Who says the wheels of government turn slowly? Earlier this month, we reminded you that Justice Department Honors Program applications were almost due. Now, three short weeks later, candidates are hearing back about interviews. Sources report:

“DOJ Honors interview notifications have gone out. I was fortunate enough to snare one in the Civil Division. You might want to put up an open thread for discussion.”

“Interview invites came out Wednesday, information about which component came out Thursday. Open thread?”

We aim to please. Here you go.

If interview notifications went out on Wednesday, was that ahead of schedule? According to the list of key dates on the Honors Program website, today is supposed to be the day that the DOJ “notifies candidates selected for interviews by e-mail.”

Feel free to discuss the Honors Program interview process — which components you’re interviewing with, what you’d like to know about the process, or what you already know about the process (for those of you who have been through it) — in the comments.

The Attorney General’s Honors Program [U.S. Department of Justice]
AG’s Honors Program Key Dates [U.S. Department of Justice]

Earlier: Reminder: DOJ Honors Program Applications Are Almost Due
Open Thread: The DOJ Is Hiring Again …
Fall Recruiting Open Thread: DOJ Honors Program

Ed. note: Welcome to the latest installment of “Notes from the Breadline,” a column by a laid-off lawyer in New York. Prior columns are collected here. You can reach Roxana St. Thomas by email (at roxanastthomas@gmail.com), follow her on Twitter, or find her on Facebook.

One time, early in my stint in the breadline, I interviewed for a position at a New York non-profit organization. The interview, with members of the organization’s steering committee, was held at the plush offices of a Wall Street law firm - a setting so genteel, so prim, that I immediately felt underdressed despite my perfectly respectable interview suit and conservative heels. All the women who passed through the reception area were wearing knee-length skirt suits and pantyhose; the men looked as though they had come from a photo shoot for Brooks Brothers. The walls were hung with portraits of stately, gray-haired firm elders, hunting scenes, and graceful horses who, I suspected, had pedigrees much more distinguished than my own. I was reading a tattered copy of the previous week’s New Yorker while I waited, and I remember feeling sheepishly self-conscious — both because I hadn’t gotten through a lengthy article about Iceland’s post-financial crash identity, and because I wasn’t reading something … weightier, like The Economist, or the Harvard Business Review.

How, you ask, did I have time to read, reflect, and observe a cross-section of the firm’s personnel? Well, friends: when you spend 45 minutes perched on an uncomfortable settee, waiting for your name to be called, there is little else to do. Eventually, of course, I did make it into the conference room where the interview was being held; once there, I was greeted by five lawyers, all of whom were talking at once. To each other. In fact, I found myself wondering, at various junctures, whether they were aware that I had joined them. One lawyer asked me a complicated question and then (without skipping a beat) answered his ringing cell phone and had a lengthy conversation. I tried to shift focus seamlessly by turning to address the others, but two of them were BlackBerrying while another listened to voicemail messages. When I finally stood up to say my goodbyes, they told me that they were impressed with my qualifications and hoped that I could come back to meet with the members of the steering committee who had been unable to make it to the interview that day. “That would be great!” I said enthusiastically. Perhaps, I mused, given the general level of attentiveness I had observed, they were hoping to organize a flag football scrimmage, and simply needed a few more people to work with (as well as a captive audience, or a referee).

As a new arrival to the breadline, this experience left me with a few thoughts. Among them were, “Are interviews always this suck-ass, or was this a freakish anomaly?” and “Is there a sliver lining in all of this?” Like a convoluted legal argument, the answer to the latter of these questions resolves the first inquiry as well. As I have discovered in the intervening months, there is not a single “silver lining” in all of this, but many, including: freedom from the oppressive sartorial conventions of the workplace, the luxury of dropping by Lat’s office for a mid-day drink from the coffee fountain, and the (admittedly mixed) blessing of life in a lower tax bracket. These perks, however, pale in comparison to one, particularly luminous reward, which I consider the most spangly of all silver linings.

And what might that be?

Ed. note: Welcome to the latest installment of “Notes from the Breadline,” a column by a laid-off lawyer in New York. Prior columns are collected here. You can reach Roxana St. Thomas by email (at roxanastthomas@gmail.com), follow her on Twitter, or find her on Facebook.

The news that filters down to the breadline these days can be confusing. “The recession is over!” some sources promise blithely. The recession may not be over, warn others, but “even stagnation would be better than recent history.” (Anecdotal evidence of stagnation — blessed, welcome stagnation — follow, substituting for tales of hope.)

In the legal press, though, the forecast is decidedly more circumspect. Bloodletting may have slowed at the nation’s law firms, but, between rumors of the billable hour’s demise and free-floating anxiety about the future of associate pay, the recession is far from receding into the distance in our collective rearview mirror.

I have been seeing a new recruiter, one in a string of casual liaisons which — like online dates — offer much promise initially, but usually stall after the second or third encounter. (Like the others, she was relentlessly positive and showered me with complements, and … well, I ended up showing her my résumé on the first date.) I decide to ask her whether she thinks the end of the recession has come to our corner of the professional world.

“Well,” says the recruiter (whose name, fortuitously, is Faith), “a lot of my clients are back to running ads and soliciting resumes. But they’re not necessarily hiring.” A long pause follows, and she adds, “Yet.”

“Are they interviewing?” I ask. She answers carefully, telling me brightly that, yes, “some people have gone on interviews, here and there!” In other words, I translate silently: no.

It’s a little bit early to be looking ahead to on-campus interviewing — unless, of course, you are a rising 2L who is about to get reamed. Law firms are already making plans for how they will approach the class of 2011.

The early indications are not pretty. Mayer Brown sent out a message that is sure to disappoint future IP lawyers. The firm is pulling out of the the Loyola (Chicago) Patent Law Interview Program. The program’s directors let students know the bad news, on Friday:

Dear students,

You are receiving this email because you had bid on Mayer Brown at this year’s Patent Law Interview Program. Unfortunately, the firm has had a change in plans and will not be attending the interview program on the 30th and 31st. The resumes of all students who bid on Mayer Brown have been forwarded to the firm, and if the firm identifies any students who meet their hiring needs, they will get in touch with you directly.

Best,
The Loyola Patent Law Interview Program Staff

One tipster explains the significance of this decision:

[T]his is the country’s main IP recruitment fair. Every major firm with an IP practice recruits here.

Do you think this problem is just going to affect lower-ranked law schools? Check out one student’s Columbia Early Interview Program stats, after the jump.

Tired yet of our coverage of the NALP conference — which, after all, ended last week? If so, read coverage by others.

E.g., Ari Kaplan, for Law.com (describing the plenary panel, where yours truly was set upon by an angry mob asked tough questions); Brian Dalton, for Vault (“Every time a pointed question came his way, Lat managed to defuse the tension through self-deprecating humor and by speaking really, really fast.”); and John Bringardner, for Legal Blog Watch (“[W]hile the law school staff, recruiters and related industry types at the show report lower attendance than in years past, it’s not all glum news.”).

Even if you’re getting NALP fatigue, we suspect that this panel will interest you: Recruiting During Recession and Recovery. Recruiter and law-firm consultant Frank Kimball — former hiring partner of McDermott Will & Emery, founder of Kimball Professional Management, and a talented dancer (we saw him getting his groove on at the MLA karaoke party) — spoke to a packed room about the challenges of running a recruiting program in tough times.

Read about his remarks — which took the form of advice to law firm recruiting departments, but which should also interest applicants seeking jobs with said firms — after the jump.

Ed. note: Welcome to the latest installment of “Notes from the Breadline,” a column by a laid-off lawyer in New York. Prior columns are collected here. You can reach Roxana St. Thomas by email, at roxanastthomas@gmail.com, or find her on Facebook.

After a few weeks of unemployment, I begin to wonder whether some sort of sporadic dysfunction is affecting my ability to receive email. Specifically, while I am able to peruse every available resource for potential job openings, the résumés I submit seem to drop into an online supernova black hole. Occasionally, I get a confirmation message indicating that my résumé has been received, but, as a general matter, I hear nothing but the sound of silence.

Where do they go? I wonder. Are they floating lazily in space, along with billions of unwanted headshots submitted by New York’s considerable legion of actor/singer/dancer/waiters? Are they in a virtual file cabinet somewhere, turning virtually yellow and brittle at the edges? Or do they go straight into a giant “deleted items” folder? Perhaps the beleaguered legal employers, in an effort to capitalize on economies of scale, have set up a single, huge data landfill, where cover letters indicating a willingness to be “flexible as to class year,” accompanied by finely honed (and embellished) résumés, can be gathered and stored. If the shrinking corps of presently-employed lawyers is wiped out by bird flu, raptured, or disabled by an epidemic of carpal tunnel syndrome, they will definitely get back to us … right?

So I am pleasantly surprised when I get an email from a potential employer, asking me whether I am available for a telephone interview. The job, which I heard about through a friend, is in the legal department of a publishing company, and although they are looking for an experienced litigator, the position does not involve actual practice. A year ago, I would not have considered it; but, given my present circumstances, I am delighted. I respond to the HR person’s email, wondering how to temper my desperation enough to avoid sounding, well, desperate. I settle on an answer that reflects both desperation and lawyerly faux courtesy, telling her that I am available later that day, the next morning, any time the following day, “or whatever works for you.” She schedules the phone interview, which will be conducted by Scott, the lawyer who heads the department, for the following morning.

Find out how Roxana’s chat with Scott went, after the jump.

Many people have interviewing horror stories. But few people actually bother to send a letter to the offending firm.

One Georgetown University Law Center student did just that. After her interview with Harris Beach, the student sent a letter to James Spitz, CEO of Harris Beach:

I was looking forward to the interview until Mr. Frederick Fern and Ms. Judi Abbott Curry entered the conference room. This was the worst and most unprofessional interview that I have ever been on. Not only did Mr. Fern insult me by repeatedly stating that “the only reason” I had received the interview was because my “mom or somebody” had “called in a favor,” he then suggested that I was lazy because I did not have a job yet. “What have you been doing since July?” he kept exclaiming.

I didn’t even know how to respond. When I finally responded, he proceeded to read a document or tap on the table with his pen while I spoke. It was awful.

Harris Beach’s firm motto is “Lawyers you’ll swear by, not at.” It is worth noting that our own personal experiences with Harris Beach attorneys have been positive and professional. But perhaps these particular attorneys could have used a little more tact when dealing with a student trying to navigate these uncertain employment waters.

The full memo after the jump.

We’ve done a few posts on screw-ups and rudeness on the part of lawyers conducting on-campus interviews (see here and here). But what about the interviewees? They’re not perfect either — even if some of them think they are.

What are some ways that law students have torpedoed their chances of getting callbacks or summer associate offers? In this grim job market, there’s little room for error (especially if you are a 3L).

Let’s collect some examples of what NOT to do in an interview situation, so ATL readers can learn from the mistakes of others. Here’s a tale from a top ten school:

A 2L knocks on the door of an interview room when it’s his turn. Instead of waiting, he walks right in.

The interviewer and the student being interviewed both look up, shocked. The student says to them, “MY turn,” and just stands there.

The interviewer, after getting past the initial shock, asks to have a couple of minutes to finish up the first interview. The student looks at his watch, pauses, and says, “Well… I suppose….”

That’s pretty bad. Can you top it? Feel free to share (true) stories of fall recruiting bloopers and screw-ups, in the comments.

Update: Check out some of our favorite tales, and vote for the one you like best, over here.

We’ve noticed that the comment thread on the cold offers post has morphed into a fashion advice column. Here are some of the on-campus interview attire questions that have been posed:

— Is a light gray suit a bad choice for interviews? Dark brown shoes, black, or either?

— What suit colors are acceptable?

— For females, do you have to wear a button down under your skirt suit, or can you wear something else?

— Skirt-suits v. pants suits?

We pajama-wearing ATL bloggers are no longer well-versed in the world of suit fashion, but Corporette has an advice post on interview fashion, in response to a query from a 3L. Their advice for the ladies:

Choose a dark suit. A black or navy suit is always more conservative than a brightly- or lightly-colored suit, and if you have to buy something inexpensive then it will hide the imperfections in the fabric and the seams.

Buy a skirt suit…. Be sure you pull a chair over to a full-length mirror and practice sitting in the skirt suit; you want to see what the interviewer will see and make sure you look appropriate and tasteful.

Is this to prevent a Basic Instinct moment?

Additional fashion tips, after the jump.

[Ed. note: This post is by ALEX, one of the finalists in ATL Idol, the “reality blogging” competition that will determine ATL’s next editor. It is marked with Alex’s avatar (at right).]

We received nearly 200 comments on the OCI Open Thread, and to my surprise, most of them were not directed solely at how badly I suck. Small victory.

Many of the comments offered helpful advice from self-professed recruiting attorneys. Others offered glimmers of hope for the anxious and the under-performing. And some left no doubt that, no matter how badly you think you’re going to do in interviews, others have done and will do worse.

First, though, take a deep breathe. A large number of 2ls from top-fifteen law schools get biglaw jobs. And many top-performing law students from other schools get biglaw jobs, too.

But even if you don’t, it’s no big deal. Seriously. OCI creates the false impression that the only sensible thing that you can do with a law degree is work at an AmLaw 100 firm. Don’t be fooled.

Being a junior associate at a large law firm is not very fulfilling. You’re not even really a lawyer; you’re a low-level corporate employee with legal knowledge. Go try a case or counsel somebody with a problem. You’ll undoubtedly wonder why you ever cared about this week.

With a little perspective, you’ll do much better in your interviews. As commenters have repeatedly pointed out to me over the last two weeks, nobody likes someone who appears to be trying too hard. If you don’t care so much, you’ll be yourself. See Exley’s excellent farewell post.

Okay, helpful advice and uncomfortable stories after the jump.

* After being subjected to Prince Charles’s tampon metaphors, is there really anything more to know about the Royal Family? [The Guardian]

* Pussy. Labia. Vagina. (Yeah, I too know way too much about Britney’s and, thanks to the above, Camilla’s.) Salary? Buzz! That word is taboo. [Feminist Law Professors]

* But I think in Virginia, it’s still okay to give the homeless transfat. [Southern Appeal; Washington Post]

* Let me save you the trouble: they all taste like the industrial cupcakes moms have been buying for grade school birthdays since the post-war era. So to protect such cupcakes would be like trademarking sawdust. [Madisonian]

* Professor Slater wants you to know that the interviewing-as-dating analogy is inaccurate. Unless you get drunk and end up in the apartment of the interviewer after he tells you he’s in a band. [PrawfsBlawg]

Over the years, law firms have become more relaxed about the attire and appearance of their associates. But there are limits. From the National Law Journal:

“It’s really hard,” said [hiring partner Matthew] Jones, with Duane Morris. He recently interviewed 18 University of Virginia School of Law students in about six hours. He had 15 minutes to eat lunch.

Still, sometimes making a decision is not too difficult. “I had someone come into an interview with a nose ring,” Jones said. “I liked her, but how could I present her to a senior partner?”

To paraphrase Alicia Silverstone in Clueless: “Dee, when you have a Biglaw interview, take out your nose ring.”

(Query: Should the NALP promulgate a rule protecting job applicants with noserings?)

National Firms Digging Deeper Into Class Ranks and on New Campuses Too [NYLawyer.com]
Memorable Quotes from Clueless [IMDb]

* In law school, a burrito was not only a sandwich, but breakfast, lunch and dinner. And midnight snack. [AP via Yahoo! News]

* When you have too much self-respect for a reunion tour, or another farewell tour is just not feasible, or you haven’t securitized your music catalog, then this may be your last recourse. Money wouldn’t be an issue if you had ODed at age 27. [AP via MSNBC]

* It took an attorney’s flashing to rouse suburban moms to fight for stricter indecent exposure laws. This would be a funny “Desperate Housewives” storyline; they could also hire this guy back. [King County Journal]

* Privilege, murder, a Kennedy… and also an episode of Cold Case. [CNN]

* Not funny. But your anecdotes can be. So send them our way. If it’s really bad, find a (real) lawyer. [Law.com]

Remember the slogan for those Dry Idea deodorant commercials, “Never Let Them See You Sweat”? It’s good advice for both interviewers and interviewees. That’s why, in ATL’s Top Ten Interview Tips, we recommend the use of deodorant (tip #5).

Anyway, here’s our next interview horror story:

At the start of my 2L year, I went to New York City for one of those giant screening interview events at a local hotel. My morning and early afternoon interviews were fine and uneventful, and I expected nothing less going into my 3:30 interview with a top-ranked New York law firm. I knocked on the hotel room door at the appointed hour, straightened my suit, and waited.

I knew something was seriously awry the moment the interviewer opened the door. Wafts of hot, humid air poured out into the air-conditioned hallway. The interviewer was sweating profusely, and wiping his dripping forehead. I was completely aghast.

Compliments to our correspondent for the vivid storytelling. We can practically see — and smell — the scene before us.

The interviewer just looked at me. He didn’t introduce himself or put out his hand. Instead, he said, “I swear to God, if you can tell me where the thermostat is in this f*****g hotel room, I will give you an offer right now.”

Fortunately for me, fifteen minutes earlier, another interviewer had actually paused in the middle of our interview and gotten up to adjust the temperature in the room. So, without hesitation, I told the wilting lawyer standing in front of me: “I think it’s behind the bedroom door.” He stared at me for another moment, then left me standing in the entryway as he wandered over to the bedroom.

Then there were a few moments of silence, during which I could tell that (a) he had found the thermostat, and (b) he was contemplating the deal he had just made me. At this point, I was contemplating whether (a) he was so used to working in a sweatshop that it hadn’t occurred to him to adjust the temperature earlier, or (b) he was just a moron. Neither possibility boded well for the firm.

Finally, he came back and said, “Well, you’re clearly getting a callback, so let’s just make this brief.” He led me to a table, asked me a couple of softball questions, then sent me on my way.

Great story, eh? And here’s the ending:

I got the callback. I didn’t take it.

Hot in Herre [Wikipedia]

Earlier: Prior Interview Horror Stories (scroll down)
A PSA from ATL: Top Ten Interview Tips

Neither rain, nor snow, nor the largest terrorist attack in U.S. history will keep certain lawyers from their work. Here is our next interview anecdote:

I was a 2L at a western law school in the 2001-2002 school year. September was, of course, prime interviewing season, and there were usually 5-10 firms interviewing at the school on any given morning.

On the morning of September 11, I had an interview scheduled for 10:00 with a well-respected, midsize law firm. After watching the horror in New York on TV for a few hours that morning, I assumed that life would be postponed for a few days, while the country reacted and sorted itself out.

Not having anywhere else to go, I headed over to the law school to find some sense of community. While walking the halls, I noticed that even though all of the other firms had cancelled their interviews for the day, one firm was still going forward — the firm I was scheduled to interview with, in just five minutes.

I didn’t have time to change, so I had no choice but to walk into the interview in jeans and a t-shirt. After initial pleasantries, I asked the interviewer whether he really wanted to do this now, given that a national tragedy was unfolding. He said that he did, and that he wouldn’t postpone it even for an hour — he had a lot of work to do that day, and he wanted to get back to the office.

Needless to say, my heart wasn’t really into talking about my résumé for twenty minutes on a day of national mourning. The interview was a disaster, and I didn’t get an offer.

The interviewer’s philosophy: If we suspend on-campus interviewing on September 11, then the terrorists have won.

Earlier: Prior Interview Horror Stories (scroll down)

This next interview horror story isn’t a true “horror” story. It starts off like a horror story, but then — well, just read it yourself:

I had an on-campus interview at 10 AM on Monday for a well-known litigation firm in Orange County. At 10 PM on Sunday evening, my apartment building caught on fire, and my girlfriend and I had to evacuate. We stayed the night at a hotel, and found out the next morning that they were not letting residents back into the building until around noon.

I notified our Career Services Office, but for whatever reason they couldn’t contact the interviewer and let him know I would be missing the interview. Once we were let back into our apartment (with a police escort), we were glad to know that neither our apartment nor our belongings suffered any damage.

Unfortunately, I missed the interview, and I was ready to write it off as a loss. I went to school later that day to try and see if the interviewer was still available to meet with me. I knocked on the door, wearing only a t-shirt, shorts, and flip-flops. (I don’t know what I was thinking, but I forgot to grab my interview monkey-suit in the melee — probably because a cop was standing over my shoulder telling me only to gather “essential” items.)

Showing up to speak with an interviewer in a T-shirt and flip-flops? That’s even worse than what this guy did. Then again, excuses don’t get much better than “I was driven from my apartment building by a raging inferno.”

(But query whether there is ever any good reason to wear flip-flops in public, unless you’re at the beach. And you certainly wouldn’t wear flip-flops to the Supreme Court.)

Back to the story:

The interviewer was stunned but understanding, and we talked for about 20 minutes. During the interview, the interviewer said that if he’d had a choice, he’d rather be wearing a t-shirt and flip-flops, and not to worry about it. Even though he was accommodating, I still felt like an idiot.

The outcome? I received a call-back, and eventually an offer from that firm. (I declined the offer though.)

So what started off as an interview horror story turned into an interview happy story. Just the kind of inspirational tale you need on a Tuesday morning, with so much of the work week still stretching out before you.

Earlier: Prior Interview Horror Stories (scroll down)

This next interview story has something for everyone. Both the interviewer and the interviewee can be made fun of. Here you go:

A friend of mine was interviewing at a big law firm. As a 1L who basically went straight through from undergrad, his résumé is not terribly long, though it has some interesting tidbits (working at the British Museum and elsewhere around the world). He also listed the old standby of “excellent oral and written communication skills,” more as a space filler than anything else.

Time for some ATL career advice: Do NOT boast of “excellent oral and written communication skills” in your résumé. It’s total chaff. You’re a law student or lawyer; it goes without saying that your communication skills are strong (or at least you think they are, or wouldn’t admit it if they weren’t).

Back to the story:

The firm utilizes teams of interviewers, so he is sitting across from five attorneys who are peppering him with questions. Of course, one of the interviewers, probably a litigator, decides to be the hardass and asks: “What do you mean on your résumé when you list excellent oral and written communication skills?”

Without missing a beat, my sarcastic and quick-witted friend answers: “Haven’t you understood everything I have said so far?”

The other four interviewers burst out laughing, probably because the hardass was shown to be a fool. Needless to say, no offer.

HA!!! We like this story. The applicant erred by including the empty boast of “excellent oral and written communication skills” on his résumé. But then he redeemed himself beautifully, when one of his interviewers tried to expose its emptiness.

To be sure, the applicant pissed off the prick interviewer, thus torpedoing his chances of getting an offer. But we do love how he turned this job interview into a Beckett play, or a strange work of performance art. He’s our interview hero for the day.

Earlier: Prior Interview Horror Stories (scroll down)

Supreme Court clerks, aka “the Elect,” are gods and goddesses of the legal profession. But as our latest interview horror story shows, they aren’t perfect — at least not all the time. Sometimes SCOTUS clerks let their lofty status go to their heads, treating the Great Unwashed like “the little people.”*

Check out our latest law firm interview war story:

Setting: Very mid-size city in a flyover state.
Firm: Litigation boutique where two members of the “Elect” worked.

Interviewee shows up for his interview and is forced to wait. His interview is with a name partner of the firm, a member of the Elect.

After waiting fifteen minutes or so for the partner to show up, his secretary escorts the interviewee into the partner’s office, where he’s finishing a call. As the secretary brings the interviewee in to sit, she also hands the partner his mail.

After a minute or two, the partner ends the call. The interviewee has been sitting there quietly the whole time, completely unacknowledged by the partner.

The partner then picks up his mail and starts going through it, while the interviewee sits there. The partner still has not said a word to the interviewee.

After several more minutes of the silent treatment, the interviewee finally gets up and leaves. At the reception desk, the interviewee is asked where he is going. His response, as he walks out the door: “I have seen everything I need to see to know about whether I want to work here.”

* If Leona Helmsley had clerked on the Supreme Court, her famous phrase would have been: “Only the little people don’t get $200,000 signing bonuses.”

Earlier: Prior Interview Horror Stories (scroll down)

* Meet Aquagirl. She’s the Cleary Gottlieb summer associate who had too much to drink, then wound up in the drink.

* But even Aquagirl can land a good job — in fact, two (a Biglaw gig, and a clerkship) — after her fifteen minutes of infamy.

* In fact, legal employment is even available to people who make pathetic fools of themselves at their interview lunches.

* Interview Horror Stories: Is the supply inexhaustible? (Click here, scroll down.)

* More law firms get the urge to merge. The latest legal Brangelinas: Dewey/Orrick, Thelen Reid/Brown Raysman, and Pitney Hardin/Day Berry.

* The Ninth Circuit: Why can’t they all just get along?

* Speaking of the Ninth Circuit, Judge Kozinski is just as cool as ever. And he photographs well, too. The New Jersey Supreme Court, on the other hand, does not.

* When you aggregate the “Most Favorite Justice” and “Least Favorite Justice” scores, Justice Scalia comes out on top.

* So ATL readers think that Justice Scalia rules (except for those who blame him for judicial incivility). But does anyone want to take a nude cruise with him?

The Interview Horror Stories just keep on coming — and we love ‘em. So if you have one to share, please send it to us, by email.

Our latest tale concerns an interviewer who was, er, less than welcoming:

I had an interview [for a summer associate position] at a large, downtown DC law firm that specializes in financial services…. After my first tepid interview with the hiring partner, who talked a lot about “initiative” and “drive” and “adding value,” I was propelled into the office of one of the senior associates.

The associate let out a big sigh and rolled her eyes when I was introduced. Then, once the door was shut, she proceeded to give me the most hostile interview of my life, sneering at my journal membership and involvement in campus activities.

After shredding my résumé to bits, she gave me a halfhearted pitch for the firm, unenthusiastically listing benefits such as an in-house gym and “humane” billing hour requirements. As proof that the firm supposedly valued “work-life balance,” she mentioned that she was going on vacation the next day.

I didn’t particularly care about her vacation plans. But, trying to be polite, I said, “How nice. Where are you going?”

She reacted as though I had just asked for her Social Security number, credit score, and blood type. She shot me a suspicious glare, and backed her chair away a foot or so.

“Why do you need to know that?”

“I don’t know,” I said, confused. “I was just asking.”

“Well I’m just going with my husband somewhere, OK?”

“OK.”

The rest of the interview was spent in stilted, desultory talk about practice areas. After rotating through two more bland interviews (though thankfully not as bad as that one), I was out on the street, grateful to be free and horrified at what life must be like in that office.

It’s odd that our correspondent was interviewed by such an unpleasant person. The law firms tend to pick their most charming and attractive lawyers to handle recruiting interviews. They shield you from the crazies and the meanies until you arrive as a permanent associate — when there’s no turning back…

Thankfully, our story has a happy ending:

The next day I wrote the firm a letter asking them to remove me from consideration. I’ve since accepted an offer from a firm where the employees react normally to polite questions.

Earlier: Prior Interview Horror Stories (scroll down)