Wednesday, December 27, 2006

Hi (insert name here)! Is This a Good Time to Chat about an Exciting New Career Opportunity!

At least three to four times a week while I'm at work, sitting in my very public cube that just happens to be outside my boss's office, I get a phone call from some Job Recruiter. The phone call always begins the same way, as though some classified bit of government information is about to be revealed to me---and only me in true James Bond fashion. The caller whispers, "Hi. Scott? Is this a good time to chat?"

Now I only have a few friends, and this voice doesn't belong to any of them, so I'm intrigued by the mysterious message that is sure to follow. I'm thinking that I'll be given the details of when the president will be assassinated, or that Jesus is back to save us all and he'll be contacting me via carefully placed messages in the SuperCoups envelopes that come with the Stop and Shop circulars. But this isn't the case.

Instead, some bubble-headed retard of a Recruiter wants to talk me into taking a new job that is completely unrelated to any of the skill sets I have.

"I see you've been writing for Drugs R Us for a couple of years now," the Recruiter says, "are things good there?"

"Yes," I say, "things are quite good and I never want to leave. It's the bestest place in the whole world, next to unicorn land, of course."

"Well," they continue, "I've got a great opportunity that I think fits your skills perfectly. I can't tell you the name of the company or where they're located, but I just know this position would be G R E A T for you. Do you think you'd be interested?"

On the other end of the line, I'm wondering whether this is an intentional pause or if the Recruiter actually believes that I'll say yes and instantly take this fabulously vague new job. I'll bite. "Sure," I say, "tell me about it."

"Great! You'll be selling shoe leather proofing products. Actually, wait a minute---tee hee---I'm seeing now in the description the company gave me that it's a more specialized position. You'll be selling leather proofing products for men's sandles."

Apparently I'm a great fit for this job, because I've listed on my resume that I was a Proof Reader at one point.

How does one get the illustrious job of Recruiter. Perhaps you are an individual who is highly skilled in the areas of employment and employee relations who wants to lend your knowledge and professional network to those who are looking for career advancement via a new job at a new firm, or to lend a helping hand to those who are starting out in the professional world or who are currently between jobs.

Alas, you are not such charitable, benevolent beings. You are, in fact, quite the opposite.

After years of dealing with these evil fuckers, I now understand that to be a Recrutier, one must possess certain traits, which I have boiled down to the following four simple points (in the event a Recruiter is reading this---see #3 below):

1. I am a sucubus (I enjoy sucking the life out of people in mere moments).

2. I have an annoyingly bubbly personality and L O V E chatting all about you, even though I know nothing about you (tee hee).

3. I am impressively unable to gather or synthesize relevant information (or any information for that matter---tee hee).

4. Every breath I take should be considered Grand Larceny as I am stealing valuable oxygen.

If any of these apply to you, I suggest that you immediately give up your current career aspirations and become a Recruiter.

There. I said it. Now stop cold-calling me about all those exciting, new, non-existent job opportunities in the fast-paced, deadline-driven (but laid back) environments of up-and-coming companies that do not exist. And drop dead. Until, of course, I need you to find me a new job because my boss has shit canned me for talking on the phone with you idiots.

Author's note: No offense to my friend Helen who is a fabulous in-house recruiter.


Rob said...

I must feebly protest your lampooning of a noble trade, sir. Not for everyone are the well-apportioned high-rises and corner offices; no for some, for me, alas, there is this tiny home office, a closet really, and this damned headset that digs into my skin like a patient vulture. Hello? Is now a good time to talk? From the corner of my eye, my two infants suck on their kneecaps because their mother’s cancerous dugs have gone dry, their stomachs swollen, taut, and I make these phonecalls in the hope that I can soon afford medicine to keep the fever down--as if any pill or sour syrup could assuage this ceaseless ennui. Hello? Please answer me.

Scott E Rosenberg said...

I'd wish a pox on you and your poor family, but it seems my wish already has been granted. Oh bliss and glory.

Sir, you say; you will call me GOD. For I will reign fire down on thee from high in my gold-plated office. I will smite you and all that you attempt in your pathetic existance. It is pity you seek, but flaming shit you will receive.

I condemn you to a life of dressing the festering wounds left from that headset, never to once place an able employee at a job suited to his skills. I laugh with joy at seeing precious life drained ever so slowly from the mouth breathing wretches you call children. I will ensure that your phone calls go unanswered and that the pills and syrups you seek never touch those cancered lips. I will close those closet walls in around you until . . . you get the point, go fuck yourself, basically.

Oh yes, Happy Holidays