The Elevator

"So, tell us a little bit about yourself, Jane," said a middle-aged man in a smart and clearly expensive suit.

Jane paused for a moment. She found the interview process uncomfortable, and she tried to calm herself so her voice was steady. The man who asked the question and two others waited. Another man, younger than the first, and a woman who seemed to be there simply to make notes.

"Well, I recently graduated from Oxford where I studied English Language and Linguistics."

"Hmmm. A first-class degree, I see," said the second man. "But how do your studies relate to the position you have applied for?"

"Well, I've always had an interest in language, and I'm fluent in French, German and Spanish." Jane swallowed as she thought about how to phrase her answer. "I guess a natural progression was computer languages and coding."

"Where did you learn to code?" asked the first man, his voice calm and professional.

"I... I taught myself Python, JavaScript and C++ alongside my studies."

"I see here you've listed a number of projects that you've been involved with. Very impressive list," the second man stated as he looked down at Jane's application. "Nothing I would really say was in the area of AI, though."

Jane froze. "Well, errr, my dissertation was in the interpretation of data and how it influences decisions."

"Well, this is very different. What drew you to this role?" the first man said, not even looking up from his papers. Or was it her imagination?

Noticing her discomfort, the second man offered her some water. "Relax, you're doing fine. We can see you're nervous."

"Yes, take your time," offered the first with a smile.

Taking a deep breath, Jane tried to answer the question. "Well, the way people communicate with each other fascinates me. From body language to tone of voice." Jane paused for a second, trying to shape her answer. "I know things like texts and stuff can get misconstrued without these little cues, and so helping to shape an AI that can bypass this. Knowing exactly the words to say to not be misunderstood fascinates me."

"Hmmm, sounds like that would be a challenge," admitted the first man. "Is this even possible? I mean, body language and tone are considered to be where ninety per cent of communication is done."

"That's true, but if we can make all the answers as fair and accurate as possible, then that's half the battle." Jane's voice shook as she answered.

She was losing them. At least, she thought she was.

"Do you have any experience in AI modelling?"

"Well, not professionally," Jane admitted in a low voice. Silly, she thought. You answered too quickly. Get a grip. "I... I did work through lots of data at university and correlated it into meaning for my dissertation."

"Hmmm. Okay. Tell us a time when you handled a difficult project," probed the first man, trying to tease the information he wanted out of Jane, but her mind began to race, negative thoughts rising in her mind.

"Ummm."

She paused. Too long. This wasn't going well.

"My dissertation was difficult."

Both men nodded, expressions calm, but Jane saw impatience. She wasn't answering their questions. There must be better candidates than her.

The two interviewers continued with their questions. "Spotting inaccuracies is a large part of what we do. One bad piece of information can contradict the truth. How would you go about evaluating an AI response?"

"Well, I guess I'd cross-check it with reliable sources to check the facts were accurate and maybe make sure the question asked was actually answered," Jane stated. Even though she received nods of agreement, she chastised herself. She could have worded it better than that.

"And if the question asked doesn't have a clear-cut answer? What then?"

She thought hard but struggled. "I'm not... Maybe apply consistency guidelines or something."

The first man leant forward with interest. "Can you give an example?"

Panic began to set in. If she had time she might be able to, but nothing came to mind. "Not... I don't know."

"That's okay," said the second man.

That was it. The interview was surely over.

There was silence now as the two men looked down Jane's application and pointed out various things while Jane waited, her temperature rising along with her anxiety. She pulled out a tissue and wiped her forehead.

Finally, the second man spoke in a calm manner. "Where do you see yourself in five years?"

Jane had heard this question many times in practice interviews, but she had never been able to answer it. She groaned. Why did they have to ask it?

"I... I really don't know!"

The interviewers shared a glance and the first man pointed to a note he had made. The other man nodded.

Come on, Jane. You're blowing this. Say anything.

"I, see. I mean I haven't really thought about my future that far ahead," she admitted. "I only left university three months ago. I just don't see how I could predict that. I'd love to be here."

"That's a fair comment. You're young," said the first man.

"No... I mean I'd love to progress and work my way up." She tried but couldn't think of a single thing other than what she thought they might want to hear. She kept trying to add to her answer, but each word seemed to drag her further away from what she wanted to say. She had dug herself a hole, she thought, and no amount of climbing now could get her out.

In the end, the first man seemed to take pity on her and end the interview. "Well, thank you for coming to interview today. It's clear you're very intelligent and gifted. We'll let you know before the end of the day whether you've been successful." He reached out his hand and Jane shook it weakly. Then the same for the second man before she stood and left the room. It took every ounce of her strength to keep her composure.

If the floor could open up and swallow her right now, she would have taken it. She walked down the corridor, red-faced and sweaty. She could feel every eye on her, probably. I mean, why wouldn't people be staring at such a mess? There were murmurs of chat, about her she was sure.

Jane reached the elevator and clicked the button. The display read 13. She sighed. She was on the twenty-sixth floor. Turning to the second elevator, the display read 17. At least this one was closer.

She placed her head against the wall. The cold stone soothed her throbbing temple, but her feelings flooded her mind like a tsunami. They threatened to submerge her, and she felt her breath catch. Then a 'ding' made her physically jump. The doors to the right-hand elevator opened with a mechanical whoosh.

Empty. She let out a sigh of relief as she quickly entered the elevator and pressed the button for the ground floor. Her head lowered, weighed down by her emotions. Then the mechanical whoosh came again and the doors closed.

Everything now hit her at once like a thousand tiny trains all smashing into her mind. She let out a sob.

"Idiot!"

She did not feel anything. She couldn't say whether the lift was moving. All there was, was her despair as she continued to berate herself.

"You blew it!"

Then a gentle voice answered.

"Oh, I'm sure you didn't."