You know, until about 4 o'clock today, I was having a really great week. I had put the finishing touches on two big projects (as well as one smaller one), one of which was about six months old, another which was more than a year in the making. That they got wrapped up is utterly fantastic, that they finished within days of one another flies in the face of all probability.
Shit was, as they say, gettin' done. I was feeling good, damned good. I'd even gotten an e-mail back from a girl I'd been flirting with whom I had about given up on. (Actually, I think I probably had given up.) It's not a date, but it's better than having to start all over again.
Another project that I'd managed to put off for ages was writing the editor of the local newspaper's opinion pages and asking him for "an informational interview," which is code for "schmoozing." We met on Tuesday afternoon. He had some very flattering things to say about my writing samples, and while he didn't offer me any immediate work (not that I was expecting it), he did provide me with a few names of people I could hit up.
And then there was the interview... A small job at a small magazine published in Lake Oswego, a suburb of Portland, who shall remain nameless because I'm not quite that pissed. Yet.
The whole thing was highly unusual in so many respects I hardly know where to start. One thing that sticks out in my mind more than others is the blatant sexism coming from the only man on the three-person staff. He seemed intent on feeling me out as either an ally in the War of the Sexes or an enemy. He asked me whether one sex was more heroic than the other, meaning he wanted me to say that men had the guts and women were inferior. He asked me when was the last time I had been called a sexist pig. And on and on. The women regarded this with rolled eyes and playful laughs, and I played the fence, though I probably leaned further over to their side of the fence than his. What can I say? I like women, and my momma raised me right. Plus, one of the women was hot, and I didn't want to alienate her before I even started the job.
The publisher, the one making the actual decision, seemed to regard this interview as a formality, and barely seemed to gave it half her attention. She too flattered my writing abilities, which was all very nice, but didn't ask me much in the way of questions. In the previous interview she had remarked that I was probably "overqualified." That's just code for "we're worried you'll get frustrated or bored." And, sure, that might be a possibility, but jeez... Isn't that better than someone who isn't qualified enough and can't do the work?
However, the big sticking point for me remains her assurance that a decision would be made by the end of the day Monday. However, Tuesday rolled around and it quickly became apparent that what she meant was that a decision would be made, but that didn't necessarily mean that she would be informing me of it.
Lovely business etiquette, wouldn't you say?
So Tuesday afternoon, I sent an e-mail. Nothing. I gave that one a day to ensure that she had ample time to reply, even with just a simple "We went another direction." No such luck. Finally, pissed off and fairly certain that I hadn't gotten the job, I called the office and she informed me that they had indeed gone another direction. Caught off guard and at a loss for words, I thanked her (?!?) and asked if she'd like me to write something for the magazine, which she seemed very eager for me to do. Absurdly so, in fact. And also completely unaware that she had treated me unfairly. (I probably could have driven this home a little better.)
So now I am left at a crossroads. I feel like I have been insulted and treated like I am either beneath concern or too terrifying to approach (the latter of which seems laughable to me), and yet in order to have this rectified, I run the risk of burning a bridge that I could very much use in a number of ways. And yet, if this is the sort of treatment that I am going to get, I am really not sure I care to cross that bridge again. (Man, this metaphor is getting worn...)
Basically, I'd like to know why she didn't feel it necessary to inform me of her decision. And I would want to know before I decide whether or not to deal with her or her magazine in the future. Friends that I have told of this situation have told me quite emphatically to not to push the issue. "Forget about it," they say. "No good can come from it." I don't agree, obviously. But I can tell that I am too clouded by emotion right now to really have a proper perspective on this.
I am reminded of a common situation on The Sopranos, where some character feels insulted or dishonored somehow, and demands to be compensated or at least apologized too. I always found myself laughing at those goombahs, so wrapped up in their customs and sense of honor rather than the greater picture. And yet, here I am, very much in the same position and foaming like a mad dog.
The best thing to do would be to sleep on it, but being the impatient bastard I am, I want instant results, immediate satisfaction, dammit. And there is just no way I am going to get it. But until I manage to get some answers or clear my head of the issue, I don't think I'm going to get very much else done, save some rather furious stewing.
A good deal of why this seems like such a slap in the face is that it comes on the heels of very similar treatment by a previous employer, not to mention yet another disappointment a year filled with little but disappointment. I was starting to think, with my great week and some promising developments, that things were finally starting to turn around. I'd like to see this rejection as just another temporary setback, but that's getting absurdly difficult. After all, get enough temporary setbacks and they start to add up to permanent setbacks.
But back to the previous employer. The manager in question there also happened to be a woman (and I fear that the sum of both of these encounters could very well be turning me into a He-Man Woman Hater like my friend at the magazine...). Now, since I don't know the latest woman's motivations, I cannot be certain if this is part of a trend, but it certainly feels like one. And that trend would be the astronomical rise in passive aggression in the workplace. It is as if everyone became so damned frightened of some bastard coming into the office with a sawed-off that they treat everyone with kid gloves to their face and brutally fuck them over behind their backs. The last boss, whom I worked for through a temp agency (which itself is something of a nightmare scenario -- all the problems of regular employment and none of the benefits), apparently took issue with a few of my behaviors, but rather than confront me directly, she just called the temp agency folks and had them remove me. Fact is, none of these things were major in any way shape or form, and could have been easily remedied with just a word to me. They were little things like confusion over the company's definition of "flex time" and poor guidance on work priorities. But rather than address these issues and take care of them simply and quickly, she took the easy way out and had someone else do the dirty work. (Dammit, my blood pressure still rises when I think of it.) It was, in so many ways, a slap in the face that she smiled and made nice with me up front right up until the last minute, but apparently thought so little of me that I was considered disposable.
So now this latest issue with the interview seems to highlight much the same fear of confrontation or difficulty with dealing with the unpleasant that I have to ask, have we become a Nation of Fucking Pussies? It almost feels like a personal insult, because these people apparently have so little regard for my ability to take things like an adult that they instead treat me like a child who can't handle anything even remotely disturbing. Which is ironic because direct treatment would get my respect, but treating me the way I have been makes me far more furious.
If I were feeling brazen, I could even trace this tendency all the way up to our oh-so-lovely Commander-in-Chief, who wants the money for everything, but refuses to pose the possibly unpleasant request of making anyone pay for it. (Anyone living, that is.) We are, it seems, a nation of Buck Passers. And it HAS TO STOP.
Because, seriously, if this keeps up, it just will not end well. Someone has to pick up the bill eventually, and one of these days, it's going to be the guy who passes that proverbial buck. Pay now or pay later, it's your choice, but those interest rates are a bitch.
Consider this your warning.
Shit was, as they say, gettin' done. I was feeling good, damned good. I'd even gotten an e-mail back from a girl I'd been flirting with whom I had about given up on. (Actually, I think I probably had given up.) It's not a date, but it's better than having to start all over again.
Another project that I'd managed to put off for ages was writing the editor of the local newspaper's opinion pages and asking him for "an informational interview," which is code for "schmoozing." We met on Tuesday afternoon. He had some very flattering things to say about my writing samples, and while he didn't offer me any immediate work (not that I was expecting it), he did provide me with a few names of people I could hit up.
And then there was the interview... A small job at a small magazine published in Lake Oswego, a suburb of Portland, who shall remain nameless because I'm not quite that pissed. Yet.
The whole thing was highly unusual in so many respects I hardly know where to start. One thing that sticks out in my mind more than others is the blatant sexism coming from the only man on the three-person staff. He seemed intent on feeling me out as either an ally in the War of the Sexes or an enemy. He asked me whether one sex was more heroic than the other, meaning he wanted me to say that men had the guts and women were inferior. He asked me when was the last time I had been called a sexist pig. And on and on. The women regarded this with rolled eyes and playful laughs, and I played the fence, though I probably leaned further over to their side of the fence than his. What can I say? I like women, and my momma raised me right. Plus, one of the women was hot, and I didn't want to alienate her before I even started the job.
The publisher, the one making the actual decision, seemed to regard this interview as a formality, and barely seemed to gave it half her attention. She too flattered my writing abilities, which was all very nice, but didn't ask me much in the way of questions. In the previous interview she had remarked that I was probably "overqualified." That's just code for "we're worried you'll get frustrated or bored." And, sure, that might be a possibility, but jeez... Isn't that better than someone who isn't qualified enough and can't do the work?
However, the big sticking point for me remains her assurance that a decision would be made by the end of the day Monday. However, Tuesday rolled around and it quickly became apparent that what she meant was that a decision would be made, but that didn't necessarily mean that she would be informing me of it.
Lovely business etiquette, wouldn't you say?
So Tuesday afternoon, I sent an e-mail. Nothing. I gave that one a day to ensure that she had ample time to reply, even with just a simple "We went another direction." No such luck. Finally, pissed off and fairly certain that I hadn't gotten the job, I called the office and she informed me that they had indeed gone another direction. Caught off guard and at a loss for words, I thanked her (?!?) and asked if she'd like me to write something for the magazine, which she seemed very eager for me to do. Absurdly so, in fact. And also completely unaware that she had treated me unfairly. (I probably could have driven this home a little better.)
So now I am left at a crossroads. I feel like I have been insulted and treated like I am either beneath concern or too terrifying to approach (the latter of which seems laughable to me), and yet in order to have this rectified, I run the risk of burning a bridge that I could very much use in a number of ways. And yet, if this is the sort of treatment that I am going to get, I am really not sure I care to cross that bridge again. (Man, this metaphor is getting worn...)
Basically, I'd like to know why she didn't feel it necessary to inform me of her decision. And I would want to know before I decide whether or not to deal with her or her magazine in the future. Friends that I have told of this situation have told me quite emphatically to not to push the issue. "Forget about it," they say. "No good can come from it." I don't agree, obviously. But I can tell that I am too clouded by emotion right now to really have a proper perspective on this.
I am reminded of a common situation on The Sopranos, where some character feels insulted or dishonored somehow, and demands to be compensated or at least apologized too. I always found myself laughing at those goombahs, so wrapped up in their customs and sense of honor rather than the greater picture. And yet, here I am, very much in the same position and foaming like a mad dog.
The best thing to do would be to sleep on it, but being the impatient bastard I am, I want instant results, immediate satisfaction, dammit. And there is just no way I am going to get it. But until I manage to get some answers or clear my head of the issue, I don't think I'm going to get very much else done, save some rather furious stewing.
A good deal of why this seems like such a slap in the face is that it comes on the heels of very similar treatment by a previous employer, not to mention yet another disappointment a year filled with little but disappointment. I was starting to think, with my great week and some promising developments, that things were finally starting to turn around. I'd like to see this rejection as just another temporary setback, but that's getting absurdly difficult. After all, get enough temporary setbacks and they start to add up to permanent setbacks.
But back to the previous employer. The manager in question there also happened to be a woman (and I fear that the sum of both of these encounters could very well be turning me into a He-Man Woman Hater like my friend at the magazine...). Now, since I don't know the latest woman's motivations, I cannot be certain if this is part of a trend, but it certainly feels like one. And that trend would be the astronomical rise in passive aggression in the workplace. It is as if everyone became so damned frightened of some bastard coming into the office with a sawed-off that they treat everyone with kid gloves to their face and brutally fuck them over behind their backs. The last boss, whom I worked for through a temp agency (which itself is something of a nightmare scenario -- all the problems of regular employment and none of the benefits), apparently took issue with a few of my behaviors, but rather than confront me directly, she just called the temp agency folks and had them remove me. Fact is, none of these things were major in any way shape or form, and could have been easily remedied with just a word to me. They were little things like confusion over the company's definition of "flex time" and poor guidance on work priorities. But rather than address these issues and take care of them simply and quickly, she took the easy way out and had someone else do the dirty work. (Dammit, my blood pressure still rises when I think of it.) It was, in so many ways, a slap in the face that she smiled and made nice with me up front right up until the last minute, but apparently thought so little of me that I was considered disposable.
So now this latest issue with the interview seems to highlight much the same fear of confrontation or difficulty with dealing with the unpleasant that I have to ask, have we become a Nation of Fucking Pussies? It almost feels like a personal insult, because these people apparently have so little regard for my ability to take things like an adult that they instead treat me like a child who can't handle anything even remotely disturbing. Which is ironic because direct treatment would get my respect, but treating me the way I have been makes me far more furious.
If I were feeling brazen, I could even trace this tendency all the way up to our oh-so-lovely Commander-in-Chief, who wants the money for everything, but refuses to pose the possibly unpleasant request of making anyone pay for it. (Anyone living, that is.) We are, it seems, a nation of Buck Passers. And it HAS TO STOP.
Because, seriously, if this keeps up, it just will not end well. Someone has to pick up the bill eventually, and one of these days, it's going to be the guy who passes that proverbial buck. Pay now or pay later, it's your choice, but those interest rates are a bitch.
Consider this your warning.
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