So much to get to, and nothing but time....
Does this count as an interview?
I had my second interview with what I thought was an interesting company, to be a Business Analyst. I would have learned some cool stuff (for my geeky behind, anyways) but boy oh boy did it turn out to be an epic waste of 17 minutes:
my interview was with a lady that used to work at GE the same time that I was. We knew of each other, never worked together, I never worked for her. She had my resume in hand and mentioned that she saw that I had worked for GE, then asked who I had worked for.
Once that formality was out of the way, she asked why I left. I've been prepped for this question for a long time, from coaching sessions to talking with family. The first few times I had answered this question, even in mock interviews, the bitterness flowed out of my mouth way too easily. Now there is a standard answer of, 'it was time for me to go pursue other ventures.'
Well, this woman knew. She left the company too. I told her it was a wee bit too chaotic for me, the open office, no time to think straight. She then told me this place was the same, that they have crappy info and it needed to be cleaned up. I asked, "so what is it you're really looking for?"
She told me-someone who can write SQL, XML and Java code. WTF? I don't do that stuff. I don't know how. She said she was looking for a technical analyst (at best, I'm like a business analyst), so we both laughed.
"I was wondering why they sent you to me. I know what you do, what you're about, and what you're capable of."
All I could tell her was 'thank you for the shortest and most honest interview I've ever had'. She said she would be contacting my contracting company to find out how this disconnect happened, and wished me well on my search.
I got on the elevator, looked up, and said 'I got it'.
The former city youth now Yuppie
I really don't know what else to say other than I have another friend being transformed-either slowly against his will or making a conscious decision to lose himself. Either way, it's sad. This guy moved out here a couple of years after I did, because I was 'doing so well', I had my own existence, and seemed a little bit happier (really?) than in college. Now he went and got married, hung up his Players Card and has become damn near unrecognizable. Want the last example? It's all about the Panera Bread, baby. I went to dinner at his new house, or I was on my way to dinner at his house, off the highway, when I got a text asking me to pick up bread at a place that is nowhere near his house...in rush hour traffic! Yup, so I went to go get this magical 3-cheese loaf when I start to snap. Rush hour traffic plus backtracking added to something I could care less about while realizing I'm about to pay some stupid amount of money for bread ?(it's #@$#ing bread, I can get a loaf of wheat bread for 88 cents at the grocery store, which is on the way to his house!) makes me beyond agitated.
So I get to this godforsaken place for bread and the girl behind the counter is yakking away to her cankle-ridden friend about going to a pool later on. Hello, paying customer with cash in hand right here. Apparently the playoff beard got me noticed by the manager in the back, who asked if she could help me. Is this the dumbest question out there in the customer service world? No, don't help me, just let me stand here like a moron. Can I see the gluten-free menu (at a Panera Bread??!!! Reason #1 why I couldn't work there)? I asked the manager how much? 'On the house' she said, as the nitwit behind the counter was trying to talk over her to tell me she could ring up my order. 'On the house', one more time, with nitwit asking why it was free. If you've ever seen one woman shoot daggers at another woman without saying 'DUH', you are missing out on one of life's great pleasures. Because that's what happened. Sweet, free bread, now I know what the immigrants getting off the boat at Ellis Island must've been greeted with. Back to traffic. After this damn near hour long trek for flour, egg, baking powder and salt (yup, bread) I get to my buddy's house. To which his Mom greets me with 'your beard looks stupid'. Gee, thanks. 'You could stand to lose some weight.' Where am I, my GramGram's house? I thought these kind of insults were only allowed to be hurled by family. I stand corrected.
After a few more barbs, 'you can't go looking like that to an interview, you look homeless', I got to help move the new furniture around. Suffice to say, I was put to work. Hey, at least I finally got a beer, and my friends wife was kind enough to recognize me getting pummeled like a pinata on Cinco de Mayo.
Why am I sad? Because my buddy used to stand up for himself, not give a crap about every mundane detail, because things would always get handled. Now? Let's worry about $6 bread (no it was not the MarbleRye from Seinfeld), the table has to be centered exactly under the light (with a damn measuring tape?!), the TV has to be put on the new stand, even though you're returning it in a day. My superstitions are dumb. Really? Let's discuss that, shall we?
Syracuse winning the national title? Same shirt, socks and shoes worn for all games, no washing. Rib stains, mustard stains and all stretched out on the shirt? You betcha? Did a freshman win Most Outstanding Player for only the 3rd time in the tourney's history? Yup.
Pats 1st Super Bowl win..did I move from my spot on the couch the entire game? Nope. Biggest upset in the history of the game up until that point? Yup.
Wanted to win a fantasy football title (shadup, it's my blog, and I'm proving my point), did I grow my goatee to an astronomical ridiculous fullness? Yup. Did I win, not one, but two championships? Why yes, yes I did.
Now, the playoff beard. Will it work? I have no idea. But I will say that a #4 seed is in the finals for game 7, and I sure would like them to win.
Am I superstitious? I guess so. You know what else? Who cares! If it works in my mind then it's true, isn't that the whole point of believing in something?
My buddy no longer believes in things other than Crate & Barrel and interest rates. Sad. If that's what being an adult is, count me out.
No comments:
Post a Comment