What would you do if you came across a job posting that simply said "Dating Organizer"? Would you immediately laugh and continue on past the posting? Would you send a message to the job search site, letting them know someone's spamming them? Or would your eyes immediately light up, and your hand start shaking with excitement and anticipation as you click open the job description?
If you chose options one or two, stop reading. This is not the blog for you. If your eyes lit up and your hands started shaking just from reading that first sentence, hello and welcome to my job hunt!
Yes, the first job I seriously applied for was for a "Dating Organizer". Ok, so maybe you're now thinking I bring this on myself, these stories that come with my job hunt. And maybe I do. Because who wouldn't immediately think of how they can be just like Patti Stanger, hooking up millionaires with trophy wives and telling them about how you know there's attraction there when the penis gets up from the couch?? And that's what I thought I was getting into. I prepared for that. I didn't prepare for a 90's dating service. If I had, I would have worn my pantsuit, dammit!
Getting that interview after submitting my resume was like a dream come true. I was still visiting people, not even back at home getting started with my hardcore searching. I thought my job search was over. I thought it was a miracle. They liked me! They really liked me! My Jewish grandmother is going to be so proud. My mom and her girlfriends will want to talk about all the men I set people up with. I'm in the money!
I arrived back in Chicago, fresh-faced and chipper, with my new teal pumps (ok, so maybe, subconsciously, I did realize I was about to go back to 1993.) ready to dive into their first taste of snow. I buzz into the office and enter a hallway with dark carpet, dim lighting, and salmon walls.
Ok, this is soothing, quiet, eases the nerves of someone looking for love. Great. Perfect.
I'm lead into a small room, with two chairs, tables with pamphlets and forms for prospective clients, a digital camera, and framed articles lining the walls. I'm offered water, and I accept. She brings me a Styrofoam cup of water. Ok, well, didn't know those still existed, but hey, not everyone can be concerned with the environment at all times. Maybe they're just using up the last of an old supply. No big deal. I'm asked a few questions about my resume, easy-peasy, and the woman says she's going to grab her boss to interview me in more detail, so I wait for a bit in the room. I start to look at the articles. Wow, they were really popular back in the 90s. Really successful. Great, all about a woman starting up her own company because she was screwed over by a guy. I'm a feminist, I love that, I'm perfect for this place!
I was still missing the clues, but not for long. In walks the boss lady, who sits down and starts asking me more questions about my resume. And here's where I wish I could record this, and not just type it out. But I guess I have to try to describe the voice. Imagine watching your mom, or a sweet aunt of yours, talking to a 7-year-old child. She's asking the child about a project they did. She talks for a second about the project and what she noticed about it, and then asks the kid, very slowly and at an adult-talking-to-a-young-child level, 'do you think you could do something like this again?' Does this make sense? It's impossible to describe, but basically I was interviewed by a woman who talked down to me the entire time. It was uncomfortable and awkward, and I didn't like her much right off the back, but my spirit still wasn't broken. I had hope.
And then I 'shadowed' an employee. And I was thrust into the world of sales once again. But this time, instead of being surrounded by competitive, macho men, I was surrounded by over-dressed, rapid-speaking, coastie women. If you don't get that comment, you didn't go to UW-Madison, and I apologize for any confusion, but that's as far as I will go with that description. (However, feel free to check out http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jw9ODIZj40w to learn more!) Now, let me mention here that I am not one of those girls who could live in a house filled with women and be happy and cheerful and content. No, I'd be one of those girls who goes to prison for lighting said house on fire. I am not made to be a sorority girl, or anything of the sort. So, immediately, I'm uneasy about the lack of men and about the intensity of the women.
And then the fatal flaw made its obvious, horrible appearance. NO COMPUTERS.
They did not use computers.
At all.
As someone who has obviously figured out a way to read this post, you probably understand the gravity of this situation. And for me, as someone who was just working with a company that prided themselves on being the most up-to-date with technology they could possibly be, this was like stepping into the Twilight Zone. And what made me cringe even more was the system they were using. They had paper files of all of their clients, stapled together in clumps, and separated into rolling filing bins that they moved around the office as one person talked to a client about someone another employee had the file for.
I get that they wanted to separate themselves from the world of online dating, that they wanted to make it more personal. I understand that, I think that's great. I do not understand how this made them an efficient, powerhouse of a company that worked toward their clients' best interests. Because it didn't, it couldn't. I didn't get it. I didn't understand how rapidly calling all of their clients and trying to keep phone calls short so a quota could be hit by the end of the day made their service more personal. I WAS LOST. My fingers kept twitching for my phone, needing to know technology was still there, nearby, not gone forever. I didn't know what was happening in the world and I DIDN'T LIKE IT.
So, needless to say, I was uncomfortable. I faked my way through the last portion of the interview, telling them in a panic that I could definitely see myself doing such a job and how great I'd be for it, and booked it out of there. My spirit was deflated. My Yente dreams were crushed. I couldn't ever work in a place that pumped out Muzak for their employees and stored everything on paper and in huge filing cabinets. The amount of time it would take to find a client's information when they called in was astonishing to me. How do you search for something without typing it into a database?? And it was straight up sales... they weren't helping people with a huge decision in life, they were selling people to other people, just to hit their numbers.
And as I walked to the train on that cold January afternoon, feeling like this job hunting thing wasn't quite the adventure I thought it could be, I remembered one thing.
It's 2010, not 1993 anymore. I immediately grabbed my brand new smart phone, called my friends, and told them about how I wasn't going to be a professional matchmaker, but I was thinking about blogging about my job hunting experience instead. On this thing called the internet, that you can get to on computers. And then I suggested we go to a bar that weekend, where I get to play wingwoman... a much better role than matchmaker, if you ask me.
And I moved onward and upward...to a brief phone interview that asked the one question you never expect to hear... outside of the Mob, that is.
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