Caterwauling

I spent a half day at the Veggie Patch, after Cruise Director came into my office and said, “I thought you were supposed to be so sick?” I said I was. So he said, “Well go home then.” I said I came in to do an interview. He laughed and said, “Well, then, will you go home after it?” I promised I would.

I notice with him, like I noticed with Her Royal Pretentiousness at the last job, that he doesn’t make eye contact with me. When HRP decided she was over someone (i.e., couldn’t care if they lived or died), she refused to speak to them, just at them. Even though the conversation was warm and funny, I felt more alienated than anything.

Speaking of the interview, I loved my interviewee. Bright, funny, on-the-ball and creative. I could see having her on my team. I told H.R. that I definitely want her for a second interview.

I have two interviews next week, one Monday and one Tuesday (god forbid I get the paper out, as editorial deadline is Thursday and we have a two hour managers’ meeting on Wednesday). I am excited to meet the one on Monday (the witch, if you read my earlier entry). The guy coming on Tuesday is about three times my age and is pushy as can be. AND he’s flying down here from New York for the interview.

H.R. and I tried to dissuade him from coming — what with the entry-level job, the low salary, the lack of help with moving costs, etc. We both worry about his pushiness — that he will cause me headaches if I would hire him (and I’ve had enough bad staff members to know that I have to be a bitch from day one with his type). H.R. is also worried that he will simply be taking this job just so he has a job; meaning, once he would get settled in D.C., he’d be gone in a couple of months, and onto better things.

I’ve learned a lot during this hiring process. Tiff had made mention one day, when I was ranting about another pushy interviewee, that now she knows what people think when they decide whether to interview you or not. This one girl from out-of-state had sent an e-mail to someone in our company (who works in Indianapolis) who handles career services for our members. The e-mail stated that she was going to be in D.C. in three days and wanted to meet with us. Well, the off-site chick sent the e-mail to Shan on a Friday evening, who sent it to me on a Monday afternoon when I was working at the print shop, and I got the e-mail on Tuesday evening when I finally worked through my 250 e-mails. So, of course, we missed the girl while she was in town.

I don’t know — I thought her e-mail was terse, and I decided I was never going to let another brat steamroll over me again (a la Two Strikes, where I had HRP’s illiterate goddaughter as the No. 1 thorn in my side, next to HRP’s position as No. 1 bug up my ass). It’s funny how much our past experiences influence our future actions, but how can they not?

Anyway, I skipped giving my interviewee a writing test and whatnot. I figured H.R. had probably grilled her for a solid hour (which she had) as well as told her wonderful things about the Veggie Patch (again, affirmative). So I told her flat-out that I wanted to get to know her — her impressive resume had gotten her through the front door, but it would be her ability to click with me that would get her back through it again. Whether she was surprised or not by my tactics and bluntness, I will never know. She simply jumped on the bandwagon and prepared to play hardball. And I loved it — we laughed and really took a lot from the conversation.

I wish dating were like the hiring process. I wish I could ask for resumes and line everyone up outside my office, once I approved their cover letters and writing samples. I would love for people to compete for my respect and affections — not just demand it or not care one way or the other what I feel. And if I wouldn’t find anyone to choose from that pile, I could just run another ad in the WaPo and start the search fresh.

Ah, hell. Let’s face it — I want mate-shopping to be like Toys ‘R Us. I want to buy the Hulk doll with the two-inch penis and I want to buy Ken with his plastic cup penis and hell, I’ll buy a Barbie, too. And I’ll pick which one I like and return the rest and get my damn money back. 🙂 But till that day comes, I will just revel in hiring a competent sidekick to make my job a lil bit easier.

Our phones are down at the Veggie Patch today. So Mailroom Dipshit sends us an e-mail stating that the phones are down till further notice, and if we want him, call him on his cell phone. How, praytell, do we call him if we have no phone service? 😉

I have an interview this morning with someone I can potentially hire. I have nothing planned out — I feel like shit and don’t really plan to keep her long. Frankly, like Shan says, “Never underestimate the power of caring.” Meaning, she can have skills out the wazoo, but anybody can learn anything, if they really want to. Bearing that in mind, I will probably pick the best candidate, based solely on my intuition.

I have interviews all month, which is going to really screw up the paper deadlines. But alas, it’s the price I have to pay now for peace of mind later. Of the 32-plus resumes I received, more than half of the people are out of work. One person sent me a screenplay (because we publish screenplays in the Veggie Patch Gazette — not!). Nearly a third of the responders have 15- to 20-years’ experience in journalism, but they’re willing to settle for an entry-level position and its accompanying dismal salary. I will interview them, but forgive me if I would rather have someone less experienced who will actually respect me as a supervisor and not write me off as some kid who makes a better paycheck than they will, even though they’ve been in the business for as long as I’ve been alive.

One girl I’m interviewing Monday, I have a feeling about. I don’t know why, but when I saw her resume (which isn’t altogether that stellar), I thought, “She’s the one.” Granted, I Googled her and found out that she’s a practicing witch, but other than that, she seems normal. 🙂 I have no problem with witches — in fact, this could make for some interesting getting-to-know-you discussion. But I do wonder about people who clearly make this information available, when potential employers will be looking up their Yahoo! profiles.

I wasn’t able to Google today’s interviewee. She comes off as rather cocky in her resume, but she had a creative approach (i.e., submitting a brochure-style resume with checkboxes, where I could indicate which of her skills I needed her to bring here). I wonder if we’ll butt heads — we sound like we’re very similar in a lot of respects. And we’ll see about that ego, ’cause god knows, after a day at the Patch, you lose your dignity, self-respect and any fledgling strand of ego you might have had when you walked through the doors to Hotel Medicated. 🙂

Ok, I’m just pissed off that I’m awake, but I just got back from Chez Mickey’s and my order is wrong.

They got my two drinks right (coffee and O.J.), so I expected that my meal was correct. It wasn’t. I’m missing my hash brown (no big loss) but the sandwich is an Egg McMuffin when I clearly did not want anything having to do with ham or mcmuffins. I see why this place doesn’t give you receipts — ‘twould be easier to prove that they’re morons.

This sandwich is just awful. It tastes like someone sat on it to warm it up. I would like to amend the old Chez Mickey advertising jingle, “You deserve a break today” to add “but you just won’t get it here.”

Pfft. I’m tossing this crappy McFuckedMuffin away.