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Terrible Introductions (another reason why I suck at job interviews)
I manage jobs the way a child handles a kite- it’s either gone in twenty minutes or it lasts forever. In fifteen years as a fulltime worker, I’ve had three jobs that lasted over four years each, two of which only ended when the company closed. I’ve had twelve jobs that lasted under an hour. My career expectancy rate mirrors the lifecycle of goldfish or Stephen Bochco shows- usually dead in minutes, but with an outside shot at greatness. If I still own a uniform by lunch, I’m ready to move for the job. Why does my tenure often end so abruptly? Because I introduce myself like a John Ritter character, spilling coffee on computers (HTTC Consulting), telling an out-of-uniform manager to “get lost” (Hilton) and calling the owner’s alma mater a “Dennys with keyboards” (Frontier Fruit and Nut). Some entrances have even resulted in injury, like –in my worst example– Battery One Stop, where my manager’s opening tour was abruptly canceled after I licked a 30 volt battery. Wanna see your manager panic like a bomb threat was just received: electrocute yourself prior to sharing emergency contact info. You’ll never work another day with the company, but the employees would sooner forget a visit from Elvis than your ten minutes. To recount how I licked a battery during an introduction, it is probably necessary to first explain why I licked a battery at all. As a child, my cousins and I always placed 9 volt batteries on our tongue –if they were included in a gift– because, when both terminals are placed squarely, they release a quick, silly charge. So, when my manager, Sue, opened a drawer of miscellaneous batteries while detailing the store’s inventory system, I grabbed a plain, boxy piece, and –before she could explain any thing– I said, “ever do this before” and licked it. Sue, who was not given time to answer that question, watched in stunned silence as my body was jolted like a “flat-liner” on ER. The battery, I learned, was not a 9 volt unit, but, rather, a 30 volt dynamo. I could run into a low ceiling at full speed and not equal the force it generated. I was jerked into a wall of watches, whose contents were falling like dominos, as I rolled against the barrier, panting “oh my, oh what happened?”. However, it sounded more like, “ooohhh mmmm happn?” since I could not move or feel my tongue, which was, at this point, dangling from my mouth as I waived air on to it. A customer, who entered after hearing me crash against the walls, must have thought I was foolishly attempting to eat the world’s hottest slice of pizza. Once I stopped twisting in surprise, I was fine, but moving my tongue was still burdensome. As a philosophy major and software engineer, I’ve had to explain some rather difficult concepts, but nothing was more challenging than clarifying why I licked a battery using only my hands. Charades has no easy technique for sharing, “I was expecting a third of its actual energy”. Sue understood none of my motions and is, by this point, certain of only one thing: I clearly lied about being “a bona fide expert on batteries”. After all, ‘an expert’ probably learns, in a very early lesson, not to ‘tongue’ electrical currents. And no expert, regardless of the field, needs you to call his mom for a ride home. Here’s a distinction your mom never wants to hear while negotiating a turn: “mom, you can’t technically be fired if you were never allowed to start- it doesn’t make any sense!”. I’m the only person in the world who licks a battery and then accuses someone else of lacking sense: “mom, I’m not going to focus on why I electrocuted myself- the more important question is, are we dealing with a logical paradox here and, if so, how are we going to submit a valid W2?” You can also bookmark this on del.icio.us or check the cosmos RSS feed for comments on this post. | TrackBack URI Leave a Comment |
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