Interview Evaluation: Unquo-ing the Status
The interview was only about 10 minutes long. I walked in -- nice and confident, all smiles. Shook her hand very warmly, sat down straight. Mostly succeeded in not rocking.
First question: Tell me about yourself -- what kind of place are you at in your life right now.
I didn't lie. I told her I was an English major, minoring in creative writing. That I wanted to go on to graduate school, focusing on pop culture and science fiction and how that sort of thing shapes the current culture. That my husband was divorcing me and that I needed a job.
She wanted to know what I thought my greatest attributes were. I flubbed this one a bit - repeated something I said at the beginning, so I wound it down as quickly as possible. I told her that I took my responsibilities seriously and was dedicated to my work -- I cited my 4.0 grade average and mentioned that even when I had no transportation and lived three miles away from the school, I biked to school every day, rain or shine. I said that I thought on my feet, citing my experience as a stage manager (unfortunately, when I accidentally repeated myself, I sort of undermined this one...oh well), and that I was hard working and so on.
Then she wanted me to talk about my employment history. I laughed and said, ah yes, the gap. So I explained it to her -- told her the god's honest truth (though I omitted the fact that after I quit the prison, it had sent me into a spiraling depression - she didn't need to know that). She seemed sympathetic when I said I wasn't psychologically equipped to deal with inmates masturbating in front of me.
As far as I can tell (and what Dad confirmed when I called him about it -- he's hired people before --) it was a text book perfect interview. (It was much better than my first interview -- which is saying something since, despite the fact that I've lost count to how many jobs I've applied for, only two jobs (including this one) have actually called me back.)
I think it's text book perfect pitch is why I didn't get the job. Everything was strong and unique and me except for the attributes bit -- if everybody studies up for an interview and says the exact "perfect" words, then a status quo will be established. Since any floozie can do a google search for the perfect interview, I'm sure the bar will necessarily be raised once everybody starts to say the "right" thing. It is no longer enough to be able to parrot back the right adjectives in an outgoing, confident manner -- if I do, I'm just another face in the masses that succeeded in doing my homework. Well, here's a gold star for you, honey, but this is the real world. Wow the proverbial socks off us please. Without being cliched. Only we're allowed to be cliched. Now, go.
So, what I need to do is seriously consider what my best qualities are. I need to come up with new words, stronger words, splendiferious words to describe myself. What does hardworking mean anymore? As Delirium says, once you say a word often enough, it loses all meaning. I can't just be a poet on paper, or when I'm feeling like a wordsmith -- I need to be a poet every hour of every day. I need to see myself in new ways, and I need to let other people see how I view myself by allowing the words I choose to shepherd them towards that conclusion.
I am a living, organic poem. I need to start acting that way instead of just like any other Mary Jane or John Doe. I need to literally write myself into being through language that is not cliche, regurgitated by thousands of potential employees ever interview like yesterday's vomit. Something fresh and green -- vernal -- if you please.
The other thing I am considering is completely omitting my employment history. It's spotty. It's cancerous. It's the gang-grene of my resume. Apparently, a year volunteering at a hospital, a year volunteering at a library, the honor of being on both the dean's and president's lists, two writing awards, and a gpa of 4.0 (over a three year academic career) does not adequately communicate the fact that I am not some employment butterfly, flitting here and there from job to job with no sense of permanence or stability.
Fine. Let's excise that tumorous portion of my resume if it insists on overshadowing my other accomplishments.
I'm also going to pursue information regarding volunteering at the Crisis Pregnancy Center. I held off this week because of the job interview -- didn't want to commit to something and then say, oh, by the way, now that I have this real job -- I would do it on Friday, but they're only open from 10-1 and I'll be modeling then going to class (which ends at one) so I'll have to wait till Monday.
I'd say go forth young readers of mine and forge yourselves into a poem, but I don't know if that will actually work. Will let you know on my next interview. If I should have the good luck to get one.
It's almost 3 a.m. I suppose I should go to bed or something. I would like to send my upstairs neighbor and Munchkin a politely worded note that invites them to metaphorically screw themselves.
First question: Tell me about yourself -- what kind of place are you at in your life right now.
I didn't lie. I told her I was an English major, minoring in creative writing. That I wanted to go on to graduate school, focusing on pop culture and science fiction and how that sort of thing shapes the current culture. That my husband was divorcing me and that I needed a job.
She wanted to know what I thought my greatest attributes were. I flubbed this one a bit - repeated something I said at the beginning, so I wound it down as quickly as possible. I told her that I took my responsibilities seriously and was dedicated to my work -- I cited my 4.0 grade average and mentioned that even when I had no transportation and lived three miles away from the school, I biked to school every day, rain or shine. I said that I thought on my feet, citing my experience as a stage manager (unfortunately, when I accidentally repeated myself, I sort of undermined this one...oh well), and that I was hard working and so on.
Then she wanted me to talk about my employment history. I laughed and said, ah yes, the gap. So I explained it to her -- told her the god's honest truth (though I omitted the fact that after I quit the prison, it had sent me into a spiraling depression - she didn't need to know that). She seemed sympathetic when I said I wasn't psychologically equipped to deal with inmates masturbating in front of me.
As far as I can tell (and what Dad confirmed when I called him about it -- he's hired people before --) it was a text book perfect interview. (It was much better than my first interview -- which is saying something since, despite the fact that I've lost count to how many jobs I've applied for, only two jobs (including this one) have actually called me back.)
I think it's text book perfect pitch is why I didn't get the job. Everything was strong and unique and me except for the attributes bit -- if everybody studies up for an interview and says the exact "perfect" words, then a status quo will be established. Since any floozie can do a google search for the perfect interview, I'm sure the bar will necessarily be raised once everybody starts to say the "right" thing. It is no longer enough to be able to parrot back the right adjectives in an outgoing, confident manner -- if I do, I'm just another face in the masses that succeeded in doing my homework. Well, here's a gold star for you, honey, but this is the real world. Wow the proverbial socks off us please. Without being cliched. Only we're allowed to be cliched. Now, go.
So, what I need to do is seriously consider what my best qualities are. I need to come up with new words, stronger words, splendiferious words to describe myself. What does hardworking mean anymore? As Delirium says, once you say a word often enough, it loses all meaning. I can't just be a poet on paper, or when I'm feeling like a wordsmith -- I need to be a poet every hour of every day. I need to see myself in new ways, and I need to let other people see how I view myself by allowing the words I choose to shepherd them towards that conclusion.
I am a living, organic poem. I need to start acting that way instead of just like any other Mary Jane or John Doe. I need to literally write myself into being through language that is not cliche, regurgitated by thousands of potential employees ever interview like yesterday's vomit. Something fresh and green -- vernal -- if you please.
The other thing I am considering is completely omitting my employment history. It's spotty. It's cancerous. It's the gang-grene of my resume. Apparently, a year volunteering at a hospital, a year volunteering at a library, the honor of being on both the dean's and president's lists, two writing awards, and a gpa of 4.0 (over a three year academic career) does not adequately communicate the fact that I am not some employment butterfly, flitting here and there from job to job with no sense of permanence or stability.
Fine. Let's excise that tumorous portion of my resume if it insists on overshadowing my other accomplishments.
I'm also going to pursue information regarding volunteering at the Crisis Pregnancy Center. I held off this week because of the job interview -- didn't want to commit to something and then say, oh, by the way, now that I have this real job -- I would do it on Friday, but they're only open from 10-1 and I'll be modeling then going to class (which ends at one) so I'll have to wait till Monday.
I'd say go forth young readers of mine and forge yourselves into a poem, but I don't know if that will actually work. Will let you know on my next interview. If I should have the good luck to get one.
It's almost 3 a.m. I suppose I should go to bed or something. I would like to send my upstairs neighbor and Munchkin a politely worded note that invites them to metaphorically screw themselves.