existence? As you drew closer to 30, how did your attitudes toward aging change? How much did you earn per year during that time?”
She wanted names, dates, times, locations. She wanted me to explore my feelings about events in my past.
By the end of the interview, I was enervated, wrung out.
“Thank you,” she said sweetly. “I think I have enough to fill four pages now. Love you. Bye.”
I wandered out into the living room, told my wife what’d just happened.
“What do you think?” my wife asked. “Does she have a future as a reporter … or as an interrogator for the FBI?”
I’m thinking CIA. Al Qaeda wouldn’t stand a chance.
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Aren’t inquisitive children fascinating?!?! It sounds like the teacher either really drove home the assignment task well or your niece is either detail-oriented or naturally curious – the way you seem to be. While I sincerely doubt this will change the way you interview people in the long run, perhaps you’ll get a smile or a chuckle thinking of your niece when you’re in a long or detailed session…