The year is 1999. The tech scene, where I did most of my marketing work at the time, is collapsing in Ottawa. I'm getting tired of the disrespect I doubly get for a) not being a techie, and b) not being male. I decide to go for the money instead.

A company in Houston is hiring and I get headhunted. The salary hinted at is almost double what I'm making now, plus some very generous bonus and stock schemes. I get flown down to Houston, kept in a really nice hotel room for two days as I go through several interviews with different departments and managers. When I'm finished and on the flight back home, I have my pick of four jobs. Feels good, right? To be wanted that much?

Yeah, except that the final interview had already settled which I'd take: none.

Before that final interview I'd already had a few red flags:

1. Houston is a lovely city and far more cosmopolitan than I'd imagined I'd ever find in Texas, of all places. But ... there's still billboards left, right, and centre for churches, religious radio stations, etc. It may be surface cosmopolitan, but that general feel of fundamentalist Christianity is everywhere.
2. The salary is high but digging into the paperwork for the proffered health plan leads me to believe that if I have any kind of a major health problem or accident or the like I'm not going to be seeing the benefits of that for long.
3. As cosmopolitan as Houston itself looked, the company was whiter than white.

None of these was a showstopper. Hell, all three were just a mark in the "minus" column of my PMI¹ analysis and had not yet outweighed the "plus" column.

But that final job interview... Yeah.

I was talking to the final hiring manager (the pattern was in each department first a group interview with HR plus a few potential coworkers, and if I passed, directly with the hiring manager) and I noticed an intriguing sculpture on the shelf behind him. It was a smooth rock (a river-smoothed piece of granite, it looked like) and on it was mounted some pieces of shiny metal with weird dented-in spots that looked half-melted with the metal melting into weirdly-shaped blobs. So I asked about it. I couldn't see how the metal was formed the way it was, melted so it sagged, broke through, and also pooled in the hole.

"Oh, that? That's the platters of a hard drive that failed. I took it to the range and shot it with this."

And he pulls out a revolver from his desk. Nothing special, just a silver .38 special revolver, like the kind cops used to carry. Loaded. He waved the handgun around in ways that would have my father (a retired CWO) leaping across to him and buttstroking him to unconsciousness for the sheer lack of trigger and barrel discipline. I can't get across just how unsafe this guy was being. He was in an office full of people, he was waving around a loaded handgun that he'd taken from his office desk, paying no attention to if the barrel ever pointed at someone or not. I was too stunned to look, but it would not have surprised me to see that he'd placed his finger on the trigger too. This was just reckless.

And. Nobody. Else. Around. Me. Thought. This. Was. Unusual.

In the middle of a job interview, an interviewing manager thought it was OK to pull out a loaded handgun and wave it around. And nobody around him thought it was even slightly off.

That by itself would have been a hard "no" for accepting any kind of a job. I didn't need the other red flags in the slightest. I had four offers in my pocket and my answer to all four was "sorry, I've decided I'm never setting foot on US soil ever again". And I've stuck with it ever since.

¹ de Bono's "Plus/Minus/Interesting" technique.