It was supposed to be a standard job interview — nothing fancy, just a shot at stability. I showed up early, dressed to impress, and sat quietly in the sterile lobby. Then he walked in — sharp grey suit, Rolex flashing, and ego practically spilling off the chair. He smirked at me like I didn’t belong.

“Interview at 10 too?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said, sizing me up. “Not that it’s a competition.” Then came the condescending remarks about HR “ticking boxes” and me being a “charity case.” I bit my cheek and stayed silent. But karma? Oh, she was already walking in.

A janitor — silver-haired, quiet, mop in hand — entered. He scoffed loudly, mocking her. “You missed a spot!” he barked, then joked about her perfume. She ignored him with poise and left silently. Minutes later, she returned — this time in heels and a blazer, radiating authority.

“Shall we begin?” she said. He nearly fell out of his chair. “You’re the boss?!” he stammered. She calmly replied, “You assumed wrong. I was just helping out.” Then, after an awkward shoulder massage attempt (yes, really), she turned to me and said, “You’re hired.”

I was still processing when another woman walked in — sharp, confident. “Hi, I’m Rebecca, the actual director.” The “boss”? Just Linda, their janitor — and the star of a respect test. Turns out they’d had issues with male candidates mistreating staff. Linda? A pro at sniffing them out.

Rebecca smiled, “We’d already reviewed your résumé. But how you treated Linda? That sealed it.”

I left that building with a grin. Sometimes, the best interviews come with mop handles and poetic justice.