Well, it was traumatic while it lasted, but I’m back on the dole, looking for a new job.
Last night I received the following email from an SVP at my former office:
“I am really bummed not seeing your face as I walk down the hall. Thanks for the chance to know you – albeit too briefly – and I hope our paths cross again. Please keep in touch and I hope to see you in more hospitable surroundings sometime.”
(“Hospitable surroundings”… I admire cagey diplomacy above almost every other social skill.) I look forward to being in more hospitable surroundings and had an interview on Monday for an admin role disguised in fancy dress under a project management title. It actually sounds fun, mostly because it’s in the financial department and I love nerds.
The interview was with the CFO of this global corporation. “He appreciates professional dress,” advised my recruiter, as do I, I liked the guy already, “and don’t be intimidated if he doesn’t crack a smile. You know how those finance guys are.”
They’re as susceptible as the rest of them.
Having been to the complex once before, I knew to ignore TomTom’s lies concerning unnecessary detours and actually arrived on time in spite of a stop to print out four wrinkle-free copies of my resume at kinko’s. I also looked amazing, having painstakingly removed every follicle of dog hair from my suit and wearing an incredible pair of shoes reserved for such occasions. I was in the process of admiring these shoes when I noticed that my left stocking had sprung a leak and was taking on water, fast. By the time I walked from the parking lot into the building, the rip had spread halfway up my calf. Some people pay extra for that look. I prefer to radiate some semblance of class.
Fortunately, I was ushered into a conference room by someone else and permitted to hide behind the desk when the CFO entered. With a quiet calm that bespoke of human emotion deeply buried, he gave me his perspective on the duties of the job, asked me some pertinent questions and meandered through my resume a bit before coming to rest on my University experience.
“English major, huh. What were you going to do with that?”
This insinuates that I wasn’t doing exactly what I wanted to be doing with my degree. I’m not, of course, but he doesn’t know that.
“Write the next great American novel.”
And – o – how he laughed. Heaping insult upon insult.
He walked me out of the building afterwards and I let it all hang out. The too-familiar babble and invasive questions that nerds tend to wither under, the offensive ribbon of bare leg (thank GOD I shaved!) peeping out from the ripped stocking, the black coat lacquered in white dog hair draped over my arm…
So yeah. Probably not going to get that one.