Don't Quit Your Day Job

…that is, if you even have one.

Since I graduated from the university in May of 2005, I have applied for nearly 200 jobs and in return I got ONE interview and half a dozen post cards that stated, "Dear (Name): Thank you for your interest in our company...Unfortunately, your qualifications do not match our current needs...." Meanwhile, I have been temping for the last seven months since I left the mall.

My first assignment was temp-to-hire at a wealth planning firm that deals heavily in life insurance (getting the clients insured and then selling those policies for cash in the “secondary market” two years later). I was told I would be a receptionist, but I took on as many extra projects as possible because I just wanted to get hired somewhere—anywhere. I ended up tackling several major data entry projects and even going after reimbursements for the company.

I started there in the beginning of February and within 3 weeks, the rest of the staff wanted me to stay around. I was really flattered so I made a casual inquiry and was told by the independent contractor who was the liaison between the firm and my agency that I should submit my resume. I went one step farther and submitted my resume along with a letter of interest to the liaison, Mike, and the President/CEO of the firm. This was in late April. By August, I had followed up four times, having had to re-submit my resume because he lost it. Each time I was given the brush-off, “Uh yeah, you just let me know when you move. I don’t want to hire you until you’re settled because I want to make sure you can get here.”

During this whole time, Mike continued to recruit, advertise the open position in college newspapers, and interview for the position that I expressed interest in. Each lawn jockey that came in for an interview was white, male, very young, wealthy, and conservative. I joked with the staff members that were in support of hiring me that maybe the qualifications for the job were that the ideal candidate must have a penis and vote republican, and clearly I was unqualified.

By now I was getting frustrated because my rate of pay was commensurate with sitting on my ass and answering phones while playing computer solitaire, and the work I was actually doing would normally be paid much more. I made one final push (more like a shove) to get him to take me seriously.

I asked Mike if he would be willing to meet with me to discuss the status of my application and to go over some expectations, and I forwarded the email to my contact at the temp agency as well. He never mentioned that he got my email, and I had to go to him once again and ask if he read my email, and if so, would he meet with me. He submitted to my request, but looked like someone who has been cornered at a party by a previous one night stand whose phone number he threw away.

I brought in my resume, and he sat down and looked it over as if for the first time. I was cordial of course, but I had to break it down for him. I told him that my impending move should not bear any importance because as it stood at the present time, I was spending two and a half hours on the bus each day to get there, and anywhere I move would be closer if I was offered a job. I explained to him that in the receptionist role, I was operating way below my capabilities and really wanted to do something more challenging and learn some new skills. I added that if I were offered a position as a receptionist, I would turn it down because I would not be able to meet my financial obligations at that rate of pay. He informed me that I was not qualified for the policy holder services position that he was recruiting for because I did not know enough about policy analysis and performance. I tried to push back with an assurance that I am a quick learner, and cited some of the nuances of the industry that I had already picked up, but I was stonewalled.

My last hope was the other open position for an underwriting assistant, but Mike said he wasn’t ready to move on it for another four to six weeks, and then he would begin recruiting and advertising for resume submissions and I would be included in the pool of candidates. I was roiling in disbelief! Apparently he is unfamiliar with the conventions of the “Temp-to-Hire” agreement, which is that the duration of time working serves as a probationary period in lieu of an interview, and that if the employee is adequate, the company hires said temp. He was suggesting that I still needed to measure up against all the graduates just coming out of school into the workforce. Mind you, I have a fucking degree, plus fifteen years of work experience with nine of those in supervisory and managerial positions! And I am not qualified to fill out insurance forms and fax medical record requests?

Mike concluded the meeting by calling me “hon.”

At that moment, I saw RED. Then my mind quietly closed the door on the idea of working there permanently with a soft, yet satisfying, CLICK. I called my home office to let them know that I was again brushed aside, and said that his calling me “hon” made it clear that he did not take me seriously, so I would like to pursue some other opportunity. This was a good hunch, because as it turned out, Mike began to remind me consistently to offer clients a beverage. He did this in the presence of each client, and not five seconds after I had already offered them something to drink. And in six months, I had never forgotten to do so in the first place.

I went back and forth with the temp agency trying to convince them that a job offer was not forthcoming, and they kept going back to Mike and hearing, "Oh we're just not ready yet, I can't make any promises, we're looking into it..." and they wouldn’t make a move. They kept telling me to be patient, sit tight, see what happens. But the end of our rental agreement was fast approaching.

On principle, I refused to look for an apartment close to this firm without a solid job offer because the distance between my husband's place of work and their office was nearly impossible to navigate. They are about 15 or 20 miles apart with inner-city spanning the entire stretch between. There is no express mass transit that goes the entire distance, and it ends up to be an hour and a half from one point to the other. It was either live by my work, or live by his because we are not willing to tolerate living in the neighborhoods at the half way mark.

So we decided, fuck it then. Let’s just find someplace cute and cheap in a decent neighborhood. The place we found was great: well maintained and affordable in a quiet area, but very close to the hubby’s work. Because of the hellish commute, I was finally able to convince the agency to put in my notice and find me a new assignment.

Coincidentally, as soon as my agency informed Mike that I was leaving, applications flooded in for the underwriting assistant position, and someone was hired for the policy services assistant. The gals in the office shared some of the resumes they received, and they were terrible! I mean BAD, as in how could these college grad applicants not know that they shouldn’t use “pedialyte@yahoo” for their professional email, or list as their experience two jobs that lasted less than a month each. And the person they actually hired? Male, 22, and out of school for 3 months—yet somehow is more qualified than I to provide service to policy holders. I was really glad at that point to be leaving, and taking my professional resume and outstanding work history with me.

Two people even sent me e-greetings on my last day, one of which said she would miss having a “personality” like mine around the office. At four o’clock that day, the President/CEO approached me in the copy room and told me that he just found out that it was my last day, and I had an unprofessional moment, “You have GOT to be kidding me!” Reproaching, I said, “I’m sorry, I am just surprised that Mike didn’t tell you.” He requested that I stay in touch, and said he was sorry it didn’t work out, maybe some future opportunities, blah blah. I told him I tried my best to get hired, but there wasn’t anything else I could do (except maybe beg and get low-balled, but I didn’t say so).

I had had such an aggravating experience there, and I couldn’t tell the CEO why I was really leaving because I don’t want to burn any bridges since that’s a real bad habit. But most of the staff knew why I was going. The CEO’s personal assistant knew how many times I applied and followed up. And the general counsel knew that I was not about to tolerate being referred to with the sarcastic term of endearment, “hon,” meant as a power play. In the end, I just blew smoke up Mike’s ass and told him I was leaving because, gee, our new apartment was just too far away, and it was too long of a commute to their office.