CONFESSIONS OF A SERIAL INTERVIEWEE: The French kiss

I finally get a call from an agent. It's been months since my IB axed me (and my 200 closest friends in the fallout from Lehman). I've interviewed and been turned down by boutiques I'd never even heard of. The heady days of the stellar Extel rankings and turning down offers are a sadly distant memory.

The agent, one of the few consummate professionals in a sea of recruiting cowboys, confirms the details. I'ts a French Investment house, the team is well known, it couldn't be better. 40 days of leave here I come, vive la France!

I head to the interview in the West End. The first interview, so I am told, is one to check cultural fit. The woman who is to meet me is the 'gatekeeper': no one gets into the department without her stamp of approval. She is former equity sales, if my Bloomberg and LinkedIn stalking serves me well. How hard can this be?

I wait nervously in the reception before the 'gatekeeper' comes to fetch me. As she enters, I stand and walk towards her.

Then, in a moment of brain failure I decide to be as 'continental' as possible, the recruiter's words about 'cultural fit' still ringing in my ears from the pre-interview briefing.

She extends her hand for a handshake and... I go for...The Kiss...

The rest of the interview was out of courtesy. I retell the sorry tale to the recruiter who swears he'll never, ever let me anywhere near his valued clients again.

The feedback she gave him? That boy is faaar too cocky.

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