Staring at the screen during another AI assessment

That strange screen staring back at me

I found myself sitting in front of my laptop around 10 PM last Thursday, trying to figure out why I was staring at a blank AI interview portal. It was for a position in the plant engineering sector—not exactly my usual field, but the listing kept popping up on my feed. The deadline was approaching fast, something like August 30th at 11:50 PM, and I felt that weird pressure that only comes when you are applying for something you aren’t entirely sure you want, but you feel like you need to keep your options open in your 30s.

The process felt endless

The prompt mentioned a sequence of document screening, AI competency testing, and then two rounds of interviews. It’s exhausting just reading it. I remember doing a few of these personality mock tests online before, usually priced around 20,000 to 30,000 won for a comprehensive report, but nothing really prepares you for the actual interface. You end up recording yourself answering questions while a small timer counts down, and you just hope you don’t look like you’re reading from a script. I kept glancing at the camera, then looking down at my hands, feeling entirely unnatural. It makes you wonder if these systems are actually measuring your personality or just your ability to stare into a lens without blinking too much.

Finding a quiet spot for video interviews

One of the most annoying parts of this whole process is finding a physical space to do these tests. My apartment is way too noisy, and the lighting is atrocious. I ended up looking at a shared workspace nearby that rents by the hour. It costs about 10,000 won for an hour of private room usage, which isn’t a fortune, but it feels like a waste if you don’t actually land the job. I spent more time worrying about the background noise of the air conditioning than the actual content of the competency questions. The irony of trying to prove my ‘professionalism’ while sitting in a plastic-walled booth in a random office building isn’t lost on me.

The struggle with defining professional identity

I spent a good chunk of the afternoon reading up on whether I should frame my experience through the lens of a specific technical skill set or a more general ‘problem-solving’ narrative. It’s all very abstract. I saw a thread once comparing legal interpretative frameworks to job roles—how one person sees the law as a set of rigid duties, while another sees it as a fluid tool for change. I felt a bit like that while trying to write my self-introduction. If you are too honest about your past mistakes, you look like a liability. If you are too polished, you look like a template. I ended up rewriting the same paragraph four times and still felt like it didn’t capture the reality of working in a project-based environment.

Waiting for a signal that never comes

There is this lingering sense of uncertainty after you click submit. You spend days preparing, tweaking the font, checking the submission timestamp, and then it just vanishes into a server somewhere. You don’t get a confirmation that the AI liked your facial expressions, nor do you get a note saying your background noise was too loud. It just goes into a black hole of HR data. I have friends who got jobs through the National Employment Support Program, and they tell me not to overthink it, but it’s hard not to when the process feels so detached. Maybe I should have just spent that time practicing my speaking speed instead of worrying about the lighting. I am still not sure if I actually want the job, or if I just want the validation of passing the initial test.