Dear Mr. Employer What to do when the media job market feels
like nuclear winter?
It's
rough out there. When you don't have a job and come to New York to send out
your resumé (which so impressed your college advisor) to all the big
publishing companies, the lack of response can be deafening. This week's Bitch
is a Texan's rant from the trenches, where a little career guerilla warfare
might be in order.
—BY M.M.—
Dear Mr. Employer:
Let me introduce myself: I am 26 years old and
I am unemployed. I had this crazy idea that I could move to New York and actually
find a job in publishing. I went to a top college. I consider myself to be,
if not an asset, at least employable.
I am also a person. While this may be stating
the obvious, I think that human resource departments need some reminding. I
am not looking for a job for the fun of it. I am looking for a job because I
would like to eat and eventually move out of my parents' house.
So I ask, what happened to the rejection letter?
Did it go the way of the economy? I had this notion that if I put in the effort
of answering your ad, you could get some poor mailroom sap to send me a form
letter. Is that too much to ask?
I have enclosed a calendar of events for your perusal.
Thank you for your consideration and your time. The following is a breakdown
of my time.
Friday, August 23: The job search officially begins from my childhood home
in Dallas. I send out ten resumés to fine Manhattan companies such as
Barnes & Noble and Harper Collins.
Wednesday, September 11: Not a word. Humbled
and discouraged, I send out a second round, to other distinguished Manhattan
employers such as O Magazine and Fodor's. The Fodor's job is right up
my alley; travel and writing combined. You have to apply through the Random
House website, though, which I find unnerving as it seems incredibly impersonal,
but I do it anyway.
Thursday, September 12: I am still mulling
over the Fodor's posting. It's my dream job, and I don't want to wait passively
for a no-reply rejection. I scour their website and finally come up with a recruiter's
name and email address, and I promptly fire off a winning message. An out-of-office
message zings back immediately, referring me to someone else—so I promptly
send the new person an identical email.
Wednesday, September 18: Finally a nibble.
Jennifer from Transperfect Translations calls me. She begins the conversation
with the inane question, "What city were you looking to work in?"
I have a mind to turn and run in the opposite direction, but an interview is
an interview, right? At this point, I'd settle for working on the set of Jackass.
Friday, September 20: Touch down in NYC.
Monday, September 23: Interview #1. Jennifer
(who shockingly turns out to be my age) spends half an hour asking about my
experience in a conference room overlooking a spectacular view of the East River,
and then she announces that I have to take a test, in order to "evaluate
my skills." The copywriting part is easy—I certainly know the difference
between "effect" and "affect"—but the Spanish exam
is a killer. It is literally the hardest test I have ever had to take, in any
language. After an hour, she whisks my test away like an SAT proctor, and says
that she's going to give my exams to a department manager if one's available.
I quickly realize "available" is a euphemism for "passing grade"
when she returns fifteen minutes later and says there isn't a manager free.
She says she'll call me by the end of the week, but I already know it's over.
I spend the rest of the afternoon emailing my resume to temp agencies so I can
then schedule an appointment.
Tuesday, September 24: At 10am, Sally from
Atrium Staffing calls to offer me an interview for Wednesday. Atrium happens
to be the only temping agency that calls me back, which is alarming. Because
I like to humor myself and think I'm over-qualified to answer phones for $10
an hour without health insurance.
By the afternoon I haven't yet heard from Fodor's,
so, at my family's urging, I haul my ass onto the subway to literally knock
on their door in Times Square. As expected, you can't just walk into the Human
Resources department, but the security guard feels so bad for me that he silently
hands me the house phone and dials their extension. The reception coldly but
politely tells me that they've already narrowed the search down to the final
candidates. Dejectedly, I hang up the phone and trudge home amidst screaming
TRL fans.
Wednesday, September 25: Interview #2. My
new counselor, Sally, tells me that because of the economy and September 11,
they don't have regular work to offer, but she signs me up anyway. I ask her
when I should call to see job availability, and she airily waves her hand and
says the morning of. Hey, who needs to plan ahead?
Later that same afternoon, I receive a warm email
from Margaret, the recruiter at Fodor's. She attaches an editing test and says
to call her if there are any problems. And there is a problem —the attachment
is not actually attached and her phone number is nowhere on the email. I email
her back, asking her to re-send the attachment as soon as possible.
Thursday, September 26: I still haven't
received the editing test, so I spend half the morning trying to track down
this woman's phone number, beginning with the phone book and ending with my
begging a random Random House operator. But I succeed, and when I get Margaret
on the phone, she promises to re-send the test right away. I then spend the
rest of the day working on it, and it's not too difficult. And then I wonder,
maybe the test only seems easy because I can't even recognize the hard errors.
But the test comes as an attachment, which opens into Microsoft Word, which
of course automatically spell and grammar checks. It feels like cheating, but
I don't have a printer, and besides, she sent it that way! Once I am done, I
follow the complicated instructions to Kinko's where I print out multiple copies
and fax one to her, one to a Fodor's editor and then send one in the mail to
the same editor, for the price of dinner in any city but New York.
Friday, September 27: Nick from O
Magazine calls to offer me an interview for an internship that starts in December.
At first, I say no to the idea of making minimum wage, but, after thinking about
it for fifteen minutes, I realize it is more than I am making now, which is
nothing. I call Nick back and rescind my initial answer. We schedule the interview
for Friday the 4th.
Sally calls at 2pm to offer me a temp job for the
rest of the afternoon at Vanity Fair, helping with final plans an event
for that evening. We get cut off, and by the time I reach her literally three
minutes later, she's given the job to someone else.
Monday, September 30: My mom calls to say
that I've gotten a letter from Transperfect Translations in the mail. Cowardly
Jennifer had promised me a phone call, but at least now I have something to
post to the "Wall o' Shame". It's too bad that employers rarely send
rejection letters anymore or I'd have half the bedroom covered by now.
Friday, October 4: Interview #3 arrives,
the promised land, O Magazine. Although I am grossly sweating when I
shake Nick's hand, the interview itself goes well. I sit in an office with him
and another editor, and they spend the time mostly swapping horror stories about
previous interns. I don't have a chance to dazzle them with my rapier wit, but
it doesn't matter because as I push the elevator button to leave, Nick tells
me he'll be calling to schedule a second interview.
Monday/Tuesday, October 7-8: I'm out of
circulation, too busy looking for an apartment with ridiculously high-priced
brokers, my other "I'm still unemployed" full-time occupation.
Wednesday/Thursday/Friday, October 9-11:
I have my first temp job, at the advertising firm of Schieffelin and Somerset.
I'm stationed at the front desk by May and then pretty much left on my own the
entire time to answer the phone and buzz people in. Which is no problem—I
like getting paid to surf the Internet and work on my resume. Some people are
kind, some ignore me, and then, well, others are downright rude, like the messenger
guy. It is at this point that I remember why I hate temping - I'm not paid enough
to be the punching bag for other people's power needs.
Friday, October 18: Interview #4, the return
to the O offices. Although Nick tries to warm me up by saying this more
senior editor is really "nice" (the kiss of death), the chat does
not go well. Everything out of my mouth is absolutely the wrong thing, and I
can see my internship just slipping away over the horizon. Nick says the final
decision will be made by this afternoon, or Monday at the latest, and as I leave,
he tells me that he hopes to see me working there soon.
Saturday, October 19: My friend Marcelo
and I go out to the Gotham Comedy Club with some of his friends, where I am
introduced to a friend of a friend, Eric, who works for PR Week. Eric
is quite sympathetic, and, after the show, as we all sit in a transvestite bar
somewhere in the 20's, he tells me large publishing firms take forever to respond
to resumés. He swears on his drink that once he heard from a company
an entire year later..
Thursday, October 24: Nick finally calls.
I am not around, so my poor voicemail service receives the heartbreaking news.
He says that he hates this part of his job, that he's really sorry, and to call
if I have any questions. My mother prods me to ask him why, for future reference.
I feel like I've just been dumped.
Thursday, October 31: After Nick fails to
email me back, I get him on the phone. He hems and haws and finally says that
they decided to go with someone with more experience—he actually, in mid-sentence,
switches from "we" to "they." I am shocked by this answer
because, after all, this is an internship, the place, correct me if I'm wrong,
for people with no experience. Which is just what I say. I realize now that
there is a small group of people out there somewhere who float from internship
to internship, stealing all the experience.
Friday, November 1: My friends try to console
me by saying that if I had gotten the job, then there would be someone else
out there just as heartbroken, still searching. I nod my head agreeably, miserably,
secretly thinking how much happier I would be feeling sorry for that someone
else. I would feel sorry for them all day long, and then go start my fabulous
internship.
Monday, November 4: I'm stuck in the age-old
quandary, how to get experience when no one will give you a job without experience.
I contemplate going back to school for a semester just to qualify for one of
those student internships. Who cares if I'm 26?
Wednesday, November 6: Random House? Hello?
I did the test, don't I even get a letter?
Friday, November 8: Diane from Atrium Staffing
calls to inform me that Sally is no longer employed there, and I am eligible
for a new counselor. I, of course, am not surprised. Sally was nice, but if
I'd been depending on her for a steady paycheck, I would've been feasting on
stray rat-poison pellets by now. But hey, if anyone out there's looking for
a job in human resources, I know where there's an opening.
Monday, November 11: I admit, with the myriad
O assurances coupled with my own fantasies, I had slacked off the resume
sending and now I have nothing out there, besides, perhaps, the Fodor's possibility.
So I gather my courage and begin surfing the Internet job sites.
Wednesday, November 13: The job search officially
re-begins. I send out another ten resumes, this time to fine Manhattan companies
such as Travel and Leisure and Hearst Magazine Corporation. It actually
reminds me of a joke, and it's a good thing I haven't lost my humor along with
my dignity, really. It goes like this: There are two guys in a rowboat, Pete
and Repeat. Pete fell out. Who was left?
Friday, November 15: Repeat.
The author of this week's rant can be contacted by sending email
to ringo@mediabistro.com, with the
subject heading "bitchbox".
A SECOND RANT (from a different
author) CONTRIBUTED TODAY FOR YOUR BITCH BOX ENJOYMENT::
Dear Mr. So-and-Fuck,
I’m writing to apply for the job of piss piss. I like horses
and couch chair fabric spin, while hoo haw on the cablevision. You’ll see
from my resume that the cat slip phone cup, and I’m extremely confident
that my CD collection makes incense burn smells for me to contribute to your
greenish fish tank.
Floor pie with a rope makes for empty shoes, you know.
Please contact the ball-cap crosswise, so we can leash together
a picture frame. I’m confident that your 29 pokey hook watches experience
poems with good magnets. Rain cards?
Thanks in advance for paper bags with Spanish walls. I want to
grow bright lights with no-lick mold. Scratching dogs and forward soon to friends
of nice.
Sincerely, XXX
(who knows he is plenty qualified for a job at _______ but
no longer believes outlining his credentials in a clear, polite, enthusiastic
cover letter makes a lick of difference in the application process.)
