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Ants Work Hard, Part 1
By Matt Baker
Several weeks ago a recruiter from AllMusicAllMovies, an online CD and DVD warehouse in Oregon, contacted me by telephone in response to the resume I had sent regarding their customer service manager position. It was a courtesy call informing me that my resume had been received and that if interested, I would hear back within the next five business days for a preliminary telephone interview. As you can already imagine, no one called. But, sure I sighted a glimmer of light, however faint, I decided not to give up on the one and only callback in almost a year of my job search.
I flew to Portland on my own dime, sitting in seat 38A, the last row before you hit the toilets and nursed a self-fulfilling daydream of myself as an ambitious seeker who pounded on all the swinging doors of opportunity. This behavior, I’ve been told, is what passes for the epitome of American bred ambition.
I made it to Portland, checked into The Benson and got a good night’s sleep. The next morning I drove my rental car back and forth across the bridges for two hours until I finally found the AllMusicAllMovies headquarters and upon approaching the front desk asked to speak to someone in human resources explaining that I was going nowhere until an interview had been granted. “Please have a seat, someone will be with you shortly,” the receptionist said.
Three hours later, I got the interview.
“Hi, I’m Brent,” the clipboard carrying entry-level interviewer said, not bothering to shake my hand. “Why don’t you come on back with me?”
The dream appeared to be working.
Brent, a blond-streaked kid ten years my junior, wore heavily starched khakis, a long sleeve pink and yellow poke-a-dot shirt and sported a bulky, silver wristwatch which gave off the impression of being a relic from outer space. He picked up on my disagreeable fixation with his choice of shirt and said, “Its casual Friday.”
“That explains it,” I said. “For a second there I thought you were going to blow me an animal balloon.”
“What?”
“A balloon. You kind of look like a clown. Better clowns than frowns, right?”
“Are you here for a job interview?”
“Absolutely.”
After verifying my identity by entering my date of birth and social security number into a special computer, he began the clown show with a forced smile and a ho-hum description of the job. I nodded, smiled, and endlessly agreed with him, stating, “Of course,” when necessary and reinforced my own false enthusiasm, “That sounds great!”
“So tell me, Scott,” he said. “Why do you want to work for AllMusicAllMovies?”
“Brent, just between you and me and that little camera up there,” I pointed at the surveillance lens watching us, “I really need a job.”
“Mr. Mitchum why else would you be here?”
“Exactly. I wouldn’t have flown all the way out here, dropped a small pile on a room at The Benson if I wasn’t serious about this opportunity. This could really make or break me, you know what I mean? And it isn’t such a bad thing that Portland is 1,800 miles away from Kansas City. Not that I’m running from anything, I just think getting out of town would be a good thing. Distance is a reputable form of resolution, don’t you think?”
“I am not exactly sure,” he said. Brent jerked a sideways glance up at the camera. I looked too. It stared at me. When I looked away, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the camera move.
“Okay then,” he said, “would you say you have a passion for movies and music?”
“Is having passion a requirement for this job?”
“If I’m asking you, it probably means it is.”
“What exactly is a passion anyhow? I’m not sure if that’s a good word to just kind of toss out there in an interview, Brent. It seems like an important word, too important, I feel, for what we’re talking about today.”
“Mr. Mitchum, I’d say, you’re making this more difficult than it needs to be.”
“Right, you’re right, if it means having a job, you bet I do, more than passion, more like a love affair.”
“What is your favorite movie?”
“Hmm, favorite? I’ll have to get back to you on that. Nothing is coming to me.”
“Okay, how about a favorite singer or musical group?”
“Musical group, you mean a band? That’s easy, Social Distortion.”
“Social what?”
“You know, Social D, the southern California punk band, been around forever.”
“Sorry.”
“You’d know them if you heard them.”
“I seriously doubt that.”
“Hey, I got a few favorite books, I could give you those.”
“Not interested, sorry. We don’t sell books. How about you tell me some of your core leadership competencies and how you’ve utilized them in your most recent job.”
“Let’s see. I have a great sense of humor; I enjoy reading and quiet walks. I’m a good listener; I cherish a positive attitude and I value honesty.”
Brent stopped taking notes and looked up at me.
“Oh, I sound like I’m trying to win a date, not land a job.”
I waited.
And waited.
Sometimes you have to repeat the punch line, “A date, get it? Quiet walks, honesty, good listener… okay, nevermind.”
Brent failed to articulate a single sound, so I immediately got back on message. “What exactly are core leadership competencies, Brent?”
When asked to describe a time I gave a customer outstanding service, I manufactured a bogus example that in no way parlayed with reality. The story was so far fetched that I felt myself blushing as I attempted to tie together the ending to my tall tale about resuscitating an elderly quadriplegic who had fallen out of her wheelchair while escaping from an apartment building fire. It occurred to me in the awkward silence after I finished, this had nothing to do with customer service and was an attempt to gloss over my general apathy towards others with a far reaching story of human endearment.
It was made crystal clear in Brent’s opening statement that the job was very stressful and it just so happens I handle stress about as well as I can juggle five flaming swords while peddling a unicycle down a slalom ski course. When he asked me to explain how I deal with taxing situations, I of course, quoted directly from life’s rule book for dummies and cited rational reasoning and prioritizing as key components in my stress fighting arsenal.
Brent then changed gears by inquiring if I had a personal mantra or philosophy that I adhere to or use as a guide in my business life. Instead of stating that my daily affirmation is “different day, different bullshit,” I scratched my eyebrow and said, “No, not really.” I did consider stating that Jesus is my C.E.O., but I was in the highly secular state of Oregon where church attendance peeked at the country’s lowest levels and therefore safely assumed that any attempt at under the table footsie in Jesus’s name was a bad bet.
The different day, different bullshit credo isn’t a stand-up shtick I used to use. I am a devout believer. I even have a bumper sticker on my car that reads, “Life is .8% real, and the remaining 99.2% is B.S.” My sister gave it to me as a birthday gift five years ago.
I’m not going to pull a meaninglessness shroud over your head and I’m not an expert at anything other than telling it like it is; and for that you can either be grateful or infuriated. Most human beings prefer the comfort of ignorance and abhor the meddlesomeness of truth. I, however, dwell in the uncomfortable; this is where I belong, where I’ve found acceptance.
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