I am unemployed. I have no boss except for….me. I report to myself, set my own hours, take breaks when I want to, eat lunch when I want to, answer the phone when I want to, and clean the toilet if the mood strikes me, (which is not often). I have two co-workers. They are hairy with saggy jowls and bad breath. That however does not distinguish them from previous co-workers I’ve had in corporate America.
I am the CEO, CIO, CFO and of course M-O-M. I am also the sole guest at the… office Christmas Party.
My Christmas Party is just that. Christmas. It’s not a “Holiday Festival”, “Seasonal Celebration”, “Winter Gathering” or any other asinine politically correct name for a merry-making event celebrating the birth of Jesus. It’s a freaking Christmas Party.
Let’s get this party started by decking the “halls”.
My company, as most companies do, banned appliances big or small, lamps, electric staplers, radios, and the like. This was not an issue for me until I wanted to bring in my 30-cup coffeemaker and become the office barista.
Fire hazard? Please. Like my cell phone charger was going to spontaneously combust.
And Christmas lights? Forget it. Wanting to truly buck the system I shall opt to violate every standard OSHA has in place for workplace safety. Open flames everywhere. Candles, kerosene lamps, and flood lights marked for “outdoor use only” will grace and illuminate my party.
Tiki torch anyone??
Now, what to wear? Being my rebel self, I suppose I should go for the completely inappropriate office party attire. I shall don a blouse with a plunging neckline, a micro-mini skirt ala Paris Hilton, and stiletto heels. Now where did I put those fishnet stockings…
Actually, I own none of these. Sorry honey.
I’ll just wear….jammies! Yes! Elastic-waisted jammies and my running shoes which should make for easy maneuvering around the buffet table…
Now then, on to the menu. Office party food usually consists of say, sliced ham, buns, pasta salad, and a fabricated sorry ass excuse for a cheesecake. BOOOORING! Not this party, oh no sir-ree! I’ve come up with a delightful menu sure to please anyone who has longed for an all alcohol-laden meal at work:
Stuffed Meatballs with Vodka Sauce
Spinach Salad Flambé w/Bacon and Brandy Dressing
Beer Bread Buns
And for dessert:
Fuzzy Navel Upside Down Cake (boy, if that doesn’t conger up a good “morning after” story, I don’t know what will…)
There will of course be an open bar, tips accepted, and since I work in my own home, sober cab is not necessary. Yeah me! And for my narcoleptic
co-workers? Red Bull and Tic-Tacs.
Let’s move on to music. For everyone’s entertainment, I shall dance on the table in an inappropriate way (because I can) to the likes of “O Holy Night” and “Away in a Manger”. (Probably should’ve skipped the second helping of Flambé…) There will be no PC “Jingle Bells” or “Frosty the Snowman”. I’m giddy with political incorrectness! (It’s that, or the fact that I’m on White Russian #3….) We’re gonna get a little Jesus/Mary/Joseph action going on here. I shall sing of Angels I Have Heard On High, and Silent Nights (which I’ll be having later after I pass out…) Religion fills the air! And I will not even be banned to diversity training! PRAISE JESUS! (Ooops, there I go again!!)
And as long as I’m on the subject of Christmas ditties, I’ve got some news for the Twin Cities radio stations: Karen Carpenter and Elvis are dead…. Move ON!
After a few more hot toddies, being kept warm I might add by 5 roaring sterno cans, I decide on one more dance and call it a day. (A day that is, for it is not yet 3pm…). I lose my groove after falling flat on my face from the kitchen stool, another spot from which I chose to buck the system and dance inappropriately at this, my version of the office Christmas Party. Damn. As I come to, I get wind of the Red Bull Mint Cosmo they’ve whipped up for themselves… “Beloved” co-worker is licking my head, not to help me regain consciousness, but because I have remnants of Fuzzy Navel Upside Down Cake in my hair. A good story indeed!
Ok, now it’s REALLY time to call it a day.
As I extinguish the 47 sources of open flames and drag myself up the stairs for a quick nap before school lets out, I look back on my party escapades and am pleased. What could be better than a completely unorthodoxed office CHRISTMAS Party done my way?? (Besides
co-workers that don’t, er… sniff each other’s butts?)
Oh I don’t know, a REAL job maybe??
;-)
Merry Christmas Everyone!
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Adventures in Laundry
There are times, not many, but some, where I can honestly say, “Thank goodness I’m not working today/this week/this month”.
Case in point? Traffic. I now get to sit back from the comfort of my own home and “watch” traffic on tv rather than participate in it. This week especially has allowed me to boast about my long commute from the house to the mailbox. Haven't the shmucks learned that if you leave at 7 and get there at 9:30, maybe the next day you should leave at 8:30 and get there at 9:30??? It really DOES work that way! Hello!!??
Another good reason to be unemployed? When black smoke starts pouring from the washing machine, and the fear of being without said appliance takes precedence over say, getting smoke inhalation, well, there you go. Who has time to work when a major appliance nearly starts on fire???!!! Surely not I!!!
Replacing an appliance is no small feat. This would not be a quick fix. Need professional advice. Call repairman. Repairman says poor washer is DOA. I suppose I should have suspected that when I saw the black smoke rising from the clothes like fog over a cemetary...
Damn. It just cost me 70 bucks for his little bit of “advice”… And to make it worse, I had a sopping full load of laundry sitting in poor deceased washer.
I am a self proclaimed laundry maven, but no amount of creative ingenuity was going to solve the problem of the sopping wet clothes, and the mounds of still dirty laundry waiting in the wings. I do not own a washboard, and the only thing I can ring out effectively is the neck of the beast in the house that vomits on my living room carpet with every-other- day frequency.
The only immediate solution to my laundry quandary? GASP! CHOKE! GAG! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, say it isn’t so!!! I have to go to the…..the….laundromat!!!! (Psycho music plays in the background…)
The laundromat? I’d rather clean up dog barf.
I agreed to suck it up for the sake of keeping my status as “domestic goddess”, even in the face of adversity. (But the question begs to be asked, isn’t being unemployed punishment enough????)
I toted the 150 lbs of sopping wet mess, as well as the rest of the smelly stack to the car. If it appeared dirty in any way shape or form it was going with me, for I was going to make this journey ONCE and only once, come hell or high water, (or lack thereof as the case may be).
A mile down the road it dawned on me. DETERGENT! Damn. Back I go. (For the record, this would still only count as ONE trip to the laundromat, for I shall never admit to more than just one in a 5 year period).
Being the optimist I am (!), I had a vision in my head of what this place might have in store for me. “It will be clean” I thought. People go there to wash their clothes so that’s a good thing right? It will be bright and clean and there will be people there like me who suffered near death experiences due to exploding appliances and we shall…bond.
That was WAAAAY too optimistic on my part. Damn washer. Why couldn’t it have been the DISHWASHER that died? I can wash and dry dishes with ease. Hell, the three year old can wash and dry dishes with ease. (My apologies if I insulted anyone who is "dishwashingly challanged"...)
Strike One, location. Oh, so THIS is what Purgatory looks like! Who knew?!
I held out hopes for the inside. Strike Two. Despite the blaring streams of sun in the western sky, the place was dark. Very dark. If my kids had been along I’m quite sure they would’ve feared the Boogie Man. Hell, even I was fearing the Boogie Man.
And finally, I surmise that the cleanest part of the whole place was the “inside” of the machines. The rest of the place looked like, well, you know when you pull your washer out from the wall (I did) and observe the 5 years of dirt, dust, dog food, coins, hair and general nastiness? Yeah, imagine that on a much LARGER scale, like say, INSIDE THE WHOLE DAMN LAUNDROMAT!!STRIKE THREE and I wanted OUT!!!!
I pumped my coins into two machines, which was a pricey little maneuver to the tune of $7.50 for two loads, dumped in my detergent and painfully watched the timer on each count down from 20.
20 minutes. I can do this. The “King of Queens” was on the dusty TV. I can do this.
Other “domestic goddesses” in my midst were the platinum blond 60 something woman missing one heck of an important tooth, and the Latino man, bless his heart, washing what I observed to be kids sized pink undies. (I prayed that they belonged to his sweet little kid and not say, er, uh....never mind...)
Oh geezus, not only do I have to be here for 17 more minutes, I’m now taking an interest in others dirty clothing. And underwear no less.
My timers finally hit zero. Thank you Jesus.
I throw my wet, albeit “spun out” clothes into my car and race off. My dryer is still, after all, in working order. For now. As a precaution I decide to sprinkle it with Holy Water.
The next day I make fast tracks to Best Buy, Home Depot, and Lowe’s. I float through the appliance departments, noting price, financing, delivery and recycling options. 3 stores in 45 minutes, and a plan is in place! I shall have a new washer by the weekend and never again be banished to “Giant Wash Coin Laundry” !!!!
And again, back to why being unemployed during this little roadbump on the highway of life was kind of “nice”…. If I was working, getting the laundry done, getting the shopping done, and sitting around while they deliver “sometime between now and Easter” would’ve had to be done in a, shall we say, “creative” way. The excuses to my boss to leave work early would go something like this:
The laundromat visit before the kids get home:
"Uh, daycare called, she has to close early due to a, ah, family emergency!"
The shopping trip:
"OMG our DOG died, choked to death on her own vomit...yeah, so sad, I'll see ya tomorrow if I'm up to coming in..."
The waiting for delivery:
"Ugh. I have the stomach flu. Must've been something I ate, yeah, I'll feel better tomorrow"...
Then the next day: "Kids are sick with it, yeah, hopefully I'll see ya tomorrow, yeah, nasty stuff…."
Ah the joy of being unemployed, no more lame brain excuses why you can’t “work” today.
;-)
Case in point? Traffic. I now get to sit back from the comfort of my own home and “watch” traffic on tv rather than participate in it. This week especially has allowed me to boast about my long commute from the house to the mailbox. Haven't the shmucks learned that if you leave at 7 and get there at 9:30, maybe the next day you should leave at 8:30 and get there at 9:30??? It really DOES work that way! Hello!!??
Another good reason to be unemployed? When black smoke starts pouring from the washing machine, and the fear of being without said appliance takes precedence over say, getting smoke inhalation, well, there you go. Who has time to work when a major appliance nearly starts on fire???!!! Surely not I!!!
Replacing an appliance is no small feat. This would not be a quick fix. Need professional advice. Call repairman. Repairman says poor washer is DOA. I suppose I should have suspected that when I saw the black smoke rising from the clothes like fog over a cemetary...
Damn. It just cost me 70 bucks for his little bit of “advice”… And to make it worse, I had a sopping full load of laundry sitting in poor deceased washer.
I am a self proclaimed laundry maven, but no amount of creative ingenuity was going to solve the problem of the sopping wet clothes, and the mounds of still dirty laundry waiting in the wings. I do not own a washboard, and the only thing I can ring out effectively is the neck of the beast in the house that vomits on my living room carpet with every-other- day frequency.
The only immediate solution to my laundry quandary? GASP! CHOKE! GAG! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, say it isn’t so!!! I have to go to the…..the….laundromat!!!! (Psycho music plays in the background…)
The laundromat? I’d rather clean up dog barf.
I agreed to suck it up for the sake of keeping my status as “domestic goddess”, even in the face of adversity. (But the question begs to be asked, isn’t being unemployed punishment enough????)
I toted the 150 lbs of sopping wet mess, as well as the rest of the smelly stack to the car. If it appeared dirty in any way shape or form it was going with me, for I was going to make this journey ONCE and only once, come hell or high water, (or lack thereof as the case may be).
A mile down the road it dawned on me. DETERGENT! Damn. Back I go. (For the record, this would still only count as ONE trip to the laundromat, for I shall never admit to more than just one in a 5 year period).
Being the optimist I am (!), I had a vision in my head of what this place might have in store for me. “It will be clean” I thought. People go there to wash their clothes so that’s a good thing right? It will be bright and clean and there will be people there like me who suffered near death experiences due to exploding appliances and we shall…bond.
That was WAAAAY too optimistic on my part. Damn washer. Why couldn’t it have been the DISHWASHER that died? I can wash and dry dishes with ease. Hell, the three year old can wash and dry dishes with ease. (My apologies if I insulted anyone who is "dishwashingly challanged"...)
Strike One, location. Oh, so THIS is what Purgatory looks like! Who knew?!
I held out hopes for the inside. Strike Two. Despite the blaring streams of sun in the western sky, the place was dark. Very dark. If my kids had been along I’m quite sure they would’ve feared the Boogie Man. Hell, even I was fearing the Boogie Man.
And finally, I surmise that the cleanest part of the whole place was the “inside” of the machines. The rest of the place looked like, well, you know when you pull your washer out from the wall (I did) and observe the 5 years of dirt, dust, dog food, coins, hair and general nastiness? Yeah, imagine that on a much LARGER scale, like say, INSIDE THE WHOLE DAMN LAUNDROMAT!!STRIKE THREE and I wanted OUT!!!!
I pumped my coins into two machines, which was a pricey little maneuver to the tune of $7.50 for two loads, dumped in my detergent and painfully watched the timer on each count down from 20.
20 minutes. I can do this. The “King of Queens” was on the dusty TV. I can do this.
Other “domestic goddesses” in my midst were the platinum blond 60 something woman missing one heck of an important tooth, and the Latino man, bless his heart, washing what I observed to be kids sized pink undies. (I prayed that they belonged to his sweet little kid and not say, er, uh....never mind...)
Oh geezus, not only do I have to be here for 17 more minutes, I’m now taking an interest in others dirty clothing. And underwear no less.
My timers finally hit zero. Thank you Jesus.
I throw my wet, albeit “spun out” clothes into my car and race off. My dryer is still, after all, in working order. For now. As a precaution I decide to sprinkle it with Holy Water.
The next day I make fast tracks to Best Buy, Home Depot, and Lowe’s. I float through the appliance departments, noting price, financing, delivery and recycling options. 3 stores in 45 minutes, and a plan is in place! I shall have a new washer by the weekend and never again be banished to “Giant Wash Coin Laundry” !!!!
And again, back to why being unemployed during this little roadbump on the highway of life was kind of “nice”…. If I was working, getting the laundry done, getting the shopping done, and sitting around while they deliver “sometime between now and Easter” would’ve had to be done in a, shall we say, “creative” way. The excuses to my boss to leave work early would go something like this:
The laundromat visit before the kids get home:
"Uh, daycare called, she has to close early due to a, ah, family emergency!"
The shopping trip:
"OMG our DOG died, choked to death on her own vomit...yeah, so sad, I'll see ya tomorrow if I'm up to coming in..."
The waiting for delivery:
"Ugh. I have the stomach flu. Must've been something I ate, yeah, I'll feel better tomorrow"...
Then the next day: "Kids are sick with it, yeah, hopefully I'll see ya tomorrow, yeah, nasty stuff…."
Ah the joy of being unemployed, no more lame brain excuses why you can’t “work” today.
;-)
Saturday, December 13, 2008
I have to do WHAT???
You cannot be shy when job hunting.
Damn.
When the outplacement service told us that 65% of jobs were gotten through “networking activities”, I had two words for that:
“Oh Sh*t”
I am not an extrovert. I am, and forever shall be, a shy person. Oh sure, I’ve had to fabricate some “outward” moments in my life, but happily I report, those stomach turning bouts of gut wrenching nervous anxiety never resulted in outright vomiting. I’ve recently given our two hounds nicknames: Sleepy and Dopey. How fitting then that I will dub myself…Bashful.
I could blame my bashfulness on being the youngest of six. I presume that for every child born into the clan, and the bigger the clan, the youngest always has less of a voice, (especially when your brother holds a pillow over your face most days...)
I’m sure that when Mom took me out shopping or wherever, there were always the hushed whispers, “Is she mute???” or “Oh look honey, that little girl must’ve been victim of a freak tongue amputation incident. Poor thing.”
Later in my early teens, I actually managed to branch out into using the phone. It went something like this: “Hello? Yes, this is Edna Weiers. I’m calling for Bridget, she…” (fill in the blank).
I hated talking to people. Getting a job helped a bit, as the average joe doesn’t understand, “you want fries with that?” in sign language.
So, I survived my early 20’s, “getting by” with as little human interaction as possible. I e-mailed people in the next cube.
Okay, okay, I was just lazy.
Given that I do now consider myself a pretty good manager/leader, I suppose I have gotten over my shyness. Mostly. That, or I ‘m one hell of an actress. (Is that a new career calling???)
There are many cures to shyness. The biggest and best? "Cliff-diving" as I call it.
Just do it. Just call. Just knock. Just TALK for God’s sake.
At some point, I had to take over those calls, lest they would have sounded like this: “Hello Dan? Yes, this is Edna Weiers, Bridget’s mom? Yes, well, she thinks you’re hot and wait, I can’t see this, let me get my glasses…Yes, I’m back…let’s see here, she was wondering if you’d like to.… Hello? Hello? Are you still there??”
Marriage. A triumphant cure for shyness.
Another winning strategy?? Child-birth. The second they say “stirrups” you’re done.
I longed to overcome ALL the hurdles that were keeping me from TRUE EXTROVERT-NESS!!! What is it!? What is the key to my destiny?? !!!
Then it hit me like a brick one day while in front of a crowd of 50 at work. (How the hell did I get myself into THAT situation??? Was I being punished??? Did I violate some Code of Conduct????)
The answer –> Make ‘em laugh. Make em think you’re as freakin' funny as they think you are.
DONE!
So. Back to 65% of jobs gotten through networking. Still thinking, “sh*t, I don’t want to do this”.
I couldn’t see myself going into a networking meeting, with the hopes of “making myself known” to these people with a pocket full of sarcasm and a few jokes. But if THIS is what is supposidley going to land me a great job, I didn’t really have a choice but to go meet with "those people", sans the funnies.
So I cliff-dove this week. Not once, but twice. Didn’t even have to get Edna involved. Got two contacts through former colleagues, called them up, requested a meeting to discuss their company. And to my surprise, they did not have three heads, 7 inch claws, or growl at me.
I expressed much interest in THEM and THEIR careers (people love to talk about themselves…we are after all, innately selfish SOBs…) and then the little voice inside me made sure I told them how FABULOUS I was and how they couldn’t live without me. (Not quite, but you get the idea...)
They were nice. Very, very, nice. And from that very EXTROVERTED act on my part, I have 5 more contacts in my target companies to reach out to. And I will! I AM NOT AFRAID! TELL ME WHERE THE POPE LIVES AND I’LL GO NETWORK WITH HIM TOO!!! (Oh wait. “Married” and “Female” leaves me with limited job opportunities in the Catholic Church ;-)
So I have two new words:
“Yeah me!”
Another highlight for the week: MAJOR GLOBAL INSURANCE COMPANY called me to do a phone interview, and it went well. Hoping for an "in person" one in a week or two. I didn’t even apply for the job, they found me on CareerBuilder.com. VERY cool position, VERY much more $$.
The only question I have now is, why the hell am I working so hard???
The irony is, well...funny.
;-)
Damn.
When the outplacement service told us that 65% of jobs were gotten through “networking activities”, I had two words for that:
“Oh Sh*t”
I am not an extrovert. I am, and forever shall be, a shy person. Oh sure, I’ve had to fabricate some “outward” moments in my life, but happily I report, those stomach turning bouts of gut wrenching nervous anxiety never resulted in outright vomiting. I’ve recently given our two hounds nicknames: Sleepy and Dopey. How fitting then that I will dub myself…Bashful.
I could blame my bashfulness on being the youngest of six. I presume that for every child born into the clan, and the bigger the clan, the youngest always has less of a voice, (especially when your brother holds a pillow over your face most days...)
I’m sure that when Mom took me out shopping or wherever, there were always the hushed whispers, “Is she mute???” or “Oh look honey, that little girl must’ve been victim of a freak tongue amputation incident. Poor thing.”
Later in my early teens, I actually managed to branch out into using the phone. It went something like this: “Hello? Yes, this is Edna Weiers. I’m calling for Bridget, she…” (fill in the blank).
I hated talking to people. Getting a job helped a bit, as the average joe doesn’t understand, “you want fries with that?” in sign language.
So, I survived my early 20’s, “getting by” with as little human interaction as possible. I e-mailed people in the next cube.
Okay, okay, I was just lazy.
Given that I do now consider myself a pretty good manager/leader, I suppose I have gotten over my shyness. Mostly. That, or I ‘m one hell of an actress. (Is that a new career calling???)
There are many cures to shyness. The biggest and best? "Cliff-diving" as I call it.
Just do it. Just call. Just knock. Just TALK for God’s sake.
At some point, I had to take over those calls, lest they would have sounded like this: “Hello Dan? Yes, this is Edna Weiers, Bridget’s mom? Yes, well, she thinks you’re hot and wait, I can’t see this, let me get my glasses…Yes, I’m back…let’s see here, she was wondering if you’d like to.… Hello? Hello? Are you still there??”
Marriage. A triumphant cure for shyness.
Another winning strategy?? Child-birth. The second they say “stirrups” you’re done.
I longed to overcome ALL the hurdles that were keeping me from TRUE EXTROVERT-NESS!!! What is it!? What is the key to my destiny?? !!!
Then it hit me like a brick one day while in front of a crowd of 50 at work. (How the hell did I get myself into THAT situation??? Was I being punished??? Did I violate some Code of Conduct????)
The answer –> Make ‘em laugh. Make em think you’re as freakin' funny as they think you are.
DONE!
So. Back to 65% of jobs gotten through networking. Still thinking, “sh*t, I don’t want to do this”.
I couldn’t see myself going into a networking meeting, with the hopes of “making myself known” to these people with a pocket full of sarcasm and a few jokes. But if THIS is what is supposidley going to land me a great job, I didn’t really have a choice but to go meet with "those people", sans the funnies.
So I cliff-dove this week. Not once, but twice. Didn’t even have to get Edna involved. Got two contacts through former colleagues, called them up, requested a meeting to discuss their company. And to my surprise, they did not have three heads, 7 inch claws, or growl at me.
I expressed much interest in THEM and THEIR careers (people love to talk about themselves…we are after all, innately selfish SOBs…) and then the little voice inside me made sure I told them how FABULOUS I was and how they couldn’t live without me. (Not quite, but you get the idea...)
They were nice. Very, very, nice. And from that very EXTROVERTED act on my part, I have 5 more contacts in my target companies to reach out to. And I will! I AM NOT AFRAID! TELL ME WHERE THE POPE LIVES AND I’LL GO NETWORK WITH HIM TOO!!! (Oh wait. “Married” and “Female” leaves me with limited job opportunities in the Catholic Church ;-)
So I have two new words:
“Yeah me!”
Another highlight for the week: MAJOR GLOBAL INSURANCE COMPANY called me to do a phone interview, and it went well. Hoping for an "in person" one in a week or two. I didn’t even apply for the job, they found me on CareerBuilder.com. VERY cool position, VERY much more $$.
The only question I have now is, why the hell am I working so hard???
The irony is, well...funny.
;-)
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Interview Shminterview
For a job seeker, the concept of the interview is nothing less than a thrill. Finally, a chance to sit down with a supposed intellectual, well-knowing person who will engage in a conversation about their companies’ needs, and my chance to tell them that not only do they need me, how could they live without me any longer???!!
It’s just not like that.
Books and HR departments and handbooks and ANYONE can tell you the do’s and don’ts of interviewing. Don’t chew gum, don’t ask for vacation before you’re hired, do give a firm handshake, do not wear your gym shorts.
There ought to be a law against bad interviewers. Not the people being interviewed, we know what we’re doing. The people they’re putting out there to represent their companies to potential employees? PLEASE! Like I want to work here with you??? The interviewer should, at a minimum, present themselves in a way that would make you believe that you are slightly more important than the gum stuck to the bottom of their chair.
I am starting to categorize these interviewers. Let me tell you what I’ve come up with so far:
#1 - Casual Fridays Debunked
We are taught as interviewees to present ourselves in a professional, competent way by sporting the most God-awful outfits known to man (or woman as the case may be). Let me tell you this. There is nothing more uncomfortable than an interview suit. Panty hose, a tight skirt, unflattering jacket, and shoes so tight you are sure amputation is inevitable if you make it back to your car.
Shouldn't interviewers have at least SOME responsibility here? I went to an interview prior to leaving the “company responsible for my demise” in said monkey suit, only to find my interviewer dressed in a sweatshirt, jeans, and dirty tennis shoes. Am I at a corporation or are we gonna clean your garage? This might be acceptable attire if say, it was Friday. It was not. Given the title of this person and knowing what I know, she makes 6 figures. I thought maybe she could’ve sprung for less faded jeans?…. I didn’t get the job.
I shoulda wore Zubaz and bunny slippers.
To her credit, we had a great conversation about the company and my qualifications. This I would learn, is the exception and not the rule.
#2 - The Third Reich
I interviewed a few months ago, again, before my demise, with someone who I fondly look back on now as the Interviewing Nazi. My interview was initially for one hour. It got rescheduled three times and finally landed 2 days later for 30 minutes. HOW can I sell my wonderfulness in 30 minutes or less??
So, the Interview Nazi has a list of no less than 25 questions for me. Again, that she had questions for me at all was exciting in itself, however, 25 questions in 30 minutes is 1.2 questions per minute. If it took her 15 seconds to ask the question, that left me less than 60 seconds to answer it. I do not talk with the speed of those guys on the radio reading the disclaimers. I like to talk. I like to tell interviewers how they cannot live without me. I like to breathe while speaking.
She never looked up from her paper. Did her neck hurt?
Did she need a brace? Some Advil?? No.
She sprinted through those questions, even cutting me off at a few points during those blasted 30 minutes. To make things worse, she did a few of those yawns where you are holding it in, trying not to open your mouth. Know what I’m talking about?
It was a train wreck. But through no fault of mine.
I didn’t get the job, obviously. That’s ok. Last I heard Hitler did not provide any sick time, and was not so keen on Work/Life Balance.
#3 – The Scare Tactic
So, I got an interview last week by way of a recruiter who found me on CareerBuilder. GREAT! FABULOUS! The company does what? Where? Excuse me, could you repeat that???? Yikes, that’s what I thought you said…
Seems this printing company is looking for an Operations Manager. I know nothing about printing. That’s ok I suppose, as conceptually, a leader and the competencies they bring to the job are what’s important. I can learn your product. I can hire and fire people and everything in between. Then I learned where the job was. Little Canada. Little Canada might as well BE in Canada. Or on Mars.
Despite the odds against me I go in for the interview anyway. The guy comes out 20 minutes after our scheduled time, apologizes for the delay, sits me down in his office, looks at my resume, and says, “Ok, I see you went to St. Cloud State. Start There.”
What?? Like, you want me to tell you about the all night bong parties?
He had no questions, written or otherwise. I had never seen a job description. I talked about my experience. He said nothing. Wait, he did say, “do you have any questions for me??”
Excuse me? Who is the interviewer here??
“Yes, can you tell me why this position is open?”
“I fired the last one”
“Okaaaaaay…can you tell me what a typical day would look like for the position”.
“Forecasting. Need someone who can forecast and schedule production around those forecasts”.
Great, we were on to something.
“Okay…are there written training materials?”
“Nope, we need to work on that”.
“Policies and Procedures?”
“Nope.”
“Productivity and Performance Goals?”
“Nah.”
“What are the biggest challenges right now”?
“Lack of talent and getting people to show up on time.”
If my shoes hadn’t been so tight I could’ve maybe run out the door a little faster. He was obviously never in sales, and never read the “How Not to Scare the Bejesus Out of Job Candidates” handbook.
“We’ll be doing second interviews next week” he said as he walked me out the door.
I was all I could do to say, "Yeah right".
Maybe Hitler is still hiring, he wasn't as scary as this guy...
;-)
PS - I'm making some good progress, I'm meeting people in companies I want to work at, applying for jobs in those companies, and that combo is, as Martha says, "a good thing".
It’s just not like that.
Books and HR departments and handbooks and ANYONE can tell you the do’s and don’ts of interviewing. Don’t chew gum, don’t ask for vacation before you’re hired, do give a firm handshake, do not wear your gym shorts.
There ought to be a law against bad interviewers. Not the people being interviewed, we know what we’re doing. The people they’re putting out there to represent their companies to potential employees? PLEASE! Like I want to work here with you??? The interviewer should, at a minimum, present themselves in a way that would make you believe that you are slightly more important than the gum stuck to the bottom of their chair.
I am starting to categorize these interviewers. Let me tell you what I’ve come up with so far:
#1 - Casual Fridays Debunked
We are taught as interviewees to present ourselves in a professional, competent way by sporting the most God-awful outfits known to man (or woman as the case may be). Let me tell you this. There is nothing more uncomfortable than an interview suit. Panty hose, a tight skirt, unflattering jacket, and shoes so tight you are sure amputation is inevitable if you make it back to your car.
Shouldn't interviewers have at least SOME responsibility here? I went to an interview prior to leaving the “company responsible for my demise” in said monkey suit, only to find my interviewer dressed in a sweatshirt, jeans, and dirty tennis shoes. Am I at a corporation or are we gonna clean your garage? This might be acceptable attire if say, it was Friday. It was not. Given the title of this person and knowing what I know, she makes 6 figures. I thought maybe she could’ve sprung for less faded jeans?…. I didn’t get the job.
I shoulda wore Zubaz and bunny slippers.
To her credit, we had a great conversation about the company and my qualifications. This I would learn, is the exception and not the rule.
#2 - The Third Reich
I interviewed a few months ago, again, before my demise, with someone who I fondly look back on now as the Interviewing Nazi. My interview was initially for one hour. It got rescheduled three times and finally landed 2 days later for 30 minutes. HOW can I sell my wonderfulness in 30 minutes or less??
So, the Interview Nazi has a list of no less than 25 questions for me. Again, that she had questions for me at all was exciting in itself, however, 25 questions in 30 minutes is 1.2 questions per minute. If it took her 15 seconds to ask the question, that left me less than 60 seconds to answer it. I do not talk with the speed of those guys on the radio reading the disclaimers. I like to talk. I like to tell interviewers how they cannot live without me. I like to breathe while speaking.
She never looked up from her paper. Did her neck hurt?
Did she need a brace? Some Advil?? No.
She sprinted through those questions, even cutting me off at a few points during those blasted 30 minutes. To make things worse, she did a few of those yawns where you are holding it in, trying not to open your mouth. Know what I’m talking about?
It was a train wreck. But through no fault of mine.
I didn’t get the job, obviously. That’s ok. Last I heard Hitler did not provide any sick time, and was not so keen on Work/Life Balance.
#3 – The Scare Tactic
So, I got an interview last week by way of a recruiter who found me on CareerBuilder. GREAT! FABULOUS! The company does what? Where? Excuse me, could you repeat that???? Yikes, that’s what I thought you said…
Seems this printing company is looking for an Operations Manager. I know nothing about printing. That’s ok I suppose, as conceptually, a leader and the competencies they bring to the job are what’s important. I can learn your product. I can hire and fire people and everything in between. Then I learned where the job was. Little Canada. Little Canada might as well BE in Canada. Or on Mars.
Despite the odds against me I go in for the interview anyway. The guy comes out 20 minutes after our scheduled time, apologizes for the delay, sits me down in his office, looks at my resume, and says, “Ok, I see you went to St. Cloud State. Start There.”
What?? Like, you want me to tell you about the all night bong parties?
He had no questions, written or otherwise. I had never seen a job description. I talked about my experience. He said nothing. Wait, he did say, “do you have any questions for me??”
Excuse me? Who is the interviewer here??
“Yes, can you tell me why this position is open?”
“I fired the last one”
“Okaaaaaay…can you tell me what a typical day would look like for the position”.
“Forecasting. Need someone who can forecast and schedule production around those forecasts”.
Great, we were on to something.
“Okay…are there written training materials?”
“Nope, we need to work on that”.
“Policies and Procedures?”
“Nope.”
“Productivity and Performance Goals?”
“Nah.”
“What are the biggest challenges right now”?
“Lack of talent and getting people to show up on time.”
If my shoes hadn’t been so tight I could’ve maybe run out the door a little faster. He was obviously never in sales, and never read the “How Not to Scare the Bejesus Out of Job Candidates” handbook.
“We’ll be doing second interviews next week” he said as he walked me out the door.
I was all I could do to say, "Yeah right".
Maybe Hitler is still hiring, he wasn't as scary as this guy...
;-)
PS - I'm making some good progress, I'm meeting people in companies I want to work at, applying for jobs in those companies, and that combo is, as Martha says, "a good thing".
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
McDonalds!! Then and Now
I joke a lot, (a little too much probably) about having to work at McDonalds if nothing else pans out.
It’s a little known fact that this Operations Manager wanna be got her start at the Golden Arches right here in Shakopee MN. The year: 1985. I was 15, and if memory serves me, I drove myself to said restaurant to apply. I didn’t have one of those “farmer” driving permits, but I surmise that my thought process was if I ever got pulled over, I would plead ignorance and the coppers would just call Edna and she’d straighten it all out. (Having two outlaw brothers, she was use to that right??)
I filled out the application for “crew member” and was immediately interviewed by, (sorry honey) the best looking “hunk” I’d seen in awhile. ..
I was hired immediately. I should have seen this as a sign of complete and utter desperation to get a body in the door that could sling a burger out the drive thru window in an acceptable amount of time and manage to get a “Thank you come again” said to at least 1 out of every 3 customers.
“Maybe the hunk likes me?!” I thought. No. Just desperate. And not for a date either. Dang.
And so began my 8 year stint at McDonalds.
It didn’t take long for them to realize my worth, (and really I’m not boasting, it just doesn’t take much to shine as a McDonalds crew member….)
Two years after being hired by the hunk, he never did ask me out, but I was promoted to shift manager. Me. A manager. 17 years old and they put me in charge.
Party on!
Looking back, that it actually took a full two years to achieve this “status” is somewhat disappointing. I ran designated shifts, managed the “crew”, made sure the place was clean, the food was fresh, (okay okay, “somewhat” fresh) counted the cash, made the deposit, and locked the place up at the end of the night. They even gave me keys to the freakin place. Me.
I did all those things. And know what else? I raised just a tiny bit of hell along the way...
You see, having navigated my way to another town to work was thought of as pretty unorthodoxed at the time. I had more friends and more fun at this institution than at any other point in my life! Those saps, er, “beloved classmates” at New Prague High School had no idea what they were missing...
I’m lovin’ it.
As I contemplate a new career, I will never forget the lessons I learned from my first management job, however, if I were to do fast food again, there are things that would likely be different:
Then:
Burley construction guy with a likeness to Larry the Cable Guy comes in and orders two Quarter Pounders with Cheese, Super Size fries, and large coke. I cheerfully comply and am sure to remind him that he forgot dessert and would he “like an apple pie with that”?
Now:
I pull out the nutritional guide and kindly point out that he just ordered 1,832 calories, 78 grams of fat, and would he “like a heart attack with that”?
Then:
My newfound friends (sans the hunk) and I sit in the parking lot after close until 3:30am, all the while dear ‘ol Mom thinks it really does take that long to clean the place up.
Now:
At 3:30 am my alarm is going off. I have been asleep for at least 6 hours.
Then:
A “little tiny bit” of underage beer drinking in aforementioned parking lot
Now:
Beer is about as appealing to me as a good cup of battery acid.
Then:
I ate red meat.
Now:
I’ve seen what’s in a Big Mac. I won’t go there.
Then:
Found a “few” boys I worked with worthy of kissing in the
parking lot…. :-O
Now:
Husband would frown on such activities.
Then:
I forgot your fries.
Now:
I forgot your name.
Then:
I worked nights and weekends, putting up with demanding and whining customers and co-workers...
Now:
I work nights and weekends, putting up with demanding and whining kids who think I exist to wait on them...
Would I go back?
No, but I want a drive thru speaker outside my house so that from the comfort of my living room I can yell to my kids to "stop fighting!", "be careful in the street!", "put down the ax!" or better yet, “time to eat!”
We’re going to Burger King...
;-)
It’s a little known fact that this Operations Manager wanna be got her start at the Golden Arches right here in Shakopee MN. The year: 1985. I was 15, and if memory serves me, I drove myself to said restaurant to apply. I didn’t have one of those “farmer” driving permits, but I surmise that my thought process was if I ever got pulled over, I would plead ignorance and the coppers would just call Edna and she’d straighten it all out. (Having two outlaw brothers, she was use to that right??)
I filled out the application for “crew member” and was immediately interviewed by, (sorry honey) the best looking “hunk” I’d seen in awhile. ..
I was hired immediately. I should have seen this as a sign of complete and utter desperation to get a body in the door that could sling a burger out the drive thru window in an acceptable amount of time and manage to get a “Thank you come again” said to at least 1 out of every 3 customers.
“Maybe the hunk likes me?!” I thought. No. Just desperate. And not for a date either. Dang.
And so began my 8 year stint at McDonalds.
It didn’t take long for them to realize my worth, (and really I’m not boasting, it just doesn’t take much to shine as a McDonalds crew member….)
Two years after being hired by the hunk, he never did ask me out, but I was promoted to shift manager. Me. A manager. 17 years old and they put me in charge.
Party on!
Looking back, that it actually took a full two years to achieve this “status” is somewhat disappointing. I ran designated shifts, managed the “crew”, made sure the place was clean, the food was fresh, (okay okay, “somewhat” fresh) counted the cash, made the deposit, and locked the place up at the end of the night. They even gave me keys to the freakin place. Me.
I did all those things. And know what else? I raised just a tiny bit of hell along the way...
You see, having navigated my way to another town to work was thought of as pretty unorthodoxed at the time. I had more friends and more fun at this institution than at any other point in my life! Those saps, er, “beloved classmates” at New Prague High School had no idea what they were missing...
I’m lovin’ it.
As I contemplate a new career, I will never forget the lessons I learned from my first management job, however, if I were to do fast food again, there are things that would likely be different:
Then:
Burley construction guy with a likeness to Larry the Cable Guy comes in and orders two Quarter Pounders with Cheese, Super Size fries, and large coke. I cheerfully comply and am sure to remind him that he forgot dessert and would he “like an apple pie with that”?
Now:
I pull out the nutritional guide and kindly point out that he just ordered 1,832 calories, 78 grams of fat, and would he “like a heart attack with that”?
Then:
My newfound friends (sans the hunk) and I sit in the parking lot after close until 3:30am, all the while dear ‘ol Mom thinks it really does take that long to clean the place up.
Now:
At 3:30 am my alarm is going off. I have been asleep for at least 6 hours.
Then:
A “little tiny bit” of underage beer drinking in aforementioned parking lot
Now:
Beer is about as appealing to me as a good cup of battery acid.
Then:
I ate red meat.
Now:
I’ve seen what’s in a Big Mac. I won’t go there.
Then:
Found a “few” boys I worked with worthy of kissing in the
parking lot…. :-O
Now:
Husband would frown on such activities.
Then:
I forgot your fries.
Now:
I forgot your name.
Then:
I worked nights and weekends, putting up with demanding and whining customers and co-workers...
Now:
I work nights and weekends, putting up with demanding and whining kids who think I exist to wait on them...
Would I go back?
No, but I want a drive thru speaker outside my house so that from the comfort of my living room I can yell to my kids to "stop fighting!", "be careful in the street!", "put down the ax!" or better yet, “time to eat!”
We’re going to Burger King...
;-)
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