Candidates: Please Start a Fight Club or Something

I really cannot throw stones about being grumpy as I live in a glass house called: Writes a Blog Dedicated to Complaining.

But Candidates, how can I put this nicely? Well, some of you are a little high-strung. You seem a little on edge.

Here's how it goes.

I make a lot of phone calls. To people who applied directly for a job, to people whose resumes I found online, etc. I will generally make one call per week to a person (my company would probably prefer more but I think that most people prefer to not be harassed and that it's actually more effective if I am not all up in their business about it). If the person isn't there, I leave a voicemail. Because I have taken to heart my own advice about leaving voicemails and because I have a crappy headset, I generally try to listen to it to make sure it's audible, etc.

So then some time passes. And I get these calls back:

Me: Hello, this is Ill-Suit.

Nameless Person: (barking, staccato) Hello. I got a call from this number.

Me: Oh, okay, sure, what is your name?

Nameless Person: (shouting over the sound of their own veins throbbing) WELL YOU CALLED ME SHOULDN'T YOU KNOW?

Of course, but I also called about thirty other people today and there is no name on the caller id and I actually didn't commit your number to memory.

So then I try to gently explain to the individual who I am and why I might have called, and the caller than has to make the ever-so-awkward transition from Phone Rage Dickwad to Cheerful Applicant. It's a tough one to pull off.

What I don't understand is that I KNOW I left you a voicemail, I know I sent it correctly and it was audible...if you are so irate at the possibility that someone you don't know (presumably a telemarketer, etc.) is calling you, why would you first call back the number blind instead of listening to the message?

I think some of these people must just feel really trodden upon or something and are looking to get their righteous indignation on. I totally understand: the Man has got me down too, but I am not the Man, folks.

Anyhoodle, my dad is great and all, but he also suffers from Phone Rage on occasion, so I try to not hold it against the candidates as I know it might just be an isolated weak spot.

But for reals, Candidates, I think you need to take a martial arts class or go chop wood or (again, I can't recommend it highly enough) start a complaining blog. Whatever. Just relax.

Actual Unfortunate Names: NSFW Blind Item Guessing Game

So the other day, my friend President of the Debate Club paid a visit to the blog to test my logic. She found it failing on at least one post, but luckily I won the round by default because I think she will be too busy/disinterested to revisit the blog again to rebut.

After the visit, she let me know that she passed along some of the gems to her husband and co-workers, who, she informed me, all had the same reaction:

"How does she write that and not get fired?"

Ummmm.

Gulp?

So like, I mean, um, yeah, I know but.

Like there are a gajillion blogs out there?
And my real name is nowhere on it?
And I change all the relevant details?

But so suddenly I wonder if this is a much riskier endeavor than I was really thinking.

Which makes what I am about to do even more DAREDEVILISH and LIVING-ON-THE-EDGE-ISH! Those of you with a delicate constitution: LOOK AWAY NOW!

So I phone screened a candidate recently with really one of THE most unfortunate Actual Unfortunate Names I have come across.

I can't actually post it, but I will give some clues and you can guess, either quietly in your head, or DARINGLY in the comments! I might chicken out and delete the comments that get too close to the right name but I will alert the winner otherwise if you link to your own blog.

What do you win?

SMUG SELF-SATISFACTION. At least TEN MINUTES of feeling VERY PLEASED WITH YOURSELF.

So here are the clues:

1) The first name is nickname that is a synonym for a slang term for a girl part. However! This very self-same nickname can - although not as commonly - ALSO be used as a slang term for a girl part.
2) The last name is...just flat out a slang term for a girl part.

What I found so fascinating is: if your last name is ALREADY something that is going to make middle school very very difficult...why oh why would your parents also saddle you with the double whammy of a nearly equally unfortunate nickname?

So NSFW guess away, Readers!

P.S. Gay Husband? You are not eligible for the prize because we just talked about this person today, but I'm happy to discuss other possible ways for you to have at least ten minutes of smug self-satisfaction.

What?

From resume:

"My ambitions presented to me show an outline of continued achievements."

The Single Best Useless Thing to Ever Appear on a Resume Ever of All Time Ever!

You know how I hate personal details, right. But this? THIS???? Transcends irrelevance, transcends inappropriateness. It lives on its own unearthly plane, glowing and levitating in its perfection.

"Winner of Showcase Showdown on The Price is Right."

Off-Topic: Lunch Break

To the older bearded gentleman in the Beemer in front of me at the drive-thru at McDonald's (no, I'm not proud of it):

1) I really don't have time to explain the concepts/gestalt of
a) FAST food
b) Drive-thrus
c) Talking to a minimum-wage employee through a small speaker box
d) McDonald's, in general

so you will just have to take my word for it that in a lot of ways, "Which of your sandwiches has the least amount of calories?" is not an appropriate question for this particular time and place.

And, 2) after the extremely patient employee, who has infinitely more self-control than I would have, calmly explained that yes, McDonald's actually has a written policy that they cannot provide that information specifically over the drive-thru headset, but that he would happily provide a pamphlet for you at the window, and you decide to throw caution to the wind and just wing it with your order...I think it might be safe to say that the Ranch BLT Chicken sandwich is probably NOT the sandwich with the least amount of calories.

In general, when looking to lower your caloric intake RANCH and BLT are two words to steer away from. In addition, McDonald's as a whole might be something to steer away from. These are just some thoughts.

Why don't you marry it?

You would think that something as dry and resolutely un-sexy as a major corporation wouldn't have a stalker.

And you would be wrong.

I have this candidate who applies to EVERY SINGLE JOB this company posts in the Midwest. It doesn't matter what the function, duties or level are. It doesn't matter how little, if at all, his background matches up with the job.

Director of Finance? APPLY. Customer Service Rep? APPLY. Internal Network Programmer? APPLY. Human Resource Generalist? APPLY.

Over 2500 jobs in the past two years. It takes like four minutes to pull up his online file it's so big.

So I lean towards Diagnosis: BATSHIT CRAZY. But then again I wonder if he might just be litigious and is running some sort of extended scam, figuring at some point he will have to catch someone in some kind of compliance slip-up and he can sue.

But I sort of like the Batshit Crazy option, mainly because I just like Batshit Crazy as a concept and a phrase, and I also like the idea that this dude falls asleep under a ceiling and between walls plastered with the company logo. And that when he is waiting in line at the unemployment office, he idly doodles "I (Heart) Big Nameless Corporation" on the denim binder or Trapper Keeper in which he keeps his paper work.

Oh fine whatever. Dammit: Half-assing.

Every Xmas for about the past eight Xmases, I have lost my mind to holiday gift-making (there was one exception, 2005 when I just plain lost my mind).

Now, as anyone who had met me briefly or seen me from across a city block can tell: I am crotchety. I have ALWAYS been crotchety. I was like a crotchety eighth grader. My holiday craftiness is less out of some kind of cheery holiday spirit, more from some weird deep-seated need I have to Go Above and Beyond in a totally baroque, nearly perverse fashion. It verges on self-flagellation. I am waiting for the holiday season that Werner Herzog shows up with a camera crew to film it, and I eagerly anticipate his finished documentary with his dry reserved German narration of my yearly insane folly:

"Now, at 3:00 AM, she is overwhelmed with despair when she realizes three of her four different varieties of savory quick bread mini-loaves are slightly more dry than she would ideally like. They will not survive ground shipment. She collapses at her table in a heap of sobbing."

So about a gajillion years ago, Deborah Ng tagged me to write about why I blog. And instead of just like writing it, I made the mistake of THINKING ABOUT IT, which of course made the whole thing much more perversely baroque in my head than it would ever need to be. So then I didn't just write it because my meager store of attention span was all taken up by day- and nightjob. And THEN it just sat there, accusingly, on the mental to-do list.

So whatever, I don't know why I'm such a nutbag about this stuff. Here's my answer. I will have to tag other blogs later as I have been a bad blogging-community-member of late and am barely checking anybody else's, so gots to go see who hasn't done this one yet. But baby steps, at least I can do the answer.

Blogging, for me, has been like a relationship. It started in a sort of frenzy of enthusiasm. I found myself constantly e-mailing my gay husband and some other friends with the ridiculous resume or cover letter of the day. And then I thought, well, I of course find all this endlessly amusing, but my friends might just be smiling wanly at it. Eventually, they might even find it kind of annoying, which will make them reluctant to open the e-mails I REALLY want them to read, like the ones with the pictures of the shoes I want to buy.

So I thought I would go ahead and start a blog.

And it was like fun! Like instead of getting aggravated and hating my dayjob all the time, I was feeling actually engaged by it, waiting for the next person to do the next annoying thing because I could get a post out of it. It sort of made the day go by faster.

Then we settled into a sort of groove, a nice little groove, and some people were reading the blog, and that was cool, and my little Profile View counter was going up and I felt special.

Then it stopped being special. And it sort of became work. And days would pass and no one would comment. And the Profile View wouldn't move. I had to squeeze in this time to write these posts and they weren't even being appreciated at all. And then the blog called me by its ex-writer's name at a very inappropriate moment, and we were just fighting all the time, and I was seriously like, I don't even NEED a blog anymore.

And that's when I got into the whole Zen of Blogging. As I've mentioned before, I think it's like meditation, if I may not only change metaphors but also tone, from silly to sincere.

Now people throw around the word Zen all the time and it bugs me a little. Like it's in commercials and stuff and I know it's not exactly, truly, precisely a religion, but it's some serious stuff and I don't particularly appreciate it being used to sell paint. So please know when I talk about the Zen of Blogging, it's not some facile appropriation, I actually have owned a zafu.

And blogging is kinda it, man. You do it at first for some kind of satisfaction or attention or as writing practice and then it exists and you just do it because you do it. And if the counter goes up or the counter stays still and if someone comments or if even your friends forget the web address...still you sit down (semi-)regularly to do it.

I'm not a very disciplined person to do things on a regular basis. I'm more a fits and starts and once-a-year-sprints kinda lady. If I do have any discipline, it always for something where I can clearly see "What's in it for me?" and even then I can generally only get motivated to do the things I MUST do in order to stay fed and clothed and housed. But this? There isn't really much in it for me. I can't even put my name on it.

So I blog because I blog. And there you have it.

Thanks, Deborah! Here is her answer to the question. I will tag others at some point.

Today? More nothing.

But Rocker Contractor is back (for the FOURTH grouting of my shower tile, fingers crossed this one will take) and he had a little joke (?) about needing a "jazzercism" (like exorcism + jazzercise?) that he said yesterday and then eagerly asked me today if I had used the joke yet.

Only, it's not really a joke, like there is no framework into which the word "jazzercism" is used as a punchline or something, it's just a little portmanteau or whatever that he created so I didn't know what to tell him other than I thought it was more a performance piece than a written joke.

Suggestions for a written joke that would use "jazzercism" as a punchline are welcome.

Nothing continues to happen.

Tatter helpfully provided this link to the Snopes message board which has "Crazy things seen on resume" (worth a look alone for the newspaper ad of the pot smuggler looking for legitimate employment).

But alas, I continue to have no homegrown recruiting laffs. Everyone is all well-behaved, or is misbehaving in ways too minor, boring or repetitive to previous posts to bother noting. I am very disappointed. I need to go back to entry-level recruiting.

Easy there, Tiger.

So guess what, Candidate?

It is 2007 and there is this thing called telecommuting.

What this means is that although I might sound super duper professional over the phone, the fact is I might be in yoga pants at my kitchen table trying to shut up the dry-heaving cat and to ignore the hot married guy across the way who is surprisingly and somewhat disturbingly visible through the frosted glass window in his shower that is directly, distractingly in my line of sight when I look up from my laptop.

This also means that I am receiving calls on an ordinary home phone line.

The kind of phone line which, unlike many office phones, has caller ID and call waiting as opposed to multi-lines. And it might be the annoying kind of call waiting which instead of being just a little click is an annoying interrupting momentary drop out in the current call (back in the day, wasn't it just a little click? What happened? Why did the technology get WORSE with time?).

So let's set that fact aside for one moment, shall we?

Okay, so then, also, Candidate? Remember how I called YOU and left a message on your voicemail that I would like to set up a time to phone screen you for a certain position? In that message, there were two important clues: one, I was making a phone call and two, I conduct phone screens.

Now certainly, you being old enough to have this professional job, it HAS occurred to you that it's not really plausible I might be a recruiter who has been designated not just to recruit for this particular position but also just to speak with you personally, correct? That I would just be sitting there, staring off into middle distance waiting for you to call back.

So it IS plausible that - if I was contacting YOU for a phone screen via the phone - I might also be talking to other people on that same phone to conduct the very same phone screen I mentioned to you in my message.

Are you still with me? So let's put it all together, shall we?

When you get my message, and you call me back to set up this phone screen, I appreciate it. And I also certainly appreciate enthusiasm.

But when you call me back FOUR PLUS TIMES IN A ROW in twenty minutes, leaving a voicemail each time, and each time creating a momentary fall out of my current call, which means I have to keep asking the person I am trying to talk to to repeat what they were just saying OR reassure them that even though my voice suddenly went silent mid-sentence, the call was not dropped and I am still there.

This doesn't make me feel all too kindly towards you. And I know it's you, because you were on my caller ID every time.

So please. Call once. Leave a voicemail. Give me some time to call you back, because there are, in fact, other candidates, other jobs, bathroom breaks, lunch, teleconferences, lying down on the couch for five minutes trying to figure out how long it is going to get me out of this dayjob...you know, stuff. Things that are not you. They do exist.

Word Cop: WAIT! Something DID happen!

Today, on a work teleconference, someone actually said the word VAJAJAY.

Key words in the above sentence:

"WORK TELECONFERENCE"

"VAJAJAY"

Nothing funny happened yesterday either. Today isn't looking any better.

Somebody did forward a resume from an acquaintance. The message from the acquaintance said something like "Find me a job, hook a brutha up." Now, the candidate was sending the message to a friend, so whatevs is all I say to that.

But the friend - employee of the relatively buttoned-up company this person wants a job with - sent that message to HR. Like...from what I understand, "hook a brutha up" would include...um...deleting the chatty silly crap your friend puts in the message before sending along it along to like professional people.




I am scraping. SCRAPING.

Nothing funny happened today.

I am back at work and ready to be all focused and bring you all the laffs, but absolutely nothing funny happened. Some candidate's name was "Sweetee" but that isn't so much funny as...well, kinda cute, actually.

WHAT IF THE BLOG HAS RUN ITS COURSE?

Hmmm.

Deborah Ng from Freelance Writing Jobs and Finding the Right Words (Hello! *waving*) has tagged me to write about why I blog and so at some point this week I will but I am feeling apprehensive. I know WHY I blog but I am feeling a bit lately like WITH WHAT.

CANDIDATES PLEASE START ACTING UP! MY POINTLESS BLOG DEPENDS ON YOU FOR COMEDY.

Apologies, Again

To the Candidate I Spoke to Yesterday: I am so sorry my cat was near-deafeningly dry-heaving while I was conducting your phone screen.

To Readers: I have no additional recruiting-related laffs this week as it has been a crazy time trying to juggle two jobs. I am not cut out for juggling two jobs; I am barely cut out for passing for mediocre at one. What I am well-suited for is either a) staring off into space (seriously, I'm like a champ!) or b) running around, you know, eating and drinking and making some merry. And the latter of which will be happening over the next few days as I will be ON VACATION, so I will be back here late next week and I am going to make a concerted effort to actually pay enough attention to at least one job to have more to write about.

Resume Bullet Point of the Week

This is not, mind you, from our Army...but it's still pretty special nonetheless.

"Winning the Excellent Supermarket Award of Army in 2001"

Off-Topic Word Cop:Temporary Restraining Order

I would like a temporary moratorium on the words "musings," "rantings," or "ramblings" being used within 50 feet of a blog for the next six months. There is an exception for Copyranter because...well, because he's earned it.

Sorry, bloggers, but it had to be done. Own your thoughts! Did Hemingway muse or rant or ramble? No, he stated! State, I say! State your thoughts!

I will be probably imposing a restraining order on myself in the next few weeks, as this genre (complaining about how the people you encounter in your job are just so ungodly stupid) is also beyond tired. But I keep hoping I can ride out the trend past the trendiness.

Word Cop: Nails on Blackboard

For as long as I can remember, I have been obsessed with language and how people use it. Um (gestures to entire blog) OBVIOUSLY.

I don't know why it is. If someone has a verbal tic or uses certain words, I cease to be able to actually listen to the content of what they say, and instead become completely focused on the tic or the word. Sometimes it's in a good way. My gay husband refers to a certain kind of girls' short-shorts as "Cooter Cutters" and sounds exactly like some sassy seventy-year old lady when he says it. And the channeling of a Golden Girl through this Banana Republic-wearing hot gay potato never fails to make me giggle endlessly.

Then again, sometimes it's NOT in a good way. We recently had a call with our team to talk about certain things, and we kept discussing "basic qualifications." Instead of calling them "basic qualifications" everyone on the team calls them "basic quals."

Quals.

Quals.

I don't know why...I mean I REALLY don't know why, but this word "qual" makes me shudder. I have tried to parse my reaction but I cannot. I just inexplicably hate this abbreviated word with every molecule in my body. I didn't hear anything else I'm supposed to be listening to because every time they said "qual," I tensed up.

Secondly, they also kept talking about making our job descriptions "pop." I think it's great that we're trying to improve our ads, but "pop?" It's not a red accent wall. It's not eyeliner. POP?

Anyway, this post is less to critique anyone on my team and more to wonder: what is wrong with me? Why am I so fixated on this stuff? Does anyone else do this?

"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.

HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

I'm not EVEN going to feel bad about it anymore!!!!

http://seattlepi.nwsource.com/business/302397_grumpyworkers05.html

Confidential Again to Mr. Pissy Pants

Mr. Pissy Pants, I called you to follow-up on your bitchy note. I called the number you provided on your resume, the resume you submitted for this potentially $100K/yr base plus some kinda bonus job.

When the voicemail answered, it informed me in your smoove playa voice, that if the person leaving the message was female, most likely the call would be returned. If the person leaving the call was not female, "maybe you will, maybe you won't" return the call. I was delighted that you made it so clear that due to my gender I was more likely to receive a call back.

I wonder, though, if maybe, contrary to your bitchy note, it isn't that the hiring manager never attempted to contact you, it's that she called this very same number, again, provided on your resume. And it's possible that rather than being delighted, she had visions of the future sexual harassment lawsuits you would inspire with your colossally poor judgment on when and where is it appropriate to get your game on, and just hung the hell up.

Pros: Slightly less likely to steal from honor snack bar

That's the one positive I can see from the candidate who put this on his resume:

"Accomplishments: One of my greatest personal accomplishments in life was losing weight I was able to lose over ninety lbs. in about eight months through exercise and diet."

Cons: ABSOLUTELY IRRELEVANT TO ANY JOB OUTSIDE A FITNESS CENTER AND/OR JENNY CRAIG-TYPE PLACE. (For which I am not recruiting.) (And yes, quite frankly, I DID mean to shout, Reader.)

I know I know, there's that one employer who already is firing people for the unhealthy lifestyle choice of smoking, but we're not there yet.

And I mean, kudos, Candidate, it's great you did that for your health and all and I'm feeling a little Grinchy complaining about it...but still. This is a resume, NOT your autobiography.

Confidential to Mr. Pissy-Pants

To the dude who just sent a bitchy note to a hiring manager complaining about her lack of response to his interview follow-up questions? And then who said at the end of said bitchy note that he hoped his bitchy note wouldn't impact his chance for future opportunities with the company?

Well, for one, you're right, it is crappy that she never responded to you.

But, yes, you're also right in your suspicion that when you clicked send, your chances at this company went up in flames. Indulging your indignation, however righteous, is rarely a fast track to a sign-on bonus.

E-mail in haste, repent at leisure, Bud.

My Kind of Worker is Not in This Commercial

The Assimilated Negro: What Kind Of Worker Are You?

Because my kind of worker always skates out of these kinds of meetings. (I'm a Milford [wo]Man.)

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.

How can I help you? No, really, how?

I am at my desk, the phone rings, and I have my usual argument with myself about picking it up. (I really don't believe in picking up the phone, it's so rarely a good idea.)

But I do and it's Candidate, whom I've already screened for the position and told I would be submitting to the hiring manager. I also let her know if she is selected for an interview, she might find out before I do because she might be contacting by our coordinators who get a direct notification from the hiring manager.

Reader?

Reader, wake up!! (tapping on inside of computer screen)

I'm sorry, I promise to leave out those details in the future.

Soooo, Candidate is calling me back about a week later.

Candidate: Hi, Ill-Suit. I was contacted by someone to set up an interview. They said they needed to check on the interview arrangements since I'm not local and would get back to me. I was wondering what my status was for the position.

Me: (after long pause) Um. You've been selected for an interview and it sounds like they are working out the logistics?

Candidate: Oh, okay, thanks!

Me: (with giant cartoon question mark floating above my head) Um. Sure?

Actual Unfortunate Names: Link Russian Roulette Edition

www.Doostang.com

Is Doostang "an online career community that connects people through personal relationships and affiliations"?

Or is the candidate who tells me this playing some kind of trick on me and this is really some kind of meatspin type website that will immediately flag me in my company's IT department as some kind of link-clicking-floozy degenerate? (For the love of all that is holy if you don't know what meatspin is, DO NOT TRY TO FIND OUT ON A WORK COMPUTER or if you are of delicate constitution.)

Point being: I just don't know how I feel about the name DOOSTANG. It doesn't fill me with a sense of overwhelming...ummm...professionalism. It makes me want to make jokes like as though I were a twelve-year-old boy.

Like (oh my god Reader I am SO SORRY for the stupid immature joke I am about to make): "You stink - do you have a doostang in your underwear?"

(And twelve-year-old boys everywhere think, "What is she talking about? That joke is beneath me.")

Don't our men and women in uniform deserve better?

If you are part of a company responsible for procuring the parts for Tomahawk missiles, shouldn't you know that they are called "Tomahawk" and are not - as this candidate whose resume I received today seemed to think - named for some dude named "Tom Hawk?"

Hopefully she's working on the ones for export.

It's National Phoning It In Week!

I just decided.

That or it's a Snow Week, or whatever other excuse someone will accept as to why my posts are crap.

Another blogger - some hot shot with like four readers or something - made a disparaging comment about bloggers who apologize for lack of/poor-quality posts when they only have two readers and those readers are their parents.

What Mr. Four Plus Fancy Pants doesn't realize is we are really apologizing to OURSELVES and to our own HIGH STANDARDS and also we do it to HEAR THE ECHO.

I now consider this blog to be like a sand mandala. It's a totally pointless act of creating ephemera. But it's like way more tolerable than actually meditating. (I have ADD and ergo actually trying to meditate makes me want to gouge out my own eyes.)

Anyway, if I ever have had or will have a good post, it will not be this week. I can tell already. Mainly because everyday my day is thrown off by the fact that the Ill-Suit Who Wants to Stay Asleep is FAR craftier than the Ill-Suit Who Wants to Get Up and Take on that World Now. The former's new trick is to take the miniature alarm clock and - again, without waking up - hit snooze and then TUCK IT UNDER HER TORSO so that when the alarm goes off again, it is MUFFLED BY HER OWN BODY.

(Why can Sleepy Ill-Suit figure THAT out but not figure out how to just turn OFF the alarm so it doesn't go off again? Neurologists: chime in.)

So anyway, I set aside all this AM time to do my own stuff and then sleep through it. I will never get out of having a day job at this rate.

I have to go into a kind of fugue state to get through my work day too...

...but if you work for yourself - and in fact have been self-employed for years and do not appear to have any employees - why does your resume declare in big block letter:

"CONFIDENTIALITY REQUESTED AND APPRECIATED."

Sure, no prob, it's a given...but confidentiality from whom?

If I can't call you at work and you work from home...help me out here.

The shark has pretty teeth, dear.

When I read this on a resume:

"Relentless in the pursuit of excellence"

I know that after I phone screen this person, I am going to need an entire bottle of Gatorade and a nap to replenish myself after they have nearly sucked my soul out of my body with their aggressive, nearly violent can-do attitude.

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.

"I'M MARRIED I'M MARRIED!!!!!!!!"

I've never understood the whole "I've been planning my wedding since I was a little girl!" thing. I don't know why but I never had those fantasies. Probably because I always feel like a drag queen or Easter Peep when I am in a dress that's not black and tailored so the typical images really didn't, ya know, speak to my aesthetic. (You can take the girl out of art school in Manhattan, but you cannot scrub the art school in Manhattan out of the girl. Or, who knows, maybe you can but I haven't found the right solvent yet.)

And it's not just the wedding, just thinking of the concept of marriage makes me feel like I have a too-tight wool turtleneck on.

But I get that it's some people's thing, like MOST people's thing. I realize I'm the weirdo in this situation.

And today I think I came across the resume of my polar opposite, the Bizarro Ill-Suit. This woman appears to be so THRILLED to finally have gotten married (four years ago) she had to reference it not once, not twice, but SEVEN TIMES. ON HER RESUME. Like it's 1947 and she wants to assure the Boss Man she's not one of those slutty Career Girls or something.

The references are as follows:

• References Maiden Name vs. Now Married Name
  
• References Marital Status (Guess what? MARRIED!!)
• Includes Spouse Name
• Includes Date of Marriage
• Indicates Relocation due to "Spouse's Employment"
• Indicates Relocation due to "Fiance's Employment"
• Indicates Relocation due to "Engagement"

So...um...I guess, Congratulations, Candidate!

"Plus a whole lot more!"

Should never ever be a bullet point on your resume.

You are not a multi-tool, the Magic Bullet Blender or a product being offered by Ron Popeil.

Unless you truly are a sleep-walking entrepeneur...

...and need to make the distinction, you can leave the following emphasized word off your resume:

"Made conscious decision to establish my personal stand-alone enterprise."

From my experience, few people make that decision unconsciously or subconsciously.

And you ESPECIALLY do not need to put the following on your resume (which is how the above actually appeared on the real resume (emphasis added)):

"Made conscience decision to establish my personal stand-alone enterprise."

I appreciate that you actually spelled the word correctly, but it's the wrong word.

Conscience? It's a noun. Means your sense of right and wrong.
Conscious? Adjective. Means what you meant to say but didn't need to.

Terminology to Keep Internal

During an internal company call today amongst the recruiters:

"What we need to determine is how to lure candidates into [company]'s web."

(And not meaning "web" in the "World Wide" sense.)

I have an idea!

Don't use language that makes it sound like being recruited for this company is akin to being pulled into a Ponzi scheme.

Today's post has been outsourced...

...to Pablo Neruda:

Walking Around

It so happens I am sick of being a man.
And it happens that I walk into tailorshops and movie houses
dried up, waterproof, like a swan made of felt
steering my way in a water of wombs and ashes.

The smell of barbershops makes me break into hoarse sobs.
The only thing I want is to lie still like stones or wool.
The only thing I want is to see no more stores, no gardens,
no more goods, no spectacles, no elevators.

It so happens that I am sick of my feet and my nails
and my hair and my shadow.
It so happens I am sick of being a man.

Still it would be marvelous
to terrify a law clerk with a cut lily,
or kill a nun with a blow on the ear.
It would be great
to go through the streets with a green knife
letting out yells until I died of the cold.

I don't want to go on being a root in the dark,
insecure, stretched out, shivering with sleep,
going on down, into the moist guts of the earth,
taking in and thinking, eating every day.

I don't want so much misery.
I don't want to go on as a root and a tomb,
alone under the ground,
a warehouse with corpses,
half frozen, dying of grief.

That's why Monday, when it sees me coming
with my convict face, blazes up like gasoline,
and it howls on its way like a wounded wheel,
and leaves tracks full of warm blood leading toward the night.

And it pushes me into certain corners, into some moist houses,
into hospitals where the bones fly out the window,
into shoeshops that smell like vinegar,
and certain streets hideous as cracks in the skin.

There are sulphur-colored birds, and hideous intestines
hanging over the doors of houses that I hate,
and there are false teeth forgotten in a coffeepot,
there are mirrors
that ought to have wept from shame and terror,
there are umbrellas everywhere, and venoms, and umbilical cords.

I stroll along serenely, with my eyes, my shoes,
my rage, forgetting everything,
I walk by, going through office buildings and orthopedic shops,
and courtyards with washing hanging from the line:
underwear, towels and shirts from which slow
dirty tears are falling.

Translated by Robert Bly.

Quote of the Day

From phone screen, in response to a question as to whether or not Candidate had ever interviewed with the company before:

"I dunno...I might have in 1998. Or else that was earlier last year."

I hear ya! 1998, early 2006, who can keep it all straight?

Sadly, No Singlets

I just had to sign a sort of agreement in order to work with a certain client.

One of the Standards of Behavior required is that I do not “fight, encourage a fight, or wrestle.”

This is disappointing because I am trying to be a more positive person in 2007 and I would certainly like to be able to provide encouragement to my fellow Co-workers and/or Candidates in all their endeavors.

And no WRESTLING? What kind of mildly homoerotic activities WERE going on in the breakroom previous to that update to the agreement?

2007 Job Search Trends

I know it's a bit early to be making predictions, but I think I know what the new 2007 Candidate Flavor is already. Do you wanna know? Ready?

Bonkers!

Crazy, batty, kooky, lunatic, unhinged. Whatever you want to call it.

As dorky of a concept as it was, Time clearly hit the nail on the head by naming You POTY. My experience as documented here through the tail end of '06 was that the Candidate Flavor of the Moment was, in fact, You. (Again, I want to clarify that by "You," I mean THEM, Reader, all those OTHER people.) You in all Your self-expressive, TMI-sharin' glory.

But starting with this guy, we got a little crossover. Sure, he was all about totally questionable personal disclosure through the job search process, but he was, also, frankly, a nutjob. And since then, up to and including Sir Slursalot I mention below, it's gotten increasingly crazy-style out there.

Maybe it is just remaining high-spirits from the holidays. We'll see. But, as mentioned, I love the crazies! They are among my favorites. So in addition to the FULLY OPERATIONAL TOILET IN MY HOUSE that I got for Xmas (jealous????), I have this to look forward to.

2007 is totally going to ROCK. I can feel it!

This week's good thing.

Candidates who come drunk to a phone screen. What more can I say?

I don't do that kind of screening.

(Okay, is this a prank of some sort that I should have been able to find on Snopes? Well, I couldn't so I 'm just going to assume this is what it is.)

So for some reason, candidates sometimes either add my name to their address book or else their e-mail program does it automatically, but at least once a month I get some random mass mailing from someone I sent a job description to a year ago.

Usually these mass e-mails are…well, the usual: hacky jokes about Men vs. Women or cute cute cute puppy pics or poems about Footprints or vaguely depressing holiday clip art.

But the below is a completely new one. I think I conducted a phone screen with him like in the tail end of 2005...but it's always nice to hear what folks are up to.

----------------------------------------------------
"From: [redacted Candidate Name]

Sent: Tue 1/2/2007 6:47 PM

To: [Everyone, apparently, that this Candidate has ever received an e-mail from, including his bank, Monster.com, etc.]

Subject: I GOT AN STD

I got Herpes from my ex wife [redacted]and gave them to my girl, I feel like shit... I just want everyone to know how sorry I am. "

Name Repetition: Rapport-Building? or Bats**t Crazy?

I don't know what particular self-improvement book/philosophy/guru espouses the power of name repetition. I think Dale Carnegie mentioned it, but not sure if there is some other popular thing out there that has convinced the MBA-types it's a good idea to say my name 45 times in an interview...but it's not a good idea.

(I don't mean to keep picking on the MBA's - I mean, my best friend has an MBA - but then again, quit doing this stuff, MBA's)

I know name repetition is also a memory-improvement technique to help people remember names, and that seems okay.

But I'm talking about over the phone, where all you need to remember my name is to look at the four e-mails we exchanged to set up this meeting. When nearly every other sentence you say is either begun or finished with my name, it doesn't so much build rapport as make you sound like a total nutbag.

Here's the progression:

First use of name: Not a big deal.
Second use of name: Slightly odd coming so soon after the first.
Third use of name: Starts to feel condescending - is this dude trying to Build Rapport?
Fourth use of name: Definitely condescending.
Fifth use of name: [you get a pass with this one because I was looking at shoes online and temporarily distracted]
Sixth use of name: Is he kidding me?
Seventh use of name: Mildly psychotic.

And so on.

It probably doesn't help that most of the people who are doing this have a Ted Haggard-vibe to them, you know, "I appear almost aggressively wholesome and to be a pillar of the community but actually right after this call I will be having a coke binge with a hooker, [insert my name]."

2006 Winner: Most Unappealing List of Job Duties

A two word phrase I never ever ever expected to see on a resume: "DECAPITATED HEAD."

(Please note: I am deeply grateful that someone DOES do this job. I am not slagging on the person who performs these duties. I just read them and hate my job a little less as it involves exactly zero preparations or transports of decapitated rabid animal heads. So I’m grateful for that too.)

From resume:

"Duties:

• sanitized kennels daily
• informed public of procedures involving quarantine when animal bites occurred
• decapitation of dead animals
• prepared dead animal head for rabies research
• completed forms & reports for transport of decapitated head
• participated in the euthanization of animals as required
• accompanied kennel aide to landfill sites for disposal of dead animals
• involved in extensive public contact with irate citizens
• use of computer"

(For those of you who are keeping track, meaning none of you, this also counts as my "Thursday's Installment of Some Shit I Am Happy About." Because I'm pretty happy that my Task List today does not include taking dead animals to the landfill and then coming back to deal with irate citizens. Lordy I hope this person was paid well.)

No one told me...

...that "loose" now means "lose." As in "Every time I loose power I loose my phone line" or "Don't loose your keys." This is now rampant. And no, Candidates, I'm actually not talking to you; this is directed at you, Co-Workers.

Is this a thing now? Like "it's" when it's supposed to be "its"? Something that is about to become so goddamn ubiquitous that there's no point in getting worked up about it anymore?

There should be some kind of memo that goes out monthly that outlines the Grammar Battles No Longer Worth Fighting so that I can better know when to waste a rise in my blood pressure.

What else could one expect from a 23-page resume?

That's right: 23 pages. Some of it was formatting issues, but still.

Based on the inclusion of the below paragraph, you might wonder for what position was this person applying? Professor? (Bad) Political Writer? Think Tank Thinker?

No, Supply Chain Manager. For an IT company.

"After the Terror Attackson USA 9/11 2001 and even with New NATO Member States, Bulgaria joining November 2002 in Prague more effective! As to France, Germany failing to support USA Policy on Iraq: their Leaders should re-read Herman WOUK's 'War and Remembrance' and 'Wind of War'!"

God I love the crazies.

Well, at least this was typed instead of being scrawled in tiny print in a feces-smeared composition notebook and mailed to me with a light dusting of anthrax.

Aggravation Style Points: Older Gents

Although it is the holidays and I shouldn't be a-complainin', what with peace and love and all that, I haven't had a recruiting-related post in a few days and I feel itchy to get back on topic otherwise I might start talking about like dating or my new favorite hair-dryer or something.

So instead, I have to report that I have noticed that one particular variety of shaved monkey has once again distinguished itself.

I've already singled out the ladies, now it's time for the fellas, namely some of the older fellas. (By older, I mean, of course, older than me. Going by the dates on their resumes, I'm thinking a lot of these dudes are over 45.) I am seeing a trend of late with many of you. (And of course it goes without saying that it's not ALL of the older dudes, so if you are not guilty of the below, please don't get your knickers in a knot about it.)

Anyway, to the Older Gentlemen Who ARE Guilty of It? Let me finish my sentence.

Let

me

finish

my

goddamn

sentence.

These are the conversations I've been having with far too many of you all lately:

ME: This position is located in Upyerbutt, AR. Are you open to reloca...
YOU: Yes, my wife and I plan to relocate there.
ME: And what are your salary requir...
YOU: I'm looking for a $100K.
ME: And if an offer is extended, how soon would you...
YOU: Two weeks.

Look, I know I sound about all of thirteen on the phone, but I am not thirteen, and even if I were thirteen, why the hell shouldn't a thirteen-year-old be permitted to speak a sentence uninterrupted to its punctuation mark?

I realize my questions are quite predictable, but guess what else they are? Brief. I'm adding absolutely no extraneous comments, chit chat, falderol, etc. So just wait a nanosecond, let me take them to their natural conclusion, and when words have ceased to come from my mouth, that means it is YOUR turn to talk and present an answer. It's called courtesy.

You are all on notice. Moving forward, I will not be stopping. You can attempt to interrupt me, but if I am no longer going to stop talking just because you've decided it's my time to shut up. If I start a question, I'm going to finish the question, and talk right the f over you so you might as well let me do it. Consider yourself warned.

UPDATE: Hours Until/Hours Since

Hours Until I Don't Have to Work Anymore: Um...sort of zero (I give up)
Hours Since the Contractor Was Supposed to Show Up or at Least Call (and Didn't): Zero! Indoor plumbing here I come!

Hours Until/Hours Since

Hours Until I Don't Have to Work Anymore: Five
Hours Since the Contractor Was Supposed to Show Up or at Least Call (and Didn't): Two

Stayed tuned for updates!

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!

An Arbitrary and Resounding Yes

After spending the last four months looking down my nose at any personal items including on resumes, I have a slight reversal of opinion.

If you are a woman and a lawyer and have also been a participant in a statewide Championship Powerlifting event, go ahead and put it on your resume.

Why? I have no idea. This is entirely capricious advice that I will probably tell you not to follow once I haven't been up until 2:00 AM making holiday biscotti. All I know is I saw it on a resume today and it didn't make me homicidal. The somewhat unexpected juxtaposition instead made me feel not-bored for a nanosecond while at work. I don't know that I want to help her get a job, but I do know she's going to have to be a character in a story at some point.

So there you go. It's an Xmas miracle!

Zombification

So part of why I am so grumpy all the livelong day is because I haven’t had a real vacay in just about forever, and have a sort of job that much like a gas, expands to fit whatever container (i.e., my waking hours) it’s put into.

And to abruptly change metaphors, work is also like a toxin that builds up in your system. I think of it like gout: there are these work crystals building up under my skin and eventually I get so sensitive I cannot bear the weight of a sheet on my toe/phone call from innocent candidate.

BUT…although there is apparently a war on Xmas or something that people like me are somehow perpetrating by sending out cards that say “Happy Holidays” because we know/like some Jewish people and atheists and are too lazy/indifferent to send out different cards to every person based on what holiday they may or may not be celebrating, Xmas has nevertheless retained the strength to get me a (paid) day fricking off in a week and a half. (Thank you, Xmas!)

And I am going to finagle a few other days off in there and I am going to have five – count ‘em FIVE FIVE FIVE – days where I do not have to ask anyone to describe their current job duties or what their target salary is or how soon they would be available to begin if a position is offered. Five whole days in a row where I can spend all day talking with people about something other than their experience with SOX 404 or their skill level with Excel!

And THAT, Reader, is my Thursday’s Installment of Some Shit that I Am Happy About.

Until then, I am switching into Recruiter Zombie mode. I am still physically here, I am still carrying out my duties, but my brain/soul has already left my body and won’t return until Jan 1, 2007. Posts until then may consist of grunts and or zombie-typing which looks like this:

Ury swrt5giAE GIsrwgeghtu4tg9wtg4qgt wsrhgtegftwisgy gtwesi gts wrgtSWGtw5gthed5r hsuer huaqygtue5uijr4wtytg g yrdrtgtxqt4g5rgtswrwst8wt5ait6h4 GFV8swrG89OA5Y3JNER GIKUHDFGIURWTKIUJSETUHAERUIGHDKSJFNK.ISETHO8LEHT RWHTGKJLRNO;8TH4T.

Job security feels a lot...

...like hot boiling agony.

I'm apparently on this project for the foreseeable future, folks, so...

Yeah.

I had a little escape route planned but the Ringwraiths of Upper Management sniffed it out and cut me off.

So, Hi, Reader! I'm here all night! All week! For-effing-ever!

(Placeholder for image to be added later of me disappearing into a hypno-swirl-thingy, with my tiny hand pitifully reached out towards the light! The LIGHT!!!!!)

How Not to Leave a Voicemail Message

(Preamble: I am 100% certain that this entire post and entire complaint has probably already been bloggified verbatim by some other primate with a keyboard, but I got nothing else for you today, Reader.)

How Not to Leave a Voicemail Message

Don't leave this:

"HithisisStacey[or Daisy or Tracey or Macy or possibly even Ashley]andigotyouremailandiamcallingyoubackmynumberisfivefivefive[unintelligible]fivefivefiveandmycellnumberis[completely, totally unintelligible after several replays of the message, although, in the interest of full disclosure, the last listening was somewhat drowned out by the sound of my own anguished yelp of frustration]."

How Not to Leave Three Voicemail Messages

Do not leave the above three times in one day.

***

For those of you only recently waking up in the late Oughts, may I alert you to a handy feature on many voicemails these days, which is that you can take a listen to the message you just left to determine if, in fact, someone without access to FBI-style audio clean-up tools will be able to understand what you are saying prior to actually sending the message. If there’s any doubt, re-record.

Of course, that expectation is a bit of a double-edged sword and it’s inevitable the one time that you like drop your phone on your foot and swear like a stevedore mid-message will be the time that you called someone with the cruel voicemail that will not allow you to re-record. So be careful, Rip!

Potentially Useful Information

Now you really cannot say I never gave you anything, Reader, because with this post, I have given you at least two pieces of actual information instead of just the usual complaints. (Here's the other and I am dead serious: it is crazy tasty.)

Deborah Ng, who, as I have mentioned, runs a helpful blog for freelance writers, posted that she was interviewed on Salary Stories, which alerted me to the fact that there is something called Salary Stories.

Even if I were not in recruiting, I would still be nosy, so I find the info on here quite interesting in an up-in-your-business kind of way. If you are actively considering a career change, there might be some useful stuff on here to check out. If you are not actively considering a career change, but tend to look in people's medicine cabinets when you are in their bathrooms, you will probably also find it of interest.

Still Chiming My One Note

I am clearly playing the triangle in the giant orchestra that is blogging, because seriously, it's all the same stuff lately, ain't it? It's all some variation on my original post, namely, you are looking for employment. An exchange of skills and time for money. Not friendship, not a relationship, not a date.

I know I keep saying the same thing and every few days I get all Ram Dass on my own ass think, "You know what? I don't want to do the blog anymore because it's just more like, negativity, man, out in the world and there's so much of it out there and like I just want to be happy."

And it will go quiet in the recruiting world, candidates will be dutifully submitting cover letters and resumes that exhibit common sense and restraint, and they will not have "Smack That" as their ringback tone, and I will think I am safe.

But then someone slips up and I enter a Wormhole of Questionable Judgment and I cannot restrain myself from commenting upon it. I can't. To let this kind of thing go unremarked upon would like...like a tacit approval! How could I sleep at night?

So, once again, my advice:

• If you are a 51-year old man, do not put your myspace address on your resume.
• If you are a 51-year old man, who has misguidedly put his myspace address on his resume, do not start off your "About Me" section talking about how you are the most talked-about person within your geographic locale and "nope! [you're] not schizoid, paranoid or psycho!"
• If you are a 51-year old man who has misguidedly put his myspace address on his resume, and DID start off your "About Me" section talking about how you are the most talked-about person within your geographic locale and "nope! [you're] not schizoid, paranoid or psycho!", then you might want to go scrub it of all references to NaughtyGirls, Penthouse, etc.
• If you are a 51-year old man who has misguidedly put his myspace address on his resume, and DID start off your "About Me" section talking about how you are the most talked-about person within your geographic locale and "nope! [you're] not schizoid, paranoid or psycho!", and you neglected to scrub it of all references to NaughtyGirls, Penthouse, etc., then you might want to dial back the more rabidly divisive political stuff.
  

If you are a 51-year old man who could bring yourself to do none of the above because, dammit, even during the job search every little thing in your life is a Song of Yourself and why SHOULDN'T you express your likes and dislikes as this is AMERICA, and what am I, some kind of commie?

Well, then, at the very least, can I beg you to edit down the like 2000 words of all cap screaming in your "About Me" and "Who I'd Like to Meet" section?

And might I also remark that just in the spirit of efficiency, you don't reallly NEED 2000 words, period, in your "Who I'd Like to Meet" section because you started it off with a somewhat naughty picture of a naughty girl, and I think that picture is actually worth your 2000 words.

New Feature!

Although I am loathe to go off-topic because then, really, it's just a slippery slope to Online Diary, and the world doesn't need another one of those.

Nevertheless, I'm starting to be mildy disturbed by my own candidate-hating misanthropy as cataloged through this blog. It's awfully one-note.

So I think that once a week (let's say Thursdays because that's usually when I am really losing it) I should post something that is not a fatigued and despairing entry about yet another "Stupid Thing Somebody Stupid Stupidly Did (Aggrieved Sigh)." Instead I will try to post "Things that Remind Me It's Not So Bad to Be a Human."

I am going to keep an eye out for recruiting-related hope-inducing items, but honestly, this week, I don't have any (aggrieved sigh).

BUT! There is this off-topic hope-inducing item!


I can't wait!!!!!

That's right, unbridled enthusiasm + multiple exclamation points. Kitten pics and poems about Jesus or friendship sure TK.

I'm sure it's just an ESL typo...

...but when a candidate sends me a message that says - or, crucially, asks:

"Thanks you for your nice message?"

I can't help but look around myself nervously, like...is my simmering resentment showing?

Time Zones 101

Candidate, if I ask you if you are available at - specifically - "1:00 PM Pacific Time" for a phone interview, but you happen to be on the East Coast this week, then what you need to do is add three hours to 1:00 PM, which, voila! = 4:00 PM EST.

What you should NOT do is assume that if I am available at 1:00 PM Pacific Time, that I would also be available at 1:00 PM Eastern Time (10:00 AM Pacific Time). And then get mad because I didn't call you at that time, even though I made it clear when I was available.

1) I do not have you tagged with GPS and plot out your whereabouts on a Google map. I do not know where you are this week or any other week for that matter.
2) 1:00 PM Pacific Time and 1:00 PM Eastern Time ARE TWO COMPLETELY DIFFERENT TIMES. It makes no sense to assume that if I am available for one I am available for the other.

And there were three mattresses, one of which had blood-stains on the side.

I spent last night in a crappy motel with a cat that (who?) decided at 4:45AM that he didn't like it anymore and spent the next hour crying and pooping.

So I am not prepared for your near-cryptic e-mails that sound vaguely like foreign spam this morning, Candidate. Please try again.


"Hello Ill-Suit,

Thank you very much for the email.

Yes, I am interested for the position. Please, see attached my resume file.

you can process a brief, 10-minute phone screen with me tomorrow at 10:00 am as December 6. If the schedule is not inconvenient for you, please let me know for any time."

In Praise of Formality

From cover letter:

"Before I began raising children, I had a brain and I had ambition, drive, and verve."

I know this candidate is trying to be chummy, but no. No. Just don't do it. Resist the urge to be cute.

Ow.

From resume (emphasis added for leg-cross-inspiring misspelling):

"Duties: Pulling Charts putting the right documents in the chart taking Vital Signs screening Patients getting them ready for the Dr. Giving Injections doing EKG Test. Weighing Patients setting up tray for Pap Simmer, Assisting Dr. with Pap Simmer. Assisting Dr. with I&D minor Surgery."

Not even going to comment on the worrying possibility that this individual is helping with ANY surgery, minor or not.

Apologies

To Reader(s):

I was all set to post every weekday in earnest this week, but then I totally forgot to post yesterday. But I figure that the what? third day in a row of Britney flashing the photogs is like the blogging equivalent of a snow day: why bother posting when you know you cannot compete with that trainwreck?

To Candidates:

This week, it’s totally not you, it’s me, and in this particular case, I actually do mean me. No matter how many cups of coffee I drink this week, I cannot wake up. It’s like my synaptic clefts got exponentially bigger over the holiday weekend and my little neurotransmitters are pumping at the same volume and so cannot make the jump. Like they just disappear off a cliff. And I wind up just sitting here staring off into space for ten minutes before I realize: I’ve been staring off into space for ten minutes.

(Aside: when reading about how neurons and the brain works, does anyone else GET COMPLETELY FREAKED OUT like, is that IT? Like somehow you throw enough of those things together and all of a sudden I can read and/or write a sentence, have a personality, prefer cats to dogs, sing in harmony? That just wigs me out.)

But anyway, Candidate, so I am giving you a total pass for the rest of the week because, quite frankly, I can barely tie my own shoes, much less make a measured assessment of your abilities against the job description. As long as you don’t make any egregious missteps during the phone screen, you are probably getting through! (Streamers! Party hats! Confetti!)

To the Dude Who Wrote this Letter on Salon (you might have to watch a brief ad to read):

You are right. And I am sorry. And I'm being completely sincere. We do kinda suck.

Why are you telling me this?

I know I'm flogging (blogging?) a dead horse here as this is at least my third post on this topic, but EVERY SINGLE TIME I see something like this, I'm 100% the same amount of incredulous and outraged. It's always like the first time.

From resume for A FINANCIAL ANALYST candidate:

"Professional caliber artist specializing in portraits and pencil sketches."

Why? Why is this on your resume when the jobs you are applying for have NOTHING TO DO WITH THIS? Why would I care? WHY ON EARTH WOULD I CARE?

What am I missing? I'm now cycling past incredulity/outrage to like, is it me? Am I the one who doesn't get it? I have forever claimed that I was absent one day in third grade and missed an all-school assembly that Explained It All and the reason why I am constantly befuddled by humanity is because I had a stomachache that day. That, or the fact that we were the only family without cable in my neighborhood doomed me to just never ever getting it.

But I don't get it.

Reader(s?...are there still at least two?), do you? Can someone please explain this to me? I try and try to imagine what on this planet could inspire me to think that some potential employer would be slightly swayed to hire me because I like to bicycle or make really tasty biscotti but I just can't. Can't imagine.

I'm glad Ginuwine wants to sex you up...

...but do I need to hear about it when I am calling for a job?

(If you follow this link and click on "Listen" for Track 2, you will hear what I am referencing. No actual bad words are used but would use caution if you are in a cubicle environment and/or hyper-sensitive to rico-sauve talk.)

(Aside: I'm also glad that Ginuwine is exploring some alternate income streams here, because really, what's he been up to?)

If you have something like this, one of those ringback tone things you kids are all about nowadays, might I suggest you disable the feature during your job search. Or use a different phone.

If you insist on using it, try to avoid a song with lyrics containing the word that just got Michael Richards in trouble or ones that refer to humans with ovaries as "bitches." Because you never really know what the person calling you for a gig might think of those words. Or, as in my case, there might be things equally or more offensive on her iPod, but she will hang up just because it's so effing stupid and unprofessional that she can't be bothered to talk to you.

The question marks are the best part.

This Sunday's New York Times had an article about "Child-Led Learning" which is apparently a form of home-schooling that allows kids to set the pace and pick what they want to learn about each day and follow their curiousity, etc.

I was immediately stricken with horror, imagining 50 years from now when I am in a nursing home being cared for by the generation raised this way. "I just don't FEEL like giving Ms. Ill-Suit her insulin right now."

Anyhoodle, the reason I am thinking of that is that I saw this on a resume, and sort of suspect maybe this person had her own fair share of "Child-Led Learning" as well:

"My current schedule for the rest of this year is this:
Sunday: 1:00 PM- ?
Monday: 11:30 AM- ?
Tuesday: 1:30 PM- ?
Wednesday: 11:30 AM- 6:30 PM
Thursday: 1:30 PM- ?
Friday: 11:30 AM- ?
Saturday: All day "


In the interest of full disclosure, I totally hate The Man and think we all should be wrestling back as much of our lives as possible from the Scourge that is Work. Nevertheless, come on now. This is not, sweetheart, how the world currently runs.

CORRECTION

It was NOT Tofurky Day, as I previously indicated below. It was To-Quorn Day or Quornkey Day or whatever. Actually not an un-tasty fake meat, although the facts from this Slate article I read months before were still sort of hazily floating around in my head as I ate it, making me feel slightly on edge throughout the dinner. Still on the fence about it.

Anyway, just wanted to be sure that all three Readers had a completely accurate understanding of what my Thanksgiving entailed. The cornbread pudding KILLED.

Don't say I never gave you anything, Reader.

In the spirit of the holiday or whatever, please follow below link if you would like a recipe for the most heavenly of cheesy-bready goodness in the form of Seattle restaurant guru Tom Douglas’s Etta’s Cornbread Pudding.

But be forewarned: just looking at the ingredient list will clog at least one (1) artery.

I will be making it for the Tofurky Day festivities tomorrow and while it’s not likely to be quite as transcendent as the stuff at the restaurant, I don't see how anything with that quantity of full-fat dairy products could possibly turn out bad.

(Also…not that I would know anything about this particular part of the country because I certainly wouldn’t be foolish enough to put any personal/distinguishing characteristics out here on this grounds-for-termination blog, but I have heard tell that if you are ever around Seattle way, you really cannot go too wrong with any of Tom Douglas’s places. The shrimpy thing at Lola’s? Nothing bad about that.)

While I do have to work on Black Friday, I will likely be both hungover and carbed-out-sluggish, so either no posts or if there are posts, I’m just going to apologize in advance now for their even more phoning-it-in than usual quality.

Sorry.

Everything I Need to Know that I Apparently Didn't Learn in Kindergarten...

...somebody with an MBA wants to try to teach me as an adult. From a meeting (of adults! in the workplace!) agenda about "Building Trust" for today:

"•Talk straight. Be honest and tell the truth.
•Demonstrate respect. Treat everyone with respect, especially those who can't do anything for you.
•Right wrongs. Apologize quickly. Don't let pride get in the way of doing the right thing.
•Show loyalty. Acknowledge others' contributions. Speak about others as if they were present.
•Practice accountability. Don't blame others when things go wrong.
•Wash your hands after going to the bathroom.
•Sharing is caring."

OK, two of those are fake.

I am so bummed that this isn't a face-to-face meeting, because if it were, I would totally start eating paste about twelve minutes in.

Also Too Good to Leave in Comment Trail: Totally Fortunate Name!

So I don't know if it's like way blog-dorky to keep pulling comments from the comments to make posts out of them, but so what if it is? You're not the boss of me!

Anyway, Deborah Ng, who has a really great free writing job posting blog/service for freelance writers (I should alert the candidate from the below post) left me the below comment (thanks, Deborah!) in response to an Unfortunate Name post:

"When I worked in retail there was a gentleman who used to come in on occasion to sell antiques. His name? 'Mighty Dreamstreet.' At first I thought it was a joke or street cred adding nickname such as Mr T or LL Cool J, but the gentleman informed me that it was, indeed, his name."

Like on the one hand, I have my usual why-on-earth-would-anyone-do-that? reaction. But then again...Mighty Dreamstreet. I would completely be a superhero by now if that were my name.

FYI: TMI

From a resume of a candidate looking for an accounting position:

"I wrote four novels, 13 short stories, and translated 2/3 of a classic story s youth version from Mandarin to English. (All unpublished for now.)"

So many levels...where to start?

1) You're applying for an accounting position. All this tells me is that you are possibly going to be even more miserable in that job than I am in mine.
2) Why only 2/3?
3) "All unpublished for now." Actually, that one speaks for itself.

Unfortunate Names: Special Eyebrow-Waxing Edition

This is actually not recruiting-related. (*Body sagging like a toddler in the grocery store*) I don't wanna write about recruiting this week. Seriously, sometimes the only way to get through doing your job is to sort of pretend for a week that you're actually NOT doing your job and to instead read all your journals from ten years ago and think: a) yeah, that one auburn-haired kid at college who read "Scientific American" WAS really unexpectedly hot and maybe I should google him and see what he's up to and b) I might be crazy but AT LEAST I'm no longer circa-1996-crazy.

So this episode of Unfortunate Names has nothing to do with recruiting UNLESS you are in charge of hiring at my local salon. In which case: I don't want anybody whose name is Patti - crucially - with an "i" waxing my eyebrows.

I don't want to have to explain it, I think some of you out there might know or at least sense what I am talking about...all I know is I got them waxed, I was displeased, then she handed me her card and AS SOON as I saw "Patti" with an i, I was like, "Damn, I wish I had known that before."

I am sure there are a couple Patti-with-an-i eyebrow-waxers who are like the Michael Jordan of waxing and maybe I'll be flamed for my extremely controversial post here, but I know what I know. And I know I will be finding another waxist.

And no, I'm not surprised to see you, I'm just going to look like this for another three weeks.

Can't be bothered.

Addendum!

I've now recovered my seat on my exercise ball and have a little bit more to say about the below post.

"No HIDDEN drinking/drugs"?

The addition of this word gives me a sudden vision of walking past this dude's cube - which is of course decorated with a) pictures of his wife, b) footballs and power tools and other outre signs of unapologetic vigorous male heterosexuality, c) an Opus plush toy and d) a toaster, and seeing him, sleeve rolled up, belt around his bicep with one end clenched in his teeth, cheerfully shooting up because, much like his 100% red-blooded love-of-the-ladies, a love so virile it must be included on a resume for employment, his drug use is something about which he's completely open.

Can...not...type...

I read this on a resume and fell off my exercise ball chair and am typing this with one hand from the floor:

"Not divorced, not gay, no hidden drinking/drugs. U.S. citizen. Taoist/ Buddhist readings. Favorite comics:Peanuts, Blondie, Bloom County. Favorite waffle: L Eggo My Eggo!. HTML. Enjoy surfing the Net (maybe too much!)"

From a RESUME.

WHO RAISED THESE PEOPLE?

I can't go on. That is too much for a Monday morning. The waffle-eating, "Bloom County"-reading, not divorced/not gay Taoist candidate might have pushed me over the edge. I'm going back to the weekend.

"It's my fondest dream..."

Doing a little Sunday evening prep work for the week (and about to watch "60 Minutes" and also preparing to be bummed about Ed Bradley whom I've been watching since I was a kid and who seemed like a really all right guy), and listening to some work messages.

One candidate called me back, saying she's excited to talk to me because "it's [her] fondest dream to work for Current Nameless Corporation."

(Key detail: not an ESL candidate. Not a quaint mistranslation. Native English speaker fully conscious of her word choice.)

Okay, I know I am the one on my laptop on the weekend and watching a CBS News Program like I'm a retiree or something instead of the frisky young lady that I am, but I am seriously depressed now about this lady's life if doing ANY kind of job at Current Nameless Corporation is her "fondest dream." Like, even if you DREAMED of being the CEO, wouldn't you just be dreaming of cashing out at some point so that you could go actually live your "fondest dream?"

Or maybe that is just me and maybe that is all part of why I am ill-suited. There are some good and interesting things that happen in this environment but I could not imagine dreaming about it.

(Damn, one minute into the Ed Bradley tribute I am already teary. )

The Wrong Answer

I recently had to do a lot of phone screens for an entry-level position. The screening process included one particular question that seemed to trip up most candidates.

The question was:

Tell me about a time you had to multi-task.

When I would ask the question exactly as it was written, invariably the answer would come back too general. Rather than provide an example, per the question, the candidate would usually just give a kind of stock answer about how they "always" do that or "did it all the time."

And honestly, I don't really care, but this particular hiring manager was a stickler for the specific answer. Wanted the concrete example. So then I would have to ask the question again, and try to get them to describe one particular situation.

So in order to save time, rather than asking the question, getting the wrong style of answer, and then asking it again, I started saying this right off the bat:

Please tell me about a time you had to multi-task. I realize this might be a skill you had to use nearly every day in your previous position, but that's not what we are looking for with this question. Rather than a general sense of your skill in that area or what you did every day, we're really looking for a specific situation related to multi-tasking, like one project or particular period in time.

And 3 out of 5 times, the candidate's response to this was:

"Oh, that's something I had to do EVERYDAY."

They gave me the answer I JUST TOLD THEM was the wrong answer.

Look, despite this whole blog, I AM ON YOUR SIDE. I don't like to be rejected and I don't want to reject you. You want a job and I want to help you get a job. Work gives a person purpose, dignity...at least for the first week until you realize how small your paycheck is and it's going to be six months till you get benefits and can get that tooth fixed and the department head is a mouthbreather and the whole damn system starts to eat at your soul.

But I want you to have that first good week! I want to pass your resume onto the hiring manager!

So please: work with me. If words are coming out of my mouth, make your best effort to listen to ALL of them.

Ladies' Mid-Morning!

When I was but a wee lass, there was a group in my high school called the "Society of Women Scholars." It was a group for the ladies.

Although I was both a) a lady and b) kinda brainy, I refused to join because it was an exclusionary group.

(The second reason I refused to join was because the aconym was "SOWS." Seriously. WHO PICKS A NAME for a WOMEN'S group with THAT as the acronym? And, although I look back now and think I was probably pretty durn cute and should have been running around in halter tops quite a bit more than I did, at the time I felt the usual young-lady insecurity about...well, everything. So I think I also just did not want to be associating with something with a name like SOWS, like to give myself a fighting chance.)

I didn't - and don't - like exlcusionary groups NOT because I am so open-minded and open-hearted that I just love everyone and everything the same. (As we established, I don't actually have a heart, just a shrivelled little nub of an organ that keeps the venom circulating regular.)

Rather I cannot stand everyone and everything about the same, and so I don't like exclusionary groups because I think you are all a bunch of shaved monkeys (when I say you, I mean THEM, not YOU, Reader[s], I mean the Other People, the ones who don't read this) so why bother dividing you up into classes and colors and genders of shaved monkeys and making distinctions about it. Most of the time I'm too busy being racked with despair that I am trapped here with the lot of you all (Other People) on this, the only planet we know of that I can survive on.

But, occasionally, despite this, sometimes I cannot help but notice that certain kinds of shaved monkeys aggravate me in particular ways. Again, ultimately, the quantity of aggravation is about equal, it's more like...like Style Points.

So, with that preamble out of the way, today, Ladies, let's discuss some Style Points you've been accumulating. The following is directed at you because I keep hearing something similar from quite a few of you every week, whereas I cannot think of a single instance of a guy doing this. And I talk - literally - to hundreds of people every month so screw it, I'm going to make a distinction.

First of all, let me say I know first hand the conditioning we go through to be cooperative rather than competitive, to always be inclusive and considerate, and all that other stuff. And, actually, that is all good stuff.

But that said, when I ask you "What are your current job duties?" your answer should NOT nearly exclusively contain the pronoun "we" unless you are, in fact, applying for a job with your conjoined twin.

You might be working as part of a team. You might feel like giving credit where credit is due. It might feel weird to toot your own horn. But guess what? Your team is not going to get you this job. Your modesty is not going to get you this job.

The purpose of an interview is for you to draw for me, the interviewer, clear connections between what YOU have done and how that will fit in with a new position. And if you kept telling me how "we did this" and "we did that," I'm going to wonder what the heck YOU were doing at that previous job besides trailing along behind all those other folks.

So, ladies, say it with me now: I. I. I. I.

If you did it, you can take credit for it. So say it.

Actual Unfortunate Names - Too Good to Leave in Comment Trail

A million thanks to Lisa the Mad Tatter for alerting me to what is really one of the most questionable and unfortunate names I have encountered. From her comment:

You think "Lucifer" and "Little" are bad? I know of a young man (7 years old) by the name of Handsomestranger. Yes. Handsomestranger. It begs the question: Was he named for his father?

That is FANTASTIC. Merry Early Xmas Everyone!

From the ashes!

My will to nitpick basic spelling/grammatical errors on resumes has been nearly destroyed by the realization that its existence is utterly pointless and anachronistic in today's world...

But every once in a while, it's stirred to life, like the phantom pain of an amputated limb. And today it wants to say:

Is it too much to ask that, if you make $140,000 a year BASE SALARY, working at a job that can be done whilst SEATED and in an climate-controlled building, you know the difference between "your" and "you're"?

Is it, sir? Is it really so beyond the pale to expect that?

And now (to mix imagery) my will to nitpick has exhausted its frail constitution. It's slithering back into its hole. (Please feel free to refer back to the prior sentence for correct usage of "its" vs "it's." Like anybody cares.)

That sound you heard, Candidate...

...was the phone falling from my hand in stunned disbelief when you said the following sentence to me (emphasis, this time, not really added, just transcribed):

"Yeah, right now, I'm really working a solid forty hours a week."

Now, please excuse me for a moment, Candidate, while I turn to Reader(s) and explain this to them.

Was this person emphasizing the amazing work-life balance available in their current position?

Or was this a person in a part-time position explaining why she figured she might as well move to a full-time role?

No, Reader(s), and no.

This was a person COMPLAINING. To ME. The person interviewing them for a FULL-TIME job.

I mean, look, you can see the time I'm posting this, I'm no innocent, I know we don't always work a "solid forty hours a week."

Nevertheless, do we complain about it when we have to? You know, complain about working the number of hours generally considered to be a normal workweek? In a job interview? What is she, from FRANCE or something?

P.S. She wasn't. And not slagging off on the French, just sayin' I'd understand the statement if she had been.

I'm sorry to have been unclear, Rain Man.

Okay, so let's say your current and previous position titles were some variation on Florn-Jumper. You've been an Assistant Florn-Jumper, Junior Florn-Jumper, and now risen in the ranks to become a Senior Florn-Jumper.

But in your heart, you know what you were really put on this earth to do is Queeg Analysis. Any time a project came up in your Florn-Jumping world that involved Queeg Analysis, you rose your sweaty little hand and said, "Me! Me, Boss, I can do that special Queeg Analysis project!"

And finally you are ready to get out of the Florn-Jumping business (much like pole-dancing, it's hard on the body) and try to get into Queeg Analysis full-time. So you apply to my current Queeg Analyst I position posting.

Now, I am hard up for candidates. So although I only see one lone bullet point on your resume about a special project involving Queeg Analysis and everything else seems a little off, I decide to give you a shot.

I talk to you about my Queeg Analyst position, and I like you. You seem like a bright lad. So I say, okay, although Queeg Analysis has not been your primary job duty, I believe you could do it, so I am going to send your resume to the hiring manager.

However, the hiring manager is going to need to be convinced. So I ask you to send me a new resume, highlighting your experience in Queeg Analysis.

What I meant was:

REWRITE your resume to expand on your experience in the area of Queeg Analysis. Although this might have just been a part of a project or two that you worked on in addition to your daily Florn-Jumping duties, flesh out your involvement to show you are not a complete Queeg Analysis novice.

What I DID NOT mean was:

Send me the EXACT SAME RESUME you already provided, but with the bullet point about Queeg Analysis highlighted. Literally. With the yellow highlighter function in MS Word.

I realize this is my own fault. I am talking to to some serious calculator-heads and as my friend who is married to one of them has pointed out, they can be like computers. You have to actually program each step or else they will...well, send you a resume with a bullet point highlighted.

So my apologies, Raymond. I will be more precise moving forward.

P.S. I'm already irritated with my own intra-blog slang, so if you also found it a bit twee and aggravating, I am working on it. I do need to be vague but there must be a better way.

Breaking: It's not a conference call if there are only two people involved.

Then it is called a "phone call."

So please stop referring to it otherwise.