coffee snob.

Have you ever had one of those embarrassing moments that live forever in your memory, the kind that, even thinking about it now sends a slight shiver down your spine?

Mine happened when I was interviewing for my first journalist job, straight out of university. I was twenty two and wanted to work in magazines, so went for a job at a major publishing house for a swish, up-market title. The position itself was low on the career ladder – editorial assistant – but in true Devil Wears Prada style, promised experience and connections galore. So with trepidation I let a bald, wiry looking man lead me into a fishbowl meeting room and put on my best, most winning smile.

From the first two minutes of the interview, it was clear that it wasn’t the job for me. They wanted someone extroverted, ambitious, a real go-getter. I smiled and tried to look like all those things, until came the clincher.

“Now see this is a luxury title and our readers, well, they’re of a certain style, a certain demographic,” explained the editor. “Therefore, we’re after someone who can match that style, you see? For example, have you travelled much?”
Travelled, as in outside of Sydney on-a-plane travelled? The only trip I could boast of was a brief stint in China visiting Christian churches, hardly the pinnacle of sophistication. I managed to fudge that one, until the next question.
“Where do you like to eat? What are the best restaurants? Or hotels? We need someone who has taste”.

Despite feeling it was a bit rich to be asking for my opinion on five star hotels when the position only paid 28 grand, I talked around the topic and ad libbed, until I remembered numerous conversations I’d had the guy I had just started dating.

“I’m a massive coffee connoisseur,” I blurted. I could see interest rising behind the thick rimmed glasses.
“The coffee culture is definitely on the rise in Sydney and I think your demographic would be interested in knowing where you can get a decent espresso.”
“Really?” he replied, smiling in approval. “Which coffee would you recommend?”

Frantic thinking ensued. My mind raced back to dates and cafes we’d frequented, names I’d heard, terms associated with silk, extraction and double rosettas. Despite my recent crash course, I could not think of a single brand, a single café, a single name, to offer up to this man in proof of my upper-class cred.

I began to panic, so I said the first thing that came to my head. An awkward silence followed. I didn’t get called back for a second interview.

There is no way I will ever reveal what I said in that interview. That will go with me to my grave. But to this very day, when I see that word emblazoned on an umbrella or café balustrade, I cringe and turn a bright red. Although it's not my most embarassing moment at all, that interview will remain with me for a long time.