only because I have never used either one in my lifetime, but since all of the job listings in the Times had called for them, I’d figured I ought to just add them, and then learn them if the need ever arose. How hard could it be really? They make Windows applications so simple that a monkey could use them. I mean, look at that America Online commercial with the monkey. He had no problems whatsoever sending a message to his friend to announce he’d passed his driving test.
“Of course,” I say with such authority that I actually believe that I could sit right down and figure out quadratic equations with my eyes shut.
“Great. Can you come in this afternoon? Say two o’clock?”
I
In the advertisements for these agencies, they should really warn you how depressing the offices are. It’s all puke green cinderblock walls, like in a prison, boring office carpeting that doesn’t even match, and a receptionist so rude that I can’t imagine a recruiting agency hasn’t found a better replacement. The worst part, though, is this one painting on black felt of a single clown, frowning as he looks up at his balloon that’s drifted up out of reach. Someone should do an article about this. “Job Hunting Nightmares,” or better yet, “Recruiting Agency Blues.”
After I dash through my application and pass it on to the receptionist (that is, once she’s through telling the person on the other end of the telephone about this blouse that she bought at Joyce Leslie that rang up for only $6, even though the tag said $25, what 21430_ch01.qxd 1/26/04 10:04 AM Page 46
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color it was, the type of cut, what she’ll pair it with, and when she’s thinking of wearing it), I say I am ready to take my tests now.
“What do you think all of these other people are waiting for? To get to the pearly gates?”
Okay. A simple “you’ll have to wait” would have been just fine, but I smile and take my seat in the sweetest way possible. Don’t bite the hand that feeds you, Joanne’s voice says in my head.
Perhaps I should just ask some people here about their feelings regarding job hunting through a recruiter, to get a bit of research for a possible article. I might as well pitch the story to one of the daily papers. What’s the worst they could say? Lord knows I’ve heard that N word before. I look around the room at the job hunters to find one that would be a good candidate for the story. To me, a good candidate is the kind of person who will see things the way I do. Perhaps this is not the best way to go about writing a story, but if they don’t say what I think they will, then the piece won’t work.
The first thing I do is look at shoes. I see a pair of scuffed up stack-heeled Mary Janes—cute, but unfortunately, very obviously plastic. I mean, you can’t very well hope to get a job if you come to an interview wearing plastic shoes. It’s all about impressions, which is why I am wearing the black leather pants I purchased for my last job interview at Jane , paired with a smart black and white tweed blazer, which I also bought for that interview. So, I didn’t get the job. But I looked the part. I really did. I shift my gaze to another corner of the room and spot a very stylish pair of natural-colored, point-tip stiletto boots, peeking from beneath a smart brown pantsuit. There’s my girl.
“Hi. How are you?” I ask, a bit too cheery-voiced for this particular waiting room. I’m like a clown in the ICU unit of a hospital.
“O-kaay,” she says hesitantly, probably wondering exactly why I am talking to her.
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D i a r y o f a Wo r k i n g G i r l 47
“I am researching an article and I’m wondering if I can perhaps ask you a couple of questions about using job recruiters.”
“For which publication?” she asks.
Shoot, a smart one. I hate this part, because now I have to explain that I don’t exactly have the assignment, but that I would
“Of course,” I say with such authority that I actually believe that I could sit right down and figure out quadratic equations with my eyes shut.
“Great. Can you come in this afternoon? Say two o’clock?”
I
In the advertisements for these agencies, they should really warn you how depressing the offices are. It’s all puke green cinderblock walls, like in a prison, boring office carpeting that doesn’t even match, and a receptionist so rude that I can’t imagine a recruiting agency hasn’t found a better replacement. The worst part, though, is this one painting on black felt of a single clown, frowning as he looks up at his balloon that’s drifted up out of reach. Someone should do an article about this. “Job Hunting Nightmares,” or better yet, “Recruiting Agency Blues.”
After I dash through my application and pass it on to the receptionist (that is, once she’s through telling the person on the other end of the telephone about this blouse that she bought at Joyce Leslie that rang up for only $6, even though the tag said $25, what 21430_ch01.qxd 1/26/04 10:04 AM Page 46
46
D a n i e l l a B r o d s k y
color it was, the type of cut, what she’ll pair it with, and when she’s thinking of wearing it), I say I am ready to take my tests now.
“What do you think all of these other people are waiting for? To get to the pearly gates?”
Okay. A simple “you’ll have to wait” would have been just fine, but I smile and take my seat in the sweetest way possible. Don’t bite the hand that feeds you, Joanne’s voice says in my head.
Perhaps I should just ask some people here about their feelings regarding job hunting through a recruiter, to get a bit of research for a possible article. I might as well pitch the story to one of the daily papers. What’s the worst they could say? Lord knows I’ve heard that N word before. I look around the room at the job hunters to find one that would be a good candidate for the story. To me, a good candidate is the kind of person who will see things the way I do. Perhaps this is not the best way to go about writing a story, but if they don’t say what I think they will, then the piece won’t work.
The first thing I do is look at shoes. I see a pair of scuffed up stack-heeled Mary Janes—cute, but unfortunately, very obviously plastic. I mean, you can’t very well hope to get a job if you come to an interview wearing plastic shoes. It’s all about impressions, which is why I am wearing the black leather pants I purchased for my last job interview at Jane , paired with a smart black and white tweed blazer, which I also bought for that interview. So, I didn’t get the job. But I looked the part. I really did. I shift my gaze to another corner of the room and spot a very stylish pair of natural-colored, point-tip stiletto boots, peeking from beneath a smart brown pantsuit. There’s my girl.
“Hi. How are you?” I ask, a bit too cheery-voiced for this particular waiting room. I’m like a clown in the ICU unit of a hospital.
“O-kaay,” she says hesitantly, probably wondering exactly why I am talking to her.
21430_ch01.qxd 1/26/04 10:04 AM Page 47
D i a r y o f a Wo r k i n g G i r l 47
“I am researching an article and I’m wondering if I can perhaps ask you a couple of questions about using job recruiters.”
“For which publication?” she asks.
Shoot, a smart one. I hate this part, because now I have to explain that I don’t exactly have the assignment, but that I would
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