I Am an Idiot

Dear Reader,

Well, I blew it. I haven't blown something that hard since I needed that 'A' in "Varieties of Early Christianity," and at least I could forgive myself that little indiscretion. Today? Today was inexcusable idiocy.

This is the part where the good writer goes into detail. I don't know how much detail I can stomach though, seeing as I have to wake up at 7:30 AM to go to another interview, this time with the dog walking people. For shizzle. I am actually considering doing it, at least until I find something better.

I showed up at the interview today dressed nicely, though I realized as I rang the doorbell to get into the building, the company name scrawled in fancy scroll letters, that I should have had a damn tie on. My suspicions were correct when I entered and saw a room full of nervous, hopeful people all wearing ties, suit coats, their little leather padfolios tucked under one arm, waiting to be interviewed. Oh. A group. As in other people applying for the same job. As in I have no chance and better hope the dog walking people like me.

We were offered sweets: massive muffins, enormous glazed donuts... it was tempting, but none of us touched them out of some collective fear that we might be evaluated on how we ate them, which ones we chose. I had hallucinations of interview questions regarding my choice of the donut with the chocolate frosting. "So what exactly does the chocolate bring to the table that you don't?"

The vice-president of the company came in minutes later, flanked by three other women, all dressed casually and wearing big, friendly smiles. The VP explained the company, and within two words I knew what kind of woman she was, how hard she had struggled to forge this business, how hard she worked at it and how hard everyone around her worked. I knew that she was making her decisions about us as she spoke, noticing my lack of tie, the mangy facial hair of the guy next to me, the overly eager comments of the older chap. She was regal, like a foreign queen who had been set the task of choosing which of the suitors could join her husband's court. She didn't talk down to us, just over us. She told us about vacation days, about salaries, about fun things the companies had done together (I love how businesses think one fun trip every three years counts as "Fun place to work," but I digress). She made it sound very appealing. I was getting kind of excited to interview.

That is, until she chose me to go first.

If I had to pick four minutes of my life that I could do over, those four minutes would be really high on my list. In four minutes I managed to sabotage any chance of even THINKING about getting that job. She was so powerful, so precise. Her first question was, "What is your education and experience?" and her second was, "Why do think I should hire you?" Now I've been told by folks wiser than me that, at some point, you appreciate the hiring manager who asks you point blank, rolling out the red carpet for your carefully researched and educated response that captures the essence of you and your vast abilities and how those can best be put to use in this amazing organization.

I, however, reacted as though she had shot me with mind bullets. The next three excruciating minutes were some blabbering, drooling attempt at self-aggrandizement. She asked me to rate myself as a writer on a scale of 1-10. She asked me what my salary requirements were and when I said "$25,000" something maternal must have kicked in and she schooled me on how that was ridiculous and how I couldn't afford the electricity to heat my Ramen noodles around here for 25k. At one point I actually heard myself say, "I am a big ideas person, not necessarily a details person," and it was at that moment, as her chin dipped and her pen touched the paper, that I woke up. What the FUCK was I talking about? Where was I, and who's body am I in? NOT A DETAILS PERSON? Who the fuck am I talking about? What am I saying? What evil little bitch gnome crawled into my speech center and started pulling cables? NOT A DETAILS PERSON? I obsess over e-mails for an hour. I've edited this blog entry SIX TIMES for mistakes and better wording. I freak out over which frame to cut at, which notes I missed, which words sound best and in what order... I am a detail FREAK. That is all these people fucking CARE about, all they want to HEAR. Either you are a "detail-oriented" person or you are not a person at all, just some slobbering asshole who can't wear a goddamn tie to a job interview, and today I was inexplicably the latter, my charm, my wit, my gift for gab completely, utterly, devastatingly absent.

I had three more interviews after that. Each one came and went, and as we went on I got better with my answers, more confident, more capable. But I knew it was hopeless. I was a big ideas person, not a details person, and no matter what I said, or how much I protested my own incomprehensible stupidity, I was not going to be getting this job.

So.

I will be waking up in 7 hours. I will put on a shirt and some pants. I will have a bowl of cereal. I will apply to walk dogs for question-mark-exclamation-point dollars an hour. And we will go from there.

And if someone asks you if you are detail-oriented, for the love of God, say yes.

-m