Monday, Monday!
Well, here I am sitting at my desk Monday morning with my tea, logging on to the internet with an intent to waste a few hours looking busy. Who says unemployment is that different from fulltime work?
And here I am trying to decide what exactly my theme is going to be this week. Optimally, it should be something entertaining... Let's see, what is entertaining? Hmmm... well, if I take popular television as a model then I'd have to surmise that something reality-based is the way to go... And something that shows me in the poorest light possible, too...
EUREKA! By Jove, I think I've got it! Public Humiliation! That's it! Ladies and gentlemen...
WELCOME TO BOOB WEEK!
(That's boob in the sense of "idiot", not "breasts". I apologize for any inconvenience this may have caused.) Well, now that we've got a name for my pain, let's get straight to the moronity!
Interview with a new hire Back when I was 25 I got my very first office job. It was in a huge, stifling, corporate Insurance brokerage and I was ecstatic. It was the first job where I didn't have to wear a hairnet or have to suggest accessories to someone at the end of a business transaction. In my naivete I believed that I was now in a professional world where there was protocol and levels of authority and a certain standard of behaviour that was reserved for executives and executives alone. (Now, of course, I know that that is a giant load of horse crap, but back then I was young, so young.)
Plus, I had just been put through the paces of actually getting a job, which means that I was well versed in the "I am a Viking Warrior come to conquer the tasks of collating and filing, ask of me what you will!" back-and-forth that is the excruciating process of being interviewed. I knew all of the things that were meant for me to answer. "I don't think of them as problems, only as challenges" and "well, I guess I'd have to say that I'm just too darn much of a perfectionist!" and of course, "I see myself following in your footsteps, sir and/or madam" *smile shyly*.
I was only at the office a few months when I met The President. I had of course heard tell of The President in song and story, even caught sight of him once or twice, but I had not yet met the legendary man himself. It was fitting, then, that I should finally meet up with him on my birthday. Earlier in the day I had had my first boring office gathering where I had been given awful too-sugary iced-to-within-an-inch-of-its-life cake by mostly indifferent coworkers. As I waited for the elevators and awkwardly held a giant piece of the awful cake ("take it home... for later!"), The President floated out of his suite of offices and came to rest beside me. It seemed I had stayed as late as The President. That's always a good thing, right? I was immediately alert and professional, yet very nervous. I did not want to blow my first executive meeting, even if I was holding overly-iced baked goods. I smiled and said nothing.
He smiled back. The elevator was taking forever so I guess he decided to strike up a conversation. He introduced himself. I said that I of course knew who he was (stupid thing to say, moron, too eager! You want to be positive, not obsequious). He was silent for a bit. Then he asked me how long I had been at the company, what department I worked in, did I like it there, etc. and I answered it all very professionally, positively and confidently. After an uncertain start I was totally nailing this interview. The elevator took another millenium to arrive. He smiled again and then said, "and you are...?" I searched my brain... what did he want from me? What answer could he possibly be looking for? I had already given him all the right answers! I told him I liked it here! I had totally forgotten that I hadn't introduced myself and I was still in "Be Super-positive" mode. I am... what?! I furrowed my brow a bit and then said haltingly, "...happy?" He blinked a couple of times, laughed politely at me, mumbled "good" or something and we rode down 17 floors in silence, the horrible cake openly mocking me the entire way.
Still, it was the only interview I ever failed because I forgot my own name, though.
So far, anway.
Well, here I am sitting at my desk Monday morning with my tea, logging on to the internet with an intent to waste a few hours looking busy. Who says unemployment is that different from fulltime work?
And here I am trying to decide what exactly my theme is going to be this week. Optimally, it should be something entertaining... Let's see, what is entertaining? Hmmm... well, if I take popular television as a model then I'd have to surmise that something reality-based is the way to go... And something that shows me in the poorest light possible, too...
EUREKA! By Jove, I think I've got it! Public Humiliation! That's it! Ladies and gentlemen...
WELCOME TO BOOB WEEK!
(That's boob in the sense of "idiot", not "breasts". I apologize for any inconvenience this may have caused.) Well, now that we've got a name for my pain, let's get straight to the moronity!
Interview with a new hire Back when I was 25 I got my very first office job. It was in a huge, stifling, corporate Insurance brokerage and I was ecstatic. It was the first job where I didn't have to wear a hairnet or have to suggest accessories to someone at the end of a business transaction. In my naivete I believed that I was now in a professional world where there was protocol and levels of authority and a certain standard of behaviour that was reserved for executives and executives alone. (Now, of course, I know that that is a giant load of horse crap, but back then I was young, so young.)
Plus, I had just been put through the paces of actually getting a job, which means that I was well versed in the "I am a Viking Warrior come to conquer the tasks of collating and filing, ask of me what you will!" back-and-forth that is the excruciating process of being interviewed. I knew all of the things that were meant for me to answer. "I don't think of them as problems, only as challenges" and "well, I guess I'd have to say that I'm just too darn much of a perfectionist!" and of course, "I see myself following in your footsteps, sir and/or madam" *smile shyly*.
I was only at the office a few months when I met The President. I had of course heard tell of The President in song and story, even caught sight of him once or twice, but I had not yet met the legendary man himself. It was fitting, then, that I should finally meet up with him on my birthday. Earlier in the day I had had my first boring office gathering where I had been given awful too-sugary iced-to-within-an-inch-of-its-life cake by mostly indifferent coworkers. As I waited for the elevators and awkwardly held a giant piece of the awful cake ("take it home... for later!"), The President floated out of his suite of offices and came to rest beside me. It seemed I had stayed as late as The President. That's always a good thing, right? I was immediately alert and professional, yet very nervous. I did not want to blow my first executive meeting, even if I was holding overly-iced baked goods. I smiled and said nothing.
He smiled back. The elevator was taking forever so I guess he decided to strike up a conversation. He introduced himself. I said that I of course knew who he was (stupid thing to say, moron, too eager! You want to be positive, not obsequious). He was silent for a bit. Then he asked me how long I had been at the company, what department I worked in, did I like it there, etc. and I answered it all very professionally, positively and confidently. After an uncertain start I was totally nailing this interview. The elevator took another millenium to arrive. He smiled again and then said, "and you are...?" I searched my brain... what did he want from me? What answer could he possibly be looking for? I had already given him all the right answers! I told him I liked it here! I had totally forgotten that I hadn't introduced myself and I was still in "Be Super-positive" mode. I am... what?! I furrowed my brow a bit and then said haltingly, "...happy?" He blinked a couple of times, laughed politely at me, mumbled "good" or something and we rode down 17 floors in silence, the horrible cake openly mocking me the entire way.
Still, it was the only interview I ever failed because I forgot my own name, though.
So far, anway.
posted by Alanis at
8:51 AM
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