You know it's Friday the 13th...

...when your Gay Husband calls you and cheerfully announces that one of the engines on the plane he was on this morning EXPLODED.

!
!
!

The Gay Husband has a bizarre (to me) and deep love and appreciation for aviation, has worked for airlines, made me take him on a airplane-related tourist activity on his last visit...so his response to all this was measured calm and mild curiosity.

My response, on the other hand, even though as he was on the phone telling me this so clearly he was safe, was to nearly pass out then nearly start to cry.

I don't like planes. I don't like flying. The planes are so BIG and HEAVY. I don't believe in the physics that keep them aloft. I just can't believe it! You can explain it to me a hundred times, I still react like some superstitious dark ages ignoramus who thinks it's all DEVIL MAGIC.

I went through a weird period post-9/11 where I was seriously COMPLETELY terrified to fly. Not, mind you, because of terrorists. I think my brain had some kind of meltdown, though, after seeing the planes fly into the buildings over and over again. It's like we have an understanding of what planes can and cannot do, and to see that totally broke down my subconscious understanding of What Planes Do. Like because my brain couldn't process the horror of what had happened, it just stopped...almost like believing in flight at all. It is obviously a totally irrational thing to think - but I guess being irrational is sometimes how your brain handles things it finds too horrible to process rationally.

Anyway, with time that all faded and I can now get on a plane and not feel gripped with utter terror.

Nevertheless. THE ENGINE EXPLODED. Gay Husband wants to research the nitty gritty of what happens during such accidents. I want to crawl under my bed and cling to the ground.

This Post Has Been Outsourced: Other Workplace Laffs

This is a dead blog, but it is worth a read, from the start through the completion (it doesn't take that long). Because we ALL have been there.

But before I go...

...the Public had this to say today.

From candidate's resume headline:

"Just greaduated"

This wasn't Myspace. This was Monster.

And this wasn't a typo inserted in the midst of a big block of text.

These are the only two words in the headline. Ergo, this person only had two words to scan to proof this and think..."Hmm. Fifty percent of the first thing I am showing to a prospective employer looks somehow...off."

I have, on occasion, physically harmed innocent hardware due to frustration with Microsoft software. Nevertheless, I can see that Bill Gates is a smart dude.

And so the fact that Bill Gates is concerned enough about appear before Congress to speak about how he is, essentially, kinda scared shitless about the state of American education might be enough to make me sit up and take notice. However, I don't actually need that because the crumbling American education system seems to make a little appearance on my desktop at least every other day.

And the heavens opened up...

Okay, I KNOW I am constantly saying that the blog is on the verge of running out of steam and devolving into being solely shoe criticism.

BUT

This time I might mean it.

I might be getting out of direct candidate contact and moving into being safely ensconced in the bubble wrap of managing a process as opposed to actually carrying out a process. You know: becoming one of those people mercifully ignorant of what it's actually like on the ground. One of those people for whom I currently feel nothing but contempt and resentment. I can't wait to be just like them!!!

I might still have to talk to candidates on occasion but the constant, daily state of being bludgeoned about the head and neck with the heavy blunt instrument that is the Public might be coming to an end. Smell ya later, Public!

I have a few anecdotes stored up so I might be posting those over the next few weeks, but I am really thinking this might be it.

Off-Topic: I don't want to do this to you, Reader...

...but I have to.

Back whenever "The Twilight Zone" TV series came back in the 80's or 90's or...wait a minute, this is the internet, I don't need to wonder, I can research. Hold, please.

.
.
.
Okay, it was the FIRST revival of "The Twilight Zone" which took place from 1985-1989, there was one episode I saw that has stuck with me to this day. Actually, there are two, but only one is relevant to this blog post.

This one was about someone figuring out the meaning of life, but it drove them crazy, and every person they told it made THEM crazy and so on and so forth. At least I think that's what it was. I could probably research that on the internet, but I am a busy lady.

Anyway, I think I have the blog post containing the YouTube clip that might be the internet equivalent of this. I saw it a few days ago on the blog 99sense (which, by the by, brilliantly showcases the stuff you find at discount stores, which I am all about).

Kangsta, the author, leads into the clip by saying, about the woman in the clip, "This chick owns me." I read that and was all, "Whatever, Internet Hyperbole!"

I watched it, and thought, "Well, okay. That is kinda special."

But now days later and I cannot get this clip out of my head. Not just in a song-stuck-in-my-head-way but...

This

chick

owns

ME.

Cue field of stars with floating window frame.

Anyway, it's at the very bottom of this post. You COULD just scroll down, but what's your hurry? Read the whole thing - it's all pretty damn funny.

The Ill-Suit Road Show

I had to travel for business this week. It was not horrible. This surprised me.

I have been fortunate enough to not have to travel for biz in over 2.5 years. The main thing that has changed: Bluetooth.

I also had the opportunity to see, wandering around its natural environment (i.e., a business travel hotel), a certain organism that I don't encounter into often in the circles I run with: The Corporate Guy Who Is Clinging to His Edginess.

• He's wearing Dockers but has an awkwardly-large gold hoop earring.
• He leaves the complimentary hotel breakfast early to go outside and smoke a cigarette with the sucked-in-cheek eye-squinty drag of someone who still looks at their reflection while smoking and practices looking cool.
• His sunglasses say: "I'm trying really hard."
  

I find these dudes fascinating. I want to make a reality show about them. I want to know who they thought they were going to be when they were younger. Who is this person all these little signifiers are pointing to? What is this identity they are not yet willing to let go of? Ill-suited minds are dying to know!

Also from this trip: somebody was having a VERY...um...rambunctious and vocal great time in a random Silicon Valley hotel at 8:00 AM on a Monday morning. Those of us blearily trudging our way down the hotel hall heading to all-day conferences were glad that somebody was having fun.


Speaking of fun, I guess my hotel was trying out some new features as I was apparently staying in an entire Magic Fingers ROOM. The WHOLE THING randomly vibrated. Like things would jiggle across the desk. I was too exhausted at the idea of packing up my crap so I didn't complain, but Hotel: what the heck?

And that was about it. I was expecting to have all sorts of laffs from the trip, but this client - despite all of The Crazies I tell you about - actually seems to be populated by smart, not crazy, likable people. It was, quite frankly, a little disconcerting. Possibly my and my counterparts' roles as Gatekeepers keeping out all the crazies DO actually do something more than drive us to despair and refined carbs? I honestly hadn't considered that possibility.

Have you managed to avoid the onslaught of cuteness...

...that is I Can Has Cheezburger?

If so, get out from under your internets rock and get your RDA of cute cute cute.

If you have already experienced it, well, your day is already a rainbow of flavor so there you go.

Word Cop: Are you tired? Or hesitant due to concerns?

My Readers seem like a pretty literate bunch so this is in no way directed at you all. This is for Hiring Managers.

If you have some concerns about a candidate's background and are therefore feeling reluctant to bring them on board, you can be

a) LEERY
or
b) WARY

But if you put the two together, it does not, actually make a super-strength hybrid of the two. It just makes you tired because that is what WEARY means. And I really doubt you are "really super exhausted of his background due to his job hopping." The candidate might be weary from the hopping. (rimshot)

But you are, again, either LEERY or WARY.

Thank you and good day sir.

Vernal Equinox Has Sprang, Part Deux

Okay, I know I just promised less navel-gazing, but...I am sitting here this afternoon and wondering what this odd feeling is that I have when I realized:

I AM HAPPY IN ANTICIPATION OF GOING TO JOB 3 THIS EVENING.

I AM LOOKING FORWARD TO IT. "IT" MEANING WORK.

I can't stop being totally weirded out by all of this.

Recruiter: Heal Thyself

Considering all my navel-gazing and off-topic posts of late, I have somewhat lost the moral high ground when it comes to berating others for overestimating my give-a-care about their personal details through the job search process. Let's face it: the bread and butter of a blog like this are ridiculous e-mail addies and poor phone manners, not what I think about this season's couture shoes.

NEVERTHELESS. I have never been less than forthcoming about my own hypocrisy (which, actually, sort of makes my hypocrisy rather noble and impervious to criticism, no? What? Oh, ACTUAL "No," huh? Well.) so I am take a break from providing you with every little irrelevant detail about my own life and get right back on that horse of pointing shaming fingers at those who assume we find every little irrelevant detail of their lives just so endlessly fascinating. (*Snorting with derision*) Idjits!

So today we were discussing this recruitment company that we are considering using. It's the kind of company to whom you pay wads and wads of cash up front in order to get some possible folks.

We reviewed the website, and there is a page dedicated to the founder of the company whom, I suspect, sort of IS the company. Ya know what I mean? You get the sense it might be one dude + one fancy website and that's about it.

On the section about him, it references some of his recruiting experience...but then it prominently features all this other stuff, like how he is a certified Rolfer and something about an ashram and some other stuff about Tai Chi...and it's like, I'm not against any of those things in my personal life, like whatever. Ashram it up, dude.

But I can just imagine one of the higher-ups in contract review doing due diligence when we submitted this multi-$K request for funds and going, "Um, WHAT? This shining example of professionalism is the person you want me to pay a fee UP FRONT for candidates, sight unseen? DENIED." (Insert sound of giant rubber stamp thwacking down.)

When recruiters themselves can't tell the difference between appropriate-professional and appropriate-personal...well, we're losing. I'm losing.

Off-topic: This is why I had to speak out.

(Yes, I'm talking about shoes again.)

See.

First they take a kitten heel and put it on a wedge sandal, and you think...that's awful, but it just seems like an isolated fashion aberration so I'm not going to do anything about it.

But THEN DONNA KARAN just goes and puts a TEVA-STYLE SANDAL on a WEDGE SANDAL? And suddenly everyone who didn't speak out about the sick mating of the kitten heel with the wedge sandal shares responsibility.




OK, once again I am reverting to super stevedore language so close your eyes and plug your ears if you're delicate:

Sweet fancy Moses, what the fuck is that catastrophe of a shoe, Donna Karan?

....

What did the wedge sandal DO to these people that they want to punish it so? I know Diane von Furstenberg disparaging calls them "prosthetic-looking," but honestly, I've never heard anyone else say one bad word about the wedge.

It's fun, it's kicky. Sure, it's a little ankle-twisty, but whatever: avoid uneven surfaces and never ever for a minute stop paying attention to what you're doing and you'll be fine.

So why? WHY? Why must you mangle a perfectly adorable summertime shoe this way?

(Photo from Vogue this month, shot by Steven Meisel)

Vernal Equinox is All Sprang Up in Here

I am now up to three jobs. However, Job 2 and Job 3 are related to things that I enjoy doing and am interested in. This is a very weird development.

As we all know (or I guess more accurately, as I theorize based on very little data and then presume everyone agrees with), our current economic model depends on despair to thrive. So jobs that many might find rewarding and engaging generally pay about a half a farthing and a crust of stale bread once every other fortnight.

This is why so few people I know seem able to actually make a living doing something they truly enjoy. We all seem to end up sort of doing the thing we are best able to tolerate without bludgeoning to death co-workers, customers/clients and managers.

I realize that this might seem like a pretty banal epiphany, but banal epiphanies are the sort I am best at: doing some stuff you like is like REALLY a lot better than doing stuff you can just tolerate. I realize that is not only a banal epiphany, it is essentially a tautology, but still. It's kind of news to me.

I guess at some level - even though I've been blindly fighting towards doing work I like - I think I still had a very deeply ingrained belief that...well, ALL work was WORK. "That's why they have to pay you to do it!" and all. I guess until I actually experienced doing some things I liked, I did not really truly realize and understand HOW MUCH BETTER LIFE IS that way. And not just while you are at work. You are like, just happier in general.

Again: banal, obvious, but I am sometimes like a space alien who has only recently landed on this planet and there is still a lot I am figuring out.

So this epiphany occurred because of this morning. Normally I have to work nearly every weekend on Job 1 - recruiting - primarily because I let myself get behind during the week because in between talking to The Crazies I have to take a lot of breaks to avoid losing my shit entirely with the next person. There is a lot of talking myself down in this current role.

And, normally, after getting through a weekend of work by numbing myself with refined sugars and having marathons of house-flipping shows on in the background (I find watching jobs that both have a beginning, middle and an end AND make things look very tidy and clean very satisfying which is why I could watch house-flipping shows all day every day), I usually start off Monday feeling close to as exhausted as I felt when I ended on Friday.

But after this weekend - which was no less filled with work than normal, just a different sort, I awoke this morning chipper and A-OK with things. I did not have to beat off the hovering black cloud of gloom as I trudged my way to the coffee maker. I did not have to give myself a pep talk and then escalate that to a stern talking-to to keep from returning to the warm comfort of my lovely bed. I was just all...fine and shit.

Who knows what effect this will have on this blog? Like the economy, it depends on despair to thrive. A cheerful Ill-Suit might be likely to post the below and call it a goshdarn day!

Despair: Now in Real Time!

Normally I do try to buffer in some time between the day job happenings and my posts due to my totally unwarranted paranoia.

But today I am feeling ca ca enough to just go ahead and LIVE BLOG THE AWFULNESS.

I have phone screened a gajillion people this week and 90% of them have been:

• Unqualified despite what their resumes said. It stretches the boundaries of credulity, if you have only used a certain software once a month in a job you have held for a few months, to call yourself an "current expert user." Maybe so, but the hiring manager is going to think I am an idiot if I send you in for an interview. Now get off my phone. Thank you for wasting 15 minutes of my life with your fibs.
• Complete nutjobs. I know I am the Girl Who Cried Nutjobs, BUT this week I received independent confirmation from someone who is not a misanthrope (she is, in fact, a REGULAR and NORMAL person) that all of these candidates are, in fact, totes crazeeeeee.
• Argumentative and vaguely belligerent. I am not a person who goes looking for confrontation - the LAST thing I want is more interaction with humans - so I am usually eager to deflect and avoid. Nevertheless, I seem to have stumbled upon a group of candidates that is itching for trouble. I know I know I should show and not tell but I am too exhausted to give you some specific examples. It's just all oddly adversarial out there, which, to me, is not a word I would normally associate with recruiting. And again: independent confirmation from a cheerful, non-curmudgeonly co-worker.

AND WHAT IS WORSE:

It is THURSDAY! Not Friday! I mean, it's nearly Friday and that means it's nearly not a workday (although they are ALL workdays right now, but at least on Saturday and Sunday it's just me and the laptop and I don't have to talk to any people). But I have about four more hours of phone screening today and I do not know how I am going to get through it without losing it all over one of these people. Even the cheerful co-worker admitted yesterday that she was nearly yelling at a candidate.

Having to pay deep attention to complete strangers all day long sometimes feels like zombies are eating out my brain.

Resume advice involving zero references to poop or shoes

While I'm out, here is some resume advice that a) confirms what I'm always gnashing my teeth about and b) is boring.

The Ill-Suit got a spot

And is at the cleaners. Will be back in three days if we get there before closing.

Off-Topic: I cannot remain silent on this issue.

I am trying to stay on topic lately, but something has come to my attention and I simply cannot sit quietly by. I must speak out.

Now, I want to make it clear that I do my best to avoid mindlessly settling into any gender-based cliches. But sometimes I must admit that my genuine tastes and some stereotypical girlie concerns overlap. Mainly with shoes.

I am sure that somebody in gender studies has written a paper like "Binding Her Own Feet: Women, Patriarchy and the Semiotics of High Heels" or something along those lines. (Aside: is there an online Master's Thesis Title Generator? If not, there should be.) But I personally cannot and choose not to parse my reaction to shoes. I just love them, and the higher-risk, the better.

Except not these.



Ok, for those of you who don't like salty language, skip the rest of this post.

Fendi, makers of this monstrosity: What the fuck is this shit? A KITTEN HEEL on a WEDGE SANDAL?

Number One: I can walk in anything but this has broken ankle written ALL OVER IT.

And B! It's hideous. HIDEOUS. I am offended by the very existence of this shoe.

If, Reader, you disagree and would like to spend NEARLY $500 on this mutant shoe, here's where you can.

But click that link and never darken my doorstep...er...blogstep?...again! I have to draw the line somewhere.

(I'm just playin', Reader, I still love you! Come back! Please!)

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.