Lunch interviews are rough for the perpetually hungry
- Author or artist: Shaquan Womack
- Publication: Pointed Circle
- Year: 2026
- Author or artist: Shaquan Womack
- Type: Non-fiction
Employers schedule lunch interviews to see how well you can handle pressure without vomiting. This has to be the only reason they would want to watch me simultaneously chew and explain my leadership style. I roll my eyes when I see Lunch with… on my itinerary, squeezed in the middle of Presentation with… and Panel with. Ive tried to treat lunch interviews like a date, but gazing into my future employer’s eyes would make the situation more uncomfortable. Instead, I follow strategies I dislike as much as the interview itself.
As a Black man, with a protruding belly, who loves food, I hate having to negotiate whether or not a burger and fries are aesthetically pleasing to my interviewer. My self-consciousness always leads me to choose the spring salad with grilled chicken and a drizzle of Italian dressing. I wash the saltiness of the salad down with a cup of still water because belching from a carbonated drink seems a bit juvenile. During the interview, my mind juggles the interview questions and the concern of a dark green leaf stuck between my teeth. There are moments when the questions require me to stop eating because intersectionality and theoretical framework can only be pronounced with an empty mouth. The frequent pauses throughout leave my salad warm and wilted. Unsatiated, I push the plate to the side. My stomach makes up for the lack of belching with a rumbling echo.
Dessert is an option, but at the same time, it isnt. I can never keep the chocolate chip cookie crumbs (even the soft-baked) from getting into my beard. I cant be taken seriously when a pink cupcake is crusted on my upper lip. Then, I have to play how many licks does it take to dissolve frosting before my interviewer thinks I am being inappropriate?
Have you ever thought of the racial implications of choosing a dessert? I didnt until I had an interview in Georgia. It was a humid day, with the temperature being ten degrees hotter under my black suit. I skipped the pastries and headed towards the seemingly innocent fruit bar. Unfortunately, there was only a bowl of apples and freshly cut watermelon wedges. While I knew I could benefit from the hydration and refreshing taste, I didnt feel comfortable widening my mouth and accentuating my lips to eat watermelon in front of my white interviewer. I made the biblical mistake of choosing the apple, which was a warm, overripe mush.
The dread of a lunch interview exists beyond the eating area and past my first day of work. The discomfort returns when I sit at my desk, eating another salad, because an hour is not enough time to eat and digest my leftover shrimp biryani from last night. My boss walks to my desk to ask me some urgent questions about work because I have already proven that my stomach can handle it. In those moments, all I can think about is how good that burger looked with those Cajun fries.