I rose very early today for an interview, only to run into a technical problem that kept me from signing in. After trying everything I could think of, I began to wonder whether the company had deliberately designed the situation to test a candidate's ability to solve problems.
In any case, I finally managed to sign in, and the interview began.
Because the position involved developing the Japanese market, the interviewers were a German manager and a Japanese manager.
Before the interview, I had made a point of asking HR, “Will the interview be in English?” HR replied that it would involve English, German, and Japanese. Very well, then. Perhaps they meant to test the candidate's language abilities?
It was an industry I knew nothing about, so beforehand I had asked AI to gather material and put me through a crash course in the industry and its products. Moreover, the company operated in the very sector that has suffered one of the gravest industrial shocks in Germany in recent years. In truth, my expectations were not particularly high.
Once the technical problem was resolved, the German interviewer began giving me a company presentation in German. He introduced the company's products and history, as well as its branches and factories around the world, in considerable detail.
While the German manager spoke in German, the Japanese manager kept his camera off throughout.
Then it was the Japanese manager's turn to interview me. I said at the outset that my Japanese was poor, especially my listening and speaking. I followed this with a few short sentences in the N5-level Japanese I could still summon. I felt my pronunciation was probably less than ideal, and at times the Japanese manager looked puzzled.
Because my spoken Japanese is very nearly nonexistent, the two of us simply switched to English, and I introduced my professional background in English. Throughout this part, the German manager likewise kept his camera off.
It was quite an interesting experience.
I do not know whether it was because the German manager knew that I came from an entirely different field, but in essence he spent half the interview introducing the company.
The Japanese manager, meanwhile, was looking for a European business partner who spoke fluent Japanese and could communicate directly with Japanese companies and develop business with them in all manner of ways.
Yet neither of them mentioned any concrete plans for the Japanese market during the entire interview. They said only that they knew it would be a long-term undertaking and that the company was prepared to wait patiently for results.
Still, during the interview I never had the opportunity to ask about their specific strategy for Japan, their product plans, or the distinguishing features of the product specifications. Even when I ventured a tentative question, they did not take it up at all.
As the German manager related the company's history, he mentioned with pride that it had been in existence for more than a century. It had therefore inherited a great deal of know-how, he said, and its product-development process had become thoroughly institutionalised and standardised. He also gave me a general account of the fixed development procedure and of how project managers collaborated across different projects.
The procedure sounded complicated, but it was perfectly comprehensible. I could not help thinking, however: was it not precisely the rigidity of this model and process that had brought the industry to its present sorry state?
I explained in response, “Yes, the company I currently work for is already two hundred years old, so I am very familiar with the work involved in product development in Germany's traditional manufacturing sector.”
Truly, in Germany, one should never be too quick to boast about the age of one's company.
I still remember how, when my company was preparing an elaborate celebration for its bicentenary, I casually mentioned to a visiting customer that everyone was being mobilised to arrange the details. The customer parried with perfect nonchalance: he understood exactly how busy we were, because his own company had celebrated its two-hundred-and-fiftieth anniversary a few years earlier.
Comparison is enough to drive a person mad.
Set one company's history against another, and somewhere on the European continent there will always be an older firm.
In any event, I doubt there will be any further word after this interview. The Japanese manager made it quite clear that my Japanese was not good enough.
I am perfectly happy to accept that. Next week, after all, I shall be going to Japan to “improve my Japanese.”
I have also made contact with a dojo that appears to be not far from my dormitory, has an English-language website, and explicitly offers short-term iaido training to international students in Japan and employees posted there from abroad.
The day I arrive in Japan happens to be the dojo's once-weekly practice day. I thought it over: having only just arrived, I would not be going to bed early while adjusting to the time difference anyway. So I immediately arranged with the instructor to visit the dojo that evening next week.
I can already sense that my temperament and Japan are completely ill matched. Even so, I look forward to adding another passage to the experience of my life.
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