"Emergency Colonic"

Although not quite as horrifying as "decapitated head," "emergency colonic" is yet another two-word phrase I would not have normally expected to encounter in a job-searching related capacity.

And yes, Reader, I have noticed the slight uptick of late of my posting links to other sites and then brushing off my hands like I've done a good job with this blog for the day. As Boris Becker would say: Lazy!



(Here's a little quick story for you...I once worked with a former tennis pro named Jenny Byrne. Jenny is an AWESOME person and hysterically, pee-in-your-pants dry-Australian-humor funny. She told me a story once of watching a match with Boris Becker and some other dude. The...um...ref? Umpire? What do you call it in tennis? The person who's supposed to be watching where the balls lands and stuff? I only watch tennis for the men's thighs, I don't know any of the terms. Anyway, so a ball landed and the guy in the chair called it in, and Boris insisted it was out and kept pointing to...something on the ground, the line. CRAP. This story is impossible to tell without actual tennis knowledge. Anyway, Becker wanted the dude in the chair to get OUT of the chair to come look at the irrefutable physical evidence on the ground that the ball was out. The dude refused. Becker points his racket at the dude and spits out two damning Teutonic-inflected syllables: LA-ZY! To this day, when decrying anything lazy, in my head, I hear the staccato sound of Jenny's imitation of Boris Becker. The story is REALLY funny when she tells it. Not so much when I do.)

So I am actually not entirely being lazy. After-Dark Ill-Suit has a new gig AND the long-distance gay husband is coming for a visit next week so all in all, things are a little hectic around here. But will continue to post other people's crap as my own once things settle down.

File Under: Knowing When to Fold 'Em, Walk Away, Etc.

A while back, one of the After-Dark Ill-Suit's gigs was writing music reviews.

One day, I received a CD and a sheaf of accompanying materials. I mean, generally bands would include a little press blurb or something, but this band included nearly everything positive that had ever been committed to paper about themselves.

I listened to the CD and I did not like it. I didn't hate it, but it just wasn't all that great. So I had to write a not-great review.

(Aside: This might come as a shock to you, Reader, but I didn't really enjoy doing that. It's one thing to critique candidates when a) it's unlikely they will ever read this unless my regular Readers - AKA parents - both apply for a job with a company I recruit for AND make some embarrassing gaffe and b) I leave the candidates as anonymous as possible and change identifying details. But I don't actually want to make someone feel personally bad. In general, I was a bad reviewer because I was like a kindergarten teacher: "I'm sure they did the very best they could!" So for me to write a negative review...let's just say it took a lot.)

Anyway, I made the band verrrreeeee unhappy. And so they posted a rebuttal to my review on their website AND e-mailed me and my editor a link to their post.

At first, I was freaked out because they were hating on me - with first and last name - on their website and that's a little weird. I am a Good Girl People Pleaser and want everyone to like me. So at first, I felt a little bunched up about it, but the more I thought about it, the stupider it seemed that this band was so insecure that my one bad review on that one teeny website got them so worked up. (I also found it appropriate that - as my main criticism was they were too cerebral and wordy - their response was to WRITE an ESSAY. Like, aren't you rockers? Shouldn't you be too busy banging groupies and - I don't know - writing actual rock songs to compose counterpoint arguments with critics?)

What is my point and what does this have to do with looking for a job?

Well, a few candidates I've encountered in the past year have illuminated for me that what I experienced with the band - from the initial press kit through the denouement - is actually a kind of personality tic that comes up in recruiting.

The candidate who responds to my initial "Hey can I phone screen you?" with an e-mail that has forty-five attachments of, again, every positive thing that has been committed to paper about them, up to and including their second grade report card scanned into a PDF, will then inevitably be incapable of answering Yes/No questions with a Yes/No answer during the phone screen. Even simple questions like, "Have you ever worked for this company before?" will be met with a paragraph for an answer.

And then, if I have to reject the candidate, the INEVITABLE answer to my rejection note is: an argument of our assessment, frequently with a veiled criticism of me or the company.

If your time on the playground and/or in romantic relationships hasn't taught you this, I know that my attempt is probably futile, but generally, you cannot argue people into liking you better. You can present all the facts and figures you want, you can point out how flawed the other person is for Not Getting You (always a head-scratcher), but generally, at the point at which you either receive a bad review or an interview rejection letter is generally the point at which you have to let it go.

Man Down!

This is my 100th Post, but it has not come without a cost.

Today, in an unfortunate coffee mishap, we have lost a key. Colon/Semi-colon appears to no longer be working. At least not when you actually tap the key itself, although a random ghostly semi-colon keeps attempting to insert itself when other keys are depressed.

And I stabbed myself in the thumb with a metal ruler trying trying pry up the key and now I am bleeding all over everything because I used up all my band-aids on the Rocker Contractor when he slashed open a finger not once but twice in the span of a half hour on Thanksgiving morning. (But as mentioned, he only weighs like twelve pounds, and ergo probably only has about a pint of blood in his body total, so really, it was probably the best use of the band-aids, otherwise I would have had Dead Rocker Contractor for Thanksgiving.)

This is my $50 ergonomic Microsoft keyboard so I am a little heartbroken at the possibility that it might now be garbage. For now, I am going to see how much not having access to two punctuaction marks affects my writing. One positive thing - no more emoticons. Let's face it - they're a crutch. (I would have used colons in both the prior sentences. I don't think this is going to work.)

Speaking of 1947...

Today appears to be the day that I receive resumes from a wormhole opening into the first half of the Twentieth Century. Along with the Mrs. mentioned previously, I just received a resume that starts out addressing me and my counterparts as "Gentlemen."

Okay, it's 2007, and unless you are posting a memo above a urinal, it's no longer really safe to address any business correspondence to only "Gentlemen."

Before the Contrary Maries and Misters start waxing red-faced about political correctness, it's not about that. It's just a question of ACCURACY.

Especially with a resume, because if my experience is any indicator, Human Resources is like 90% ladies. Sometimes I get a sinus headache from all the estrogen.

ANYWAY. Just say like "Hiring Manager:" or "To Whom It May Concern" or whatever. I don't care. Just don't call me Mister. I had a short haircut when I was a kid and somebody called me "Young Man " once and the wound still smarts.

A Toilet for Xmas

(Can you feel it, Reader? Only eight hours 'til I don't have to do this job for 96 whole hours! I am down to only four days off instead of the FIVE FIVE FIVE I crowed about but whatever! I'll take it!)

So, Reader, in case you were wondering what someone like me, grumpy and snappish and gnarl-hearted, longs for at this time of year, here's your answer: All I want for Xmas is a working toilet. IN my place.

I made the mistake of telling my landlord that my hot water faucet - in the kitchen - dripped. And somehow this translated to spending the last six weeks enduring an unanticipated bathroom remodel. Right now my toilet is non-operational and living two rooms away from its rightful home. Luckily I have access to other facilities, but let's face it: OTHER facilities cannot hold a candle to YOUR OWN facilities.

The one bright spot in the whole process has been that my contractor has been completely and inadvertently entertaining. He's a little rocker kid (it's kind of like having a Stroke grouting your tile) - and when I say little, I mean teeny tiny. I think he wears like size two girl jeans. I KNOW he wears girl jeans because he told me all about it, I just forgot to ask him what size.

He's told me all about MANY things. I know about his girl trouble, his upbringing (he was home schooled by fundamentalist Christian parents), his mild drug use, his transportation issues, his roommate situation.

Now, as everyone is well aware, I don't take kindly, generally, to unsolicited personal disclosure. UNLESS, as the Championship Powerlifter demonstrated, you manage to entertain me. Which my Rocker Contractor seems to unintentionally do every time he shows up.

Below are some of my favorite things that he has said thus far. I told him that entering Week Six I am losing my mind without a fully operational bathroom and I am sick of brushing my teeth in the kitchen sink so HE MUST FINISH UP AND GET OUT OF MY HOUSE BEFORE XMAS. He was sympathetic and responded by not showing up for two days this week. So I think this will continue into the New Year. If so, expect to see some more of these entries. In fact, I am thinking of filming him. He just comes out with too many gems; they should be documented:

• Well, I'm going to go home and curl my hair.
• (To his dog who was licking his face. Oh, yes, his dog that he brings INTO my house. Without asking.) Don't put your tongue in my mouth, that's bad for a boy doggie. (I could not restrain myself from asking him, to clarify, if in fact I had heard correctly and it was the fact of it being a BOY doggie tongue as opposed to just being DOGGIE tongue that was the problem.)
• "In the midnight hour/She cried 'More more more.'" (Yes, that's from "Rebel Yell" a song he was singing at some rock charity event. Which is fine, except those were the ONLY TWO LINES of the song he would absently sing to himself for DAYS on end. I BEGGED him to sing other parts of the song or an entirely different song, but without thinking he would inevitably return to just those two lines.)
• There's nothing this town likes better than a longhair in a VW bus.
• I think the air quality in my apartment is affecting my vocal cords. (Said whilst smoking, and being covered with a little dusting of the mud he was sanding off the walls. "Do you need some sort of mask?" I had asked as I watched from my desk the dust falling right into his open mouth. "Nah," he had replied.)
• I threw my hair straightener across the room the other day.

Good, as they say, Times! Happy Holidays all! Enjoy your operational toilets!