Updated: Oct 1, 2019
Can I just say, the interviewing process has exponentially changed over the course of the past eleven years, since I’ve been out of the game. Now, my last job being eleven years ago is far out of the realm of what used to be a ten year history. It has been shortened at some point to a requested five year timeline. So, while I have an associate degree, and a well scripted cover letter, I am easily discarded in the pile for showing no past work history. Which is frustrating because I worked for a decade before becoming a stay-at-home mom and wife, sigh.
Anyway, let’s talk about the questions shall we? I answered, I kid you not, THIRTY questions for one job, on whether or not there was an acceptable scenario for theft in the work place…. Blink, blink, blink. Seriously people, you couldn’t cover this crap shoot of questioning in a reasonable amount of FIVE, or even ten questions. But no, thirty seemed the agreeable amount. Now, I’m not a thief, nor am I one to turn the other cheek in the hypothetical scenario of a coworker stealing, however, if I was, I damn sure am not going to answer YES to any one of these ridiculous questions! Geez. In another interviewing process, I answered TEN questions on whether or not I used drugs, or if I felt recreational drug use was acceptable if I didn’t do them at work, etc. Now, once again, I don’t do drugs….. but if I did, I’m not going to answer yes to any of these questions. I know we hypothesize a future society conformed to the imaginative minds of “Idiocracy”, however, I don’t think we are quite there yet.
In one interview, I questioned the question. I’m not sure why I did that? We all know the answer they are seeking in these stupid questions, with as long as it’s been since I interviewed, I STILL KNOW. But no, instead of acting like an intelligent adult, I was more of a smartass teen. I questioned the intelligence of the vague outline, then gave a couple examples of answers demonstrating how the question could be misconstrued, then followed that shit up with, “But here is the answer you’re looking for”. Face, meet palm.
In another interview, I was made aware at the end they do surprise drug testing….. Now, I do not do drugs, so this should not be a problem right? Wrong. For a normal person this would not be a problem, for me, the true definition of a jackass, this was my unraveling. I’ve had three children, I have a bit of an overactive bladder. For this reasoning, I do not drink before an interview appearance. Because I do not want to be that kindergartener, who raises their hand asking to holt the questions so I can tinkle, yes tinkle, I said it. Instead of maturely taking this cup and facing the reality that I may not be able to pee upon my time in the bathroom, I proceed to open my stupid mouth and tell this woman this thought process. “I’ve had three kids, I have an overactive bladder…” etc. Yes, I go through that embarrassing spiel. To which this woman merely looks at me when I abruptly end my speech….. Like what? Was that stated for a purpose? “The end?” What is happening right now. So, she asks, “Well…. Can you?” To which I then must acknowledge my idiosyncratic rambling and clarify, that yes, I will try, but it may take me a bit, I may need some water, etc. Face, meet palm.
So, I go into this bathroom, and find that, not only CAN I pee this morning, but I empty my bladder as though there were a gallon jug inside me. We all know in the drug testing process, they only need a TINY bit of urine, Mmmhmm, we all know this. We also know, that if you fill the cup too full, it is easy to simply dump some of it out….. Did I pull away midstream? NO. Did I dump some of that out? NO. I did not. Now, I have a germ phobia, I understand that for drug testing, gloves and precautions are taken. However, I filled this stupid cup to the absolute brim, as though I was taking this drug test for every applicant EVER that applied for this job. I then screwed the lid on, KNOWING there was no possible way for this poor woman to open that container without urine spilling out. Let’s be honest here, if I was that woman, I would have tossed that sample and simply moved onto the next applicant, because, hell no.
And last but not least, I interviewed once that ended in a thigh dancing nightmare of a tale. It all began, one bright and vibrant morning……
I have fat kid problems, yes I said it, FAT KID problems. As I have aged and my weight has picked up over the years, my wardrobe has changed. I can no longer get by in wife beaters and skinny jeans. I’ve purchased several business appropriate outfits this year of starting to engage as an author in my community. One of these outfits being a skirt and blouse set…. I’ve never been one to wear skirts, simply not my thing. I wore this outfit to host one of my poetry classes. By the end of the day, I had rubbed sores on my inner thighs that were quite painful. So, I did what I always do when I have feminine problems, and I call my best friend, whom has all the answers beauty and body. She tells me this is an easy fix. She says, “All you gotta do is put deodorant on your thighs.” Now, you would think that is simple enough instructions, yes? WRONG! I need further guidance okay, I’m an idiot. I do not test this advice before my next interview, when I decide to wear this outfit for whatever reasoning. I get ready, and wait till I’m about to head out the door to rush back in the bathroom for this fat kid solution. I realize in this moment, that I wear spray deodorant….. Now, I can deduce, this is not what she meant. So, I start to dig through those unused areas of the bathroom, you know, where women stash their beauty products they’ve tried and didn’t like, but are too cheap to throw them out….. Wait, maybe that’s just me…. Anyway, I find an old, keyword, being old, stick of GEL deodorant! GEL! Why would anyone think this is a good idea hmm? Well, I did in that moment. I slide this gelatinous gunk onto my thigh and when I go to step out of my bathroom, my thighs slide apart with such smooth intensity, that I damn near do the splits! I don’t know how my thighs gliding apart so slickly, made my feet go in such stride and intensity, but that was the reality that played out. Obviously this is a real problem. I cannot glide into this job interview doing the splits with arms flailing to catch myself like a member of broadway about to sing, “Here I am to wreck your day!” Face, meet palm.
I go into my daughters bathroom and start frantically digging through her stash of bathroom products, to victoriously find a stick of regular women’s deodorant. Now, you’d think I’d wash this other glob of shit off my thighs before adding this stick to this mess, right? WRONG. Remember, we are working with a special kind of stupid here. So, I rub this new deodorant on, and rush out the door as I’m pushing the envelope of being late at this point. This new deodorant proves to be the miracle cure, my girlfriend promised and I am now moving smoothly without being extra, or rubbing myself raw. You’d think that was the end of my tale of sorrow, but wait, for the low low price of a few more minutes of your time, this hellish tale continues…..
As I am driving to this job interview I begin to notice there are small bits forming on my thighs. With the friction happening, and the combination of these two deodorants present, it is causing the remnants of the gelatinous leftovers to form bothersome clumps on me….. I am an odd person, I believe we have established this by this point. I like things a certain way, clean, orderly, together if you will. The outbreak of clumps that is happening on my inner thighs is a bit of chaos I am ill equipped for as a nonfunctional adult. I walk into this building, sign in, and take a seat patiently awaiting my name to be called. I am quite bothered by the invasion happening, and proceed to start a little thigh dancing….. Now, the purpose of this so called thigh dance, was to aid in the eviction of these invaders and sending them back to hell where they came from….. The reality of this thigh dance? Well, that was another matter entirely. Rather than knocking these little clumps off my thighs, the friction is merely multiplying them astronomically, and this slight thigh dancing, evolves into quite the thigh dancing scene…… So, in this waiting room is myself and one older woman, who by this point is unable to ignore my chair thigh dancing any longer and we catch eye for a locked in, highly uncomfortable amount of time. It is quite obvious she is struggling with the confused urge to one, ask if I’m in need of assistance, or two, leave the premises in haste for fear I have something Ajax won’t wash off. To which, my stupidity leaps to new heights as I wink at this woman, turn my head in an upward cocky motion, and say, “How you doin”.
I was forced to conclude maybe I’m not quite ready to reenter the workforce of adulting just yet. After three months of looking, these few interviews, and countless hours of attempted prep. I finally settled for applying to be a substitute.
I wonder sometimes if there is a support group for my kind of special. And if not, maybe I should start one. “Hi, my name is Kat and I’m a counterproductive adult.” I don’t know how I survive this world.
Till next time my friends,
all my love. Kat