Black Thursday
Harriet Miers wasn't the only one who had a bad day yesterday.
I, like the president's chief counsel, had been nominated to fill a very prestigious and important role (that of a part-time editorial assistant at the G* P* P* in Guilford, CT, in my case). Like Harriet Miers, I took meetings with those high-level officials who would be charged with deciding whether or not I was qualified to hold this position. I submitted a set of written documents in order to demonstrate my expertise in the relevant subject matter (specifically, one test of my proofreadings skills and a separate test of my copyediting skills). Like Harriet Miers, I was confident. But then yesterday morning, in what constituted a real sucker punch, I received a phone call informing me that they had chosen someone who was "a closer match" to fill their part-time editorial assistant position.
I felt like I was a shoo-in. I was one of only three applicants to the position! Surely, my background and qualifications, coupled with what I thought was a successful interview, were enough to to beat out only *two* other people for an entry-level part-time job in the New Haven suburbs. I mean, what the fuck!?
Perhaps the most painful part of this particular episode is how my attitude toward the job had evolved over the two weeks since I interviewed for it. As I drove home from the interview, I was convinced that I would be offered the position. I was so confident that I began thinking about applying to other part-time jobs in order to fill out my schedule. As a few days went by, I began to think that maybe I wouldn't take this job at G* P* (which I was still sure that I was going to get), because, I thought, why should I settle for this job when I was sure that'd be able to secure a bunch of better full-time jobs without much of a problem. But then the days started ticking by. No offers of better full-time jobs. As of Wednesday, I had accepted the fact that the job was the best thing I'd had going in a while, and that there was no good reason at this point not to take it (if something better ended up coming along, I could just quit!) I slept fitfully Wednesday night, somehow sure that the next day would be the day that I would, however grudgingly, accept an offer from the G* P* P*. I was in the shower when the call actually came, and my spirits lifted when I saw that I had missed a call from G* P*. I called back immediately, and before the situation could register in my head, the conversation was over. I was totally numb, but there was a loud ringing in my ears. I didn't get it. Fuck them.
My uncle told me that they probably hired someone else who was "less qualified" than me because "they don't want someone who's going to be looking for better jobs that are full-time." It's a nice thought (sort of) but I'd be an ego maniac if I actually subscribed to that idea.
Today, a new chapter in the search begins. Gone are my hopes for Entertainment Weekly and those jobs that are for people with all of those mystery qualifications that are some much more spectacular than mine. Today, it's time to start setting the bar low. It's time to realize that I'm not as singularly talented as my family thinks (yesterday, my aunt told me, with a completely straight face, that I should apply to The New Yorker). It's time to be realisitic. It's time accept my limitations. It's time, in short, to settle.
I, like the president's chief counsel, had been nominated to fill a very prestigious and important role (that of a part-time editorial assistant at the G* P* P* in Guilford, CT, in my case). Like Harriet Miers, I took meetings with those high-level officials who would be charged with deciding whether or not I was qualified to hold this position. I submitted a set of written documents in order to demonstrate my expertise in the relevant subject matter (specifically, one test of my proofreadings skills and a separate test of my copyediting skills). Like Harriet Miers, I was confident. But then yesterday morning, in what constituted a real sucker punch, I received a phone call informing me that they had chosen someone who was "a closer match" to fill their part-time editorial assistant position.
I felt like I was a shoo-in. I was one of only three applicants to the position! Surely, my background and qualifications, coupled with what I thought was a successful interview, were enough to to beat out only *two* other people for an entry-level part-time job in the New Haven suburbs. I mean, what the fuck!?
Perhaps the most painful part of this particular episode is how my attitude toward the job had evolved over the two weeks since I interviewed for it. As I drove home from the interview, I was convinced that I would be offered the position. I was so confident that I began thinking about applying to other part-time jobs in order to fill out my schedule. As a few days went by, I began to think that maybe I wouldn't take this job at G* P* (which I was still sure that I was going to get), because, I thought, why should I settle for this job when I was sure that'd be able to secure a bunch of better full-time jobs without much of a problem. But then the days started ticking by. No offers of better full-time jobs. As of Wednesday, I had accepted the fact that the job was the best thing I'd had going in a while, and that there was no good reason at this point not to take it (if something better ended up coming along, I could just quit!) I slept fitfully Wednesday night, somehow sure that the next day would be the day that I would, however grudgingly, accept an offer from the G* P* P*. I was in the shower when the call actually came, and my spirits lifted when I saw that I had missed a call from G* P*. I called back immediately, and before the situation could register in my head, the conversation was over. I was totally numb, but there was a loud ringing in my ears. I didn't get it. Fuck them.
My uncle told me that they probably hired someone else who was "less qualified" than me because "they don't want someone who's going to be looking for better jobs that are full-time." It's a nice thought (sort of) but I'd be an ego maniac if I actually subscribed to that idea.
Today, a new chapter in the search begins. Gone are my hopes for Entertainment Weekly and those jobs that are for people with all of those mystery qualifications that are some much more spectacular than mine. Today, it's time to start setting the bar low. It's time to realize that I'm not as singularly talented as my family thinks (yesterday, my aunt told me, with a completely straight face, that I should apply to The New Yorker). It's time to be realisitic. It's time accept my limitations. It's time, in short, to settle.
posted by temporarily unemployed at 09:57
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