Every year it’s the same. Bonus day arrives and a couple of greedy bluffers in my team grab the money and run to the nearest competitor who promises further riches, leaving me to plug the gaps.
So, after a phone call and an all-expenses-paid lunch with my top recruitment consultant, the process kicks off. Usually she can be relied upon to muster up a few “perfect” candidates, although this time around one candidate was just too perfect – or so he thought.
The interview got off to a poor start. My boss and the HR manager were dribbling over the picture the candidate had thoughtfully scanned on his CV, when Perfect Man swaggered into the goldfish bowl meeting room, threw himself down, and sat with his legs so wide apart I had to wonder if he had a Big Ben replica secreted sideways between his spindly thighs.
Now, nobody likes a show-off, especially one in a Burberry print shirt and standing on a cliff top spouting forth about their “fantastic” business acumen. So, when Perfect Man whipped out a laptop and insisted on treating us to a private viewing of his promotional film, I found myself wrestling with sudden images of myself in an orange jumpsuit as worn by death-row prisoners, such were the murderous thoughts whizzing through my mind.
After four minutes of listening to him likening himself to various business leaders, I jumped in and asked where he got the inspiration for the film idea.
“Aleksey Vayner, but his was mainly bulls***, not like mine,” was the arrogant reply. Perfect Man had clearly not noticed that the US wannabe banker became a global laughing stock when his outlandish self-promotional film hit YouTube, via UBS, in 2006.
Perfect Man then went on to compare himself to Richard Branson, who he informed us was going to buy Northern Rock. Of course, I then couldn’t resist asking how he kept himself abreast of current affairs given that the five-month search for a buyer ended in failure on Sunday and was plastered across every broadsheet on Monday.
So, Perfect Man, you might think you’re good, but nobody is that good, unless of course you actually are Richard Branson. But, even then, Alistair Darling dubbed Branson’s offer “insufficient value for money” – and I just can’t help thinking that the same might be true of you.