|Drive-By Employment Chance, Drive-By Shooting.
||[Oct. 25th, 2004|05:45 pm]
I couldn't sleep at all last night . . . doo doo doo-doo doop.
I get this way before interviews, in general. It is a stumbling block, a personal one, for me, like few others.
I considered a scratch of this employment opportunity for a full 8 hours of mojo recharge. However, as leaders do, they keep on truckin' . . . even with lots of bitching and whining.
This screen-job located itself the farthest from all the rest. Costa Mesa pretty much rests at the dick-bottom of the extended Metro LA valley.
I trucked on with zero hours of sleep, washed the ass, shaved the scraggle, and put on the suit. I left at 8:15 AM and arrived at 10:00 AM after Yahoo! maps sent me on a wild goose chase.
The interview haus was located at a University of Phoenix, but the address popped up on the wrong-long end of the range of numbers on the street. This particular street, over a multi-mile stretch, patterned out with descending numbers that dropped to the hundreds . . . and then the numbers ascended. Streets like these give mappers routine fits, and it caused me to start on the street from the wrong end . . . all the way on the other side. Yet, at 10:00 AM, I made it to the parking lot with an hour to spare before game time.
I was the first one there.
I joked with Brad on the cell phone, and the call ended right in time for the presentation. The lady ushered in all the other candidates, who were standing outside, waiting for her. I'd have done this too, if the door wasn't open in the first place, so I had made myself at home, right in the middle of the classroom.
The lady was one of the recruiters for a firm that trains and shops . . . auto salesmen. We listened to her detail on the process. After the presentation, she conducted interviews.
I've never had anything like this before in a screening process . . . they did three-minute interviews, in front of the entire bunch of candidates. Her question, to me, like all the rest . . . "So, what have you been doing for the last year?"
I wanted to yell out, "MASTURBATION," but it came out as, "I left OnStar to look for something new. The something new happened to be a move to Los Angeles . . . " and the rest of the lovely story of fairy tales and caviar dreams.
"So, what have you done for the year that you've been out here?" She asked.
Double-doh . . . "MASTURBATION" came out with "I've worked on side projects as an artist, but none have turned a profit as of yet."
Then, I tried to mention some of my strengths, and after I left that 3-minute interview, I had this feeling that talking about being passed up for jobs due to sheer numbers of applicants probably painted me as a true master . . . of my domain.
I left that room with the feeling of ah shit. I made my way back to the car, and I shot out a thank you cell call to the first lady who contacted me. Then, I left the parking structure.
The car in front of me left with no fussle. I pulled up to the booth, and I handed her my ticket. She punched it, and she said, "4 dollars."
Cue the scratched record.
I had money on me, but this was an interview for which they had advertised, during the fancy dance, that there would be no cost to us . . . I mentioned this to the booth lady, and she started about rates and validation, where I stopped her and asked, "So, who do I go to for validation?"
She didn't have an answer for that one. I responded, "Well, I am not going to spend 40 or 50 minutes trying to find someone to validate this ticket." By now, a car pulled up behind me.
"I'll do it this one time," she said, "just fill out your name and your company on the ticket. We'll take care of it. Next time, you must have validation, or you will pay the parking fee."
I wrote my first name, and I wrote the company I had interviewed. I drove out of there without payment.
I felt sure that I had flubbed yet another interview, and this one cost me precious gas and 3.5 hours of drive time for 53 minutes of action. Yet, it was of no concern . . . I talked to Heidi, Jim, Brad, Jason, and my mom, for about 3 hours.
During this time, the apartment across the way experienced a drive-by.
From my balcony, a blurry car shot past that complex. It unloaded something into a crowd of kids. An old lady, on the complex balcony, became startled and waved her hands.
I don't know what time it was, and it only registered in my head an hour later when the police showed up . . . they still haven't left, and it's been a large piece of time since they arrived. In the complex lobby, they have a bunch of plastic numbers to mark whatever was there.
There's a big fence in-between my view of the street, topped with barb-wire. I'm probably 100 plus yards from the scene . . . it isn't a great vantage point, thankfully. I hope they don't knock on our door, as I wouldn't be any use. It ain't my business to get in others.'
Oddly enough, this is around the time where Jim and I ponder our lease renewal. Hmmmmm . . .
Then, I received the call from the interview company . . . I passed the screen.
Next week, I have to travel back to Costa Mesa to do a sales training/pony show. If everything goes well, then I could end up at a dealership. It's too early to celebrate.