Part 10 (1/2)
”Isn't he married?”
”With children.”
”He's truly vile, isn't he?” I stir the milk to keep it from scalding.
”You don't know the half of it. But I don't want him ruining my night, too, so tell about your day.”
”You won't believe who I heard from,” I say.
”Are you going to make me guess?”
”No, I won't torture you. Actually, I heard from a couple of people. Courtney says hey and she dumped the Chadifornicator. Guess she finally got her head out of her a.s.s, eh? She wants to know if you have any cute friends.”
”I don't keep track of which of my friends are cute.”
”That's OK. I bet I can think of someone. Anyway, the big news is I talked to Camille. Remember, she was the annoying granola account executive at Corp. Com.? She ran into a guy who's recently launched an organization that does what Corp. Com. does. He's looking for people, and Camille thought of me-she sent me this guy's contact information. His name is Ross and he's the founder. We chatted this afternoon, and I have an interview with him tomorrow.”
”A start-up? I thought you said no start-ups. Too much risk.”
I hand Fletch the steaming mug of cocoa, which I've dotted with whipped cream and covered with vanilla sprinkles. He takes a sip and smiles. I can actually see some of the tension slip away from his shoulders. ”Yes and no. They are a start-up, but they just received millions in venture capital. They're totally funded for the next few years. The founder seems sharp and he thought my experience would be an a.s.set. So we'll see how tomorrow goes.”
”Outstanding!” he says and starts to high-five me. I try to slap his palm, and as always, I miss.
”In less exciting news, my money hasn't come yet.”
”You're kidding.”
For the fourth time in as many months, my unemployment check is missing. Fortunately, it happens so often I'm now a pro at refiling. The first time it didn't show up, I checked my instruction booklet. After reading and rereading, I still couldn't figure out what to do, so I called the IDES. Fifteen minutes and a dozen voice mail menus later, I finally reached a live person. When I explained who I was and what happened, the Small Angry Woman on the other end of the line said, ”Oh, yes, Miss Prada, I remember YOU.”
And right then I knew I was in for a LONG wait.
My first interview with Ross at the start-up goes so well I'm invited for a second interview. The second interview is even better than the first, and I'm asked back a third time. Since Ross and I have already discussed everything under the sun at this point, I a.s.sume I'm getting an offer when I show up for my fourth interview.
Silly me.
Instead, I'm brought into a conference room, where I'm to interview with Ross again and his special guest...gah! It's WILL! I'm pretty sure my jaw hits the table when I see him.
”What are you doing here?” I ask before I can stop the words from leaping from my mouth. Backpedaling madly, I clarify, ”I mean, how long have you worked here?”
”I started a few weeks ago,” Will replies with a smug grin. ”When I heard you were coming in today, I asked, um, if I could, you know, sit in on your interview.”66 Ross allows Will to attempt to rake me over the coals for the better part of an hour. From the incendiary tone of his interview questions, it's obvious be blames me for getting fired, which is totally unfair. Did I try to buy drugs from my employees? Did I completely disregard corporate goals in order to be liked? Did I leave my resume in a copy machine? No. He was let go due to his own lack of merit.
As we wrap up the interrogation, Ross asks Will to excuse us, and I a.s.sume that now's the time to discuss an offer.
Wrong again.
”Jen, although I'm impressed with your credentials, I'm still not one hundred percent sure how actionable your cross-platform skills are.” Um, buzzword psychobabble much? What the h.e.l.l does that mean? I look at him quizzically. He explains, ”Before I make a decision, I need an understanding of how you'd approach this job. I want to bring you in one more time. Prepare a business plan containing tangible thirty-, sixty-, and ninety-day goals, as well as ten original marketing concepts. I also want a potential client list. To divide the PR agencies between you and the rest of the sales team, I have to know who has contacts where. On your way out, stop by Mary Ann's desk to set up a time for later this week.” He thanks me and returns to his office.
OK, this is ridiculous. I can't believe the hoops I'm jumping through for this job. The nerve of making me do HOMEWORK for an interview! I never wanted to tell someone to pound sand more in my life. Unfortunately, there are NO jobs out there, and I can't let this opportunity slip through my fingers. I'm incredibly aggravated to have been put in this position, but I desperately need the money. I already cashed in my 401(k)67 and my savings account has been empty for months. Because of the missing unemployment check, I'm totally broke. I'm supposed to meet up with my family in Marco Island next week, and I had to use the money earmarked for our electric bill to pay for my ticket. I wasn't going to go, but my parents know I'm not busy, and if I told them I didn't have the money to join them, they'd completely wig out.
Looks like I have a business plan to prepare.
I spend three long days putting together the plan, stopping only for coffee and pep talks with Fletch. I create the mother of all doc.u.ments-it's a forty-eight-page masterpiece. In it, I start with an industry overview, and then I segue into an a.n.a.lysis of the marketplace and compet.i.tive landscape. My marketing plan is the meat of the proposal, with almost thirty pages devoted to sales strategy, promotion, and pitch. I wrap up the doc.u.ment with a framework for growth, as I detail a scalable plan encompa.s.sing management needs, legal structure, and human resources. Granted, I could have simply presented Ross with the business plan I created at my old job and gave to all the sales managers, but somehow I suspect Will may have already done so.
There's no WAY I'm not getting a job with this proposal under my belt! Seriously, I poured my whole self into the doc.u.ment, and it shows.
Will and Ross and a couple of other salespeople sit in rapt attention as I discuss the finer points of countering our compet.i.tion. When I launch into the marketing portion of my proposal, I notice they all whip out notebooks and begin taking notes.
Like a lot of notes.
Like the kind of notes you'd take at the review session the day before the midterm when you'd skipped most of the cla.s.ses.
I get a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. This isn't right. They should be listening and interacting, not furiously transcribing every word coming out of my mouth. I made a number of copies of my plan, but suddenly I'm hesitant to give them out. I wish I hadn't already distributed my client contact list.
The only reason these people would be more interested in my work than me is if they know they aren't going to hire me. But surely they wouldn't have put me through all these paces without honestly intending to bring me on. No one is that sleazy and unethical, right?
I finish my presentation and am summarily dismissed. No one congratulates me on my brilliant plan, except to complain about not getting a copy. No one takes me aside to discuss salary expectations. No one does anything except attempt to hustle me out of there. When I press him about next steps, all Ross says is ”I'll call you to let you know our decision.”
You know what? I just took it up the a.s.s, and I didn't even get dinner first.
What I've Learned: 1. The next time an interviewer requests a business plan, simply walk out and save yourself three days' effort, or present them with the doc.u.ment and a bill for consulting services. Because either way? They aren't going to hire you.
2. Com Ed does not consider travel to Florida a ”medical necessity” and will have no problem cutting off your lights and leaving your boyfriend in the dark for two days while you vacation on Marco Island.
3. Never, ever carry a Prada bag to the unemployment office.
The Lobby for a Hobby
VOLUNTEERS needed to walk dogs at a no-kill animal shelter located in the Gold Coast. No experience required. Please call 312-555-2439 for more information.
With my hot new tan and super-Marco-Island-sun-streaked highlights, I'm the prettiest unemployed girl on the block. Unfortunately my good looks have gotten me nowhere. I've applied for over eight hundred positions and am still barely getting responses, though I'm not taking it personally because almost everyone I know is out of work.68 But, still, I'm distressed that my resume isn't standing out like a s.h.i.+ning diamond among all the jagged, ugly rocks. So I need to do something to differentiate myself. But what? Whatever I come up with, I had better do it soon because I desperately need health insurance again.
Last time I needed my allergy medicine, I made Fletch go to the doctor and pretend to itch and sneeze. Worked like a charm. He couldn't fake asthma, though, so I have to pay full price for those meds, and they're so expensive! I'm out of my inhaler because I used the money to buy a twin set. I may be wheezing, but I'm wheezing in fuzzy, ballerina pink cashmere, baby.
I've obsessed about health care ever since I accidentally canceled my discounted medical plan through COBRA. I'd read that Fletch's employer covered domestic partners, so I figured since we lived together, he could add me to his benefits. I thought I was being so clever. Unfortunately, this was one of those almost unimaginable instances where I was completely, utterly wrong.
I marched out into the living room wearing my favorite flannel jammies with the polar bears on them and a snappy new pair of glossy black, square-toed, pilgrim-heeled boots. I danced around a bit but Fletch didn't notice. He was deeply absorbed in one of his myriad business magazines.
”A-hem.” I cleared my throat. He didn't even glance in my direction. h.e.l.lo! Surely I'm more interesting than your stupid magazine! Pay attention to me, please. I cleared my throat again and stomped back and forth.
Without looking up, he asked, ”Do you need something?”