Interviews Ahoy, Pt. 3: The End

19 Aug

Interviews Ahoy, Part 1

Part 2: The Interview

After a week of computer breakdowns and family errands, it’s time for the much awaited conclusion to Interviews Ahoy. This job would have me working for a cause I believed in, and I had spent the past month interviewing with various people in the organization and completing work place scenario assignments (not to mention the countless hours of interview prep time).  I was invested in this job in more ways than one.

I didn’t get it.  But I got rejected a bit more ceremoniously than that.

I woke up on the final day of my Bostonian vacation, where I was visiting with Leslie and other amazing people, and found an email entitled “Recruitment Assistant” sitting in my inbox.  The title was so polite in its ambiguity, I had a feeling that I wasn’t about to receive good news.

My hunch proved correct. It was indeed a rejection email, but unlike the cut-and-paste dismissals of the past, this one was personalized.  The VP I

There's a small sign on top that reads "No Billys Allowed."

interviewed with showed genuine appreciation for my time, and called me warm, enthusiastic, and well-organized.  She even said she’d “definitely” keep me in mind if any other positions opened up in her team or elsewhere in the organization.  It was a rather pleasant experience, and would have been a confidence booster, had it not been for that fact that, you know, I was still jobless.  Apparently they’re going in a “different direction,” one that I guess does not include me.  Because that’s what that phrase really means, right?  It’s “exclusion” packaged in shiny, non-committal alliteration.  “Hey everyone, we’ve decided to go in a different direction–instead of the dentist, we’re going to Candy Mountain! Except for you, Billy.  Enjoy your root canal.”

When I read that I’d been rejected, I experienced a mix of disappointment and resignation that pin-pricked up and down my arms, and dropped out the bottom of my stomach.  Self-preservational instinct took over shortly afterward, and I sent an email to my friends that pretty much said, “Oh well.  Moving on.”  Whenever I told people the outcome, I’d follow up with, “But it’s okay.  I’m okay.  Honestly.”   It took Leslie’s mom to stop me and say, “No, it’s not okay.  It sucks, and it’s alright that it sucks.”  And I realized that she was absolutely right.  I had really wanted this job–I admired this organization, and wanted to work for them so badly.  I wanted to work for them the same way my impetuous sister wants to wear her princess fairy costume to school; this organization was special in the same way that stupid ugly frilly dress is, I suppose.  Why was I kidding myself into hiding my disappointment?

Yeah, that's totally what's happening.

Leslie’s mom, fabulous beacon of guidance that she is, suggested that I send a follow-up email asking for feedback in order to better improve my future chances as a candidate.  “What have you got to lose?” she asked.  Certainly not my non-existent position at my imaginary cubicle, or a dock in my never-to-be-negotiated salary.  Off the email went, but I received no response.  And with that, my imagination went berserk, concocting reasons and excuses why my request went unanswered.  “She must be super busy.  I bet she’s on vacation.  Maybe King Kong has made a comeback, and has taken her hostage.”  And then as more time passed, my thoughts began to dissect the sincerity of the original email.  Will I ever be contacted if something opens up?  Did I really have a chance, or was I just being let down easy?

I left Boston a few hours after I got rejected.  I have to say, there some sort of poetic beauty in this whole thing: on my first day of vacation, I get invited to interview in New York, and immediately change all my plans, as well as start imagining what loft-style living would be like.  On my last day, my grandiose hopes and dreams were very neatly taken away from me, and I was free to board my homeward bound plane thinking, “Well, what’s next then?”

This show will teach you that fat people can be pretty on the outside, too.

What was next turned out to be a massive tw0-day marathon session of Drop Dead Diva (again, shut up).  I watched the full two seasons via dubious methods, meaning I gleefully enjoyed 74 minutes of video and had to wait 54 minutes before I could watch my next 74 minute session, and so on.  In other words, I watched 20 episodes in two days, spending almost as much time waiting for video as I did actually watching it.  Which is kind of sad.  I guess it was hitting me harder than I realized, and all I wanted to do was sit and contemplate the trials of being an attractive model who died and got sent back to life in a fat lawyer’s body (really).  It put my life in perspective.  And I thought I had problems.

I’ve yet to pick up my job hunt again.  It’s more that I’m busy being the de-facto nanny and personal assistant to my ridiculously large family.  But part of it is that I’m frustrated, exhausted, and a little resigned to my unhireablity (I think that’s the second word I’ve made up, meaning I’m the next ShakesPalin!), and have simply resigned myself to my fate of domesticity for the unforeseeable future.  Because I’m a right little ray of positivity like that.

One other thing:  If you’re going to get rejected, wouldn’t it be refreshing to have it done in spectacular fashion, Steven Slater style?  If you’re not going to hire me, I’d like to know starting from the subject of the email.  “Better Luck Next Time, Sucker” might be a good way to kick it off, or “Did You Honestly Think You Had A Chance?” or even just “HAHAHAHA!”  I’d also like to know why, because it at once eliminates any room for speculation while creating an opportunity for improvement.  Even if I had a craptastic interview and you hated me, lay out all my faults.  Consider it therapuetic.  I’ll be sure not to thank you.

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One Response to “Interviews Ahoy, Pt. 3: The End”

  1. Emily August 19, 2010 at 9:40 pm #

    ShakesPalin. hahahahahaha How have you not been hired?????

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