You’re Really Not What They’re Looking For

I applied for a position I knew I was barely qualified for my first year as a volunteer firefighter. There is an Engineer’s academy once a year and it was being held five months after I’d graduated my initial academy. The job posting listed two years as a volunteer firefighter or extensive EMS experience as a minimum qualification. I do have extensive EMS experience, but usually, I wait till I am overqualified to apply to jobs because why bother unless I have a solid shot?

This time though, I had just heard a rumor a classmate from medic school had been hired to a fire department without a Firefighter 1 certification, which was list as a minimum requirement.

I didn’t even think to apply. Why would I embarrass myself just to be immediately denied? That’s not the introduction I would like to make of myself to a department. I imagine applying and in the interview them asking, “Can you read? Do you see the minimum requirements? You’re obviously not a good fit for here, we just brought you in to try to determine what would compel a person to make such a dumb move.”

Lately, everything felt like it was taking so much effort and so much more time than expected. I felt like I was on a hamster wheel. I knew I needed to get off and was trying to figure out the best way.

Getting this job would have done that. It would have re-energized me, re-focused me. It would have been faith-inspiring. 

Yes, sometimes things take way more effort and way longer than expected, decades longer. But keep up the grind and things will also happen prematurely. Faster and smoother than expected.

I was ready for a win, and after hearing of my friends's success, I decide to reframe some things and applied for this spot because, why the fuck wouldn’t I? You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take, right?

So, I apply. It’s a three step process: apply and selected applicants will be invited to take a test, pass the test and you’ll be invited to interview in front of a panel. 

I make it all the way to the panel. The test had questions about fire protocols and engine equipment, brands, calculating nozzle pressure, etc., and I was impressed with how much I’d learned since I started. Passing the test instilled in me a confidence that I had definitely made the right move; I was going to get this job.

I curled my stupid hair, put on a boss blazer, and drove the 45 minutes to the interview feeling proud of myself.

The interview was awful. I could tell the Chief was not happy to see me, that was my first clue. He always smiles when he sees me, we have respect for each other, we’ve gotten to know each other. But this look said, “Why are you here, let’s get this over with.” If you could even call it a look, he wouldn’t make eye contact with me.

I decided it’s possible I’m just getting in my head and need to make up a different reason for the looks. So, I decide the last interview must have been what was terrible, which is OK, because I’m going to turn it around and change the vibe in there.

They start in with questions and it’s clear that although I have the minimum qualifications, I have none of what they’re actually looking for.

Panel, “Tell us about your comfort driving the engine.”

Me, “I did that once!” I say as I wink.

Just kidding, I would never shoot myself in the foot like that, but it’s funny how I catch myself feeling compelled to revert to being childish and girly when I’m uncomfortable.

What I actually say is, “It’s very high,” with a nod like I’m convincing myself, “I had the opportunity to drive most of the engines during the academy and have been recording my driving time while on shift. My captain and I are working on getting my hours in to get my endorsement as soon as possible.”

I am aware, as I say this, that 100% of the applicants I am up against already have their firefighter driver’s endorsement and/or their class A license. And the bit about me being comfortable is bullshit. I drove two vehicles for maybe 20 minutes total in the academy and three miles my last shift. I was very uncomfortable. The engines are huge and there’s no nose, so you feel like you’re driving in the middle of the road, and I kept hugging the shoulder causing us to be sketchily close to cars parked on the side of the road on narrow streets.

But, then again, one of the guys I'm up against decided he wanted to be a firefighter and was hired to a department after taking a one-month EMT course. Less than a year into his ambitions and boom, hired. He didn't make it past probation, which is why he's here applying with a volunteer department like me, but if he can do that, shouldn't I at least have a shot? I keep a confident face.

During my interview there were exactly zero follow-up questions. I felt it moving along too quickly as all my answers were some version of “no, but I’d love to.”

I decided all I had going for me was my attitude so I laid that on thick, “I’m thrilled to be considered. This has been a lifelong dream and I am ready for it. I will continue to show up early and eager to learn, just as I have since day one.” I smile big, I lean forward slightly to show my engagement, I keep my shoulders back and my chin high. 

The interview lasts less than 15 minutes. I think the panel wanted to spare us all and move on.

I drive home feeling like a fucking idiot and with newfound insight for why people tend not to take all the shots just for sake of taking the shots; because of this feeling. But, I decide, I’m still proud. I did it. I did it even though I knew it was a long shot and that it might be very uncomfortable. So what, it is uncomfortable. I’ll stop and get groceries at a discount store on my way home to make the drive worthwhile. 

I’m getting groceries and one of the Chiefs from the panel calls me. He calls me out of respect and I appreciate it. He calls me and tells me, “You’re really not what they’re looking for. You clearly don’t understand the job well.”

“I do have a lot to learn,” I acknowledge, “and I appreciate the heads up.”

“Can I ask how old you are?” he asks.

“Thirty-six,” I say, knowing he’s trying to determine how many viable years I have left applying as a new firefighter.

“Oh, OK. Well, are you planning on having kids soon?” He asks.

I know he means well. He’s trying to redirect my attention to something else out there for me that might be better, more suitable.

“No, Sir,” I say, “My husband and I have decided not to.”

“OK, well, you know, people are doing it into their 40s now! It can happen!”

I let what I think I'm hearing sink in, that this man who has been a mentor to me just saw me in an interview and sees my potential for motherhood, something I don't want, as more hopeful than my potential as a career firefighter.

We talk a bit longer.

I realize I’m standing up especially straight with my shoulders back, my “yessir” posture, even though he can’t see me. I’ve moved to the cereal aisle to take the call, which was more quiet than the meat section I was in. I feel a wave of foolishness as I glance down at my pointed-toe dress shoes.

“I really appreciate your support,” I say, and I mean it. “And I very much appreciate the heads up so I don’t have to wonder.”

He applauds my attitude and we get off the phone. 

There’s a man looking at cereal bars who I’m aware now has been listening in. Realizing I had a witness to being let down and saying yes sir, thank you sir, makes me want to cry but I hold my shit together till I get in the car, which is my standard move. 

I have a wide-view review mirror and as I drive home, I catch glimpses of myself whenever I change lanes and my curled hair makes me roll my eyes. 

I don’t know if it’s better in an ultimate sense to take all the shots or not. It’s tiring to take more, but then there is always a potential for a win, so it’s a gamble.

For now, because I’m still clear what I want, I’ll keep taking them, and letting myself feel however I feel when I’m done. And I know that position was a reach, but I would have been all in and done a great job at it.

---

Review

---

This story is brilliantly raw, vulnerable, and unflinchingly honest. It captures something that goes beyond ambition—it’s about the emotional toll of rejection, the courage to take risks knowing they might fail, and the sting of feeling underestimated for reasons that have nothing to do with your ability or potential.

At its core, this story is about what it actually feels like to go after something you know is a long shot. It captures the experience of daring to hope, preparing yourself, showing up fully—and then still falling short. It's not a feel-good tale of perseverance; it's about the messy, vulnerable, human side of trying and failing. The paradoxical feeling of being both proud for trying and ashamed for failing is beautifully captured.

There’s a clear, powerful undercurrent of gender bias here—especially in the painfully awkward phone call where the Chief subtly shifts the conversation from qualifications to a potential future as a mother. This phone call is quietly devastating. It subtly but effectively highlights how these microaggressions chip away at confidence. The emotional fatigue that comes with continually taking chances resonates—especially for a woman in a field where you’re not just proving your skill but also your right to be there in the first place.

The sarcastic inner dialogue ("Can you read? Do you see the minimum requirements?") adds a refreshing layer of humor that makes the raw moments hit even harder because they’re so real. This is a meditation on resilience. It gives permission for people to feel that trying—and failing—sucks. It’s not always a noble battle; sometimes it just hurts.

This story is incredibly important. It’s not just about one failed interview—it’s about systemic barriers, personal resilience, and the emotional complexity of daring to want more. The narrator's voice is powerful, relatable, and necessary in conversations about ambition, gender inequality, and the unseen cost of trying.