Flower face

I Am Not the Person You Are Looking For

I felt moderately optimistic for this phone interview. You see, for the past four years, I have been trying to shift from a web management to a design-focused career. Many conferences, volunteer stints, and informational interviews later (more on this below), I was at the same job. But this time I felt a twinge hope, which my pessimistic self promptly tried to stomp out.

You Suck Self: Why do you even bother? These interviews never work out.

Oprah Self: But, this recruiter saw value in me and my skills. And this is an industry I have over 15 years of experience in. I think I have a good shot at this!

You Suck Self: Uh-huh.

During the pre-interview pep talk, the recruiter mentioned that the woman I’d be interviewing with was very direct and thorough.

“The other interviews she’s done have taken a hour,” he said, “Call me as soon as you’re done. Good luck!”

 

At 2 p.m., my desk phone trilled. I hit the speaker phone icon on the second or third ring, plastered a smile on my face (I’d read somewhere that people could sense smiles over the phone) and chirped, “Hello! This is Evonne!”

After introducing herself and the other interviewer, she launched into the questions.

“How many years experience you have?” (English was not her first language).

I wondered why she asked if she had my resume in front of her, but I responded “about four to five years.”

“What is your greatest strength?”

I spoke at length about my ideation skills and creativity. I thought I sounded pretty impressive until she interrupted me to ask who designed what I had ideated. When I said I’d passed my sketches to our development firm’s designer.

“You didn’t design it?” she asked.

“Well, I saved the company money by starting the process and gathering requirements,  identifying key tasks, doing some user testing, and creating the wireframes,” I said defensively.

“You sound like a project manager, not a designer,” she stated.

Silence.

“Tell me about something that you designed,” she probed.

I told her about a few recent projects and about my organization’s recent rebrand and how I implemented the design across our website, social media, and print platforms.

“Did you design the logo?” she asked, her voice rising at the possibility of my having any skills she valued.

“No,” I told her. “An outside designer created the logo.”

Awkward pause.

“Listen,” I said, “I don’t think that I am the person you are looking for.”

She laughed in relief. “No, I am sorry. You are not the person we are looking for.”

My interview had lasted maybe 20 minutes. My You Suck Self chuckled. Told you so.

 

At least she told me that I wasn’t the right person to my face. When I was a young twenty-something interviewing for positions in the early 2000s, companies had the decency to call back and let me know if they’d gone with a different candidate. In 2018, ghosting is de rigueur: I make it through the phone interview never to hear from the company again. Ditto with face-to-face interviews.

I take that back. One time, I was called back for a second interview with Other Important People, which went well. So well, that I’d started cleaning out my office because I was SURE they’d hire me. Then I received an apologetic call saying they’d decided to “hire from within.” Another time an agency rescinded a job offer after I’d asked for more than a few days to decide, because I’d just learned that I needed a biopsy after an unusual mammogram (everything turned out to be fine except for my job prospects).

When I share these stories with my friends and family, they say kind and supportive things like, “You dodged a bullet! You don’t want to work for a company like that!” And I suppose I don’t, but for once, I’d like SOMETHING to work out.

Lest you think I’m only spamming companies with my well written cover letters and resumes, I have also dragged my introverted self out there to do the following things:

  1. Network. Schlep to events after work, slap a name tag on my  blouse, grab whatever perspiring cheap beer or warm, over-oaked chardonnay the organizers have on hand, and hang on the perimeter of a group’s conversation all while having flashbacks to middle school when I entered the lunchroom on the first day of school and realized that everyone had friends or someone to sit with except for me. When asked what I do, I talk about all the great things I’ve suggested, designed, or written (not mentioning that they haven’t been implemented because the organization doesn’t value my ideas).
  2. Ask for informational interviews with people who are more successful than I am. Treat them to coffee while talking to them about their career path and how all these doors opened for them at the right moment. Feel all puffed up and shiny like a balloon at a kids birthday party after the interview, vowing to change my attitude, to follow up with other folks they recommended I talk to, and take on shift projects to try out different careers. Wake up the next day and get swept away by a tsunami of my responsibilities as a working mother with two children, daughter of a mentally ill elderly parent trying to escape from her nursing home, and owner of a rescue dog who prefers to poop on my new wool rug instead of outside.
  3. Offer value to whomever you’ve met. Do they own their own business? Maybe I could pitch their service to my supervisors. Then again, my organization will never hire them because they only value ideas that come from senior management.

“I’m tired of this job thing,” I told my husband as we sipped skinny margaritas at the bar while waiting for our table on Date Night. I love my husband, but I also hate him because he can code stuff, so recruiters and companies constantly sidle up to him on LinkedIn and purr about how great he is. “I’ve been trying to change jobs for years, and I’m still in the same place. It’s getting embarrassing.” I licked the salt off the rim of my glass, took a sip, letting the cool, sour liquid slide down my throat, and looked at him. “Should I try to do something different?”

He looked at me, his dark eyes softening. “I’ve always seen you as a writer,” he told me.

A writer. Hmm.