Ah, the joyous humiliation of looking for work. This past week has been a whirlwind of endless shuck n’jive. I hate the interviewing process; my tongue is raw from me biting on it to avoid snapping out an honest albeit rude answer. Let’s take this question by way of example: “What do you like most about being the indentured servant assistant to a spoiled overgrown brat with an inflated ego lawyer?” Well, gosh, let me think . . . I could be wrong, but I’m guessing it is the paycheck. Where would I like to be in five years? I’d like to be enjoying my lottery winnings and knowing that I’ll never again have to whore myself during another job interview. Would I mind taking a typing test? Oh please, just dress me up as a grilled cheese sammich and send me to stand outside the deli. A typing test?????? Did you READ my résumé? Does it not clearly state that I have been employed in this field for 100 years? Do you THINK there is a possibility that means I can’t type? Tell you what, let’s take my usual 100+ wpm and toss it out the window. Put me in a tiny cube with a chair that has arms which prevent me from getting close enough to the 20-year-old keyboard that has a backspace key the approximate size of a pea. Make sure the chair height is way too low and there is no way to adjust it. I really prefer to sit on phone books anyway. Next, put a test sheet at a severe angle to my right and have the monitor at an equally severe angle to my left so I can’t possibly glance from the paper to the monitor to keep track of what I am typing. If possible, allow me to use a typing test programme that can’t keep up with me and have it lock up a time or three. I don’t know about you, but I’m not in the least bit uncomfortable when my usual speed of “greased lightning” is slowed to an embarrassing jog as a result of the environment. Last, please test my basic software skills by having me run through a series of utterly outlandish functions that would never, under any circumstances, be used in a law firm (or any other office). Go ahead, I’m tough, I can take it. I can also whiz through your stupid test in 3 minutes despite that I am allotted 30 minutes . . . and somehow score 83% on intermediate and yet 100% on advanced. Please please please give me a spelling test. I don’t need no steenken speel checkah! Would you like me to give you both the British and American spellings? Above all else, make it a point to condescend to me regarding my location and salary preferences. It must really chap your hide to know I will be making twice what you are getting paid.

I love dressing in uncomfortable clothes and shoes, driving in awful traffic, getting lost due to crappy directions and/or construction and/or detours, and paying a small ransom to park. It’s just great that by the time I get home I am too exhausted and antisocial to return messages from concerned friends.

Really, it just doesn’t seem quite fair to call the process “job hunting” when I don’t get to kill something along the way.

Current Mood:

This entry was posted on Friday, January 13th, 2006 at 11:40 am and is filed under Humour. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.