Tests to prove I'm not a numpty

It’s obviously been a while since I’ve been in the market for a new job – four years to be exact – and my how things have changed!

It’s still who you know and not what you know. Networking is still god and thanks to Facebook, Twitter and blogs like this (!), it’s reached a new height of social networking. But what I didn’t expect was to revert back to my pre-pubescent, sweating over a test with a time limit days.

I got my foot in the door for this job at The Man’s company (thankfully not the same location). It’s not in writing, marketing or public relations – well, sort of. It’s in customer service, which I’m sooo used to doing even though I sometimes want to throw ninja stars at them through the phone. Being a biatch? Here’s a burst eardrum from the ninja star coming point blank through the phone and into your ear canal. Kiss your teeth at me? Even though I can’t see it, I can hear it, and for that my frenemy, you will get the ultimate kiss-off – a personal visit and coffee date with my friend Uzi.

I don’t do well with stupid and I also don’t do well with looking stupid, so imagine my surprise when, in the first interview, I was told there would be a timed aptitude test. It was 12 minutes of sheer panic since The Man hadn’t warned me I would be tested on my smarts. Thank goodness, I have them!

Most of the questions weren’t bad – it tested recollection, discerning between numbers if you’re apt to have numeric dyslexia on a regular basis. But, it also had Sesame Street-like questions:

“One of these is not like the other…” Fork, spoon, knife, blood splatter…

You could see my confusion. I chose spoon.

It also had math questions – the kind that has the train leaving the station at a certain time going at a speed of 216 mph and it meets another train about 12 minutes after leaving the station…my eyes glazed over and I almost wrote “who the hell cares” as my answer.

I must have done something right since I had the second interview yesterday, but this interviewer was harder to read than the other. And, you guessed it, I had another test, this time about my computer knowledge.

“What is a port? Do you know if hardware and software are the same thing? Do you know they have the internet on computers now?” They had me describe the way I would search out files on the C drive. Sophmoric really, but I guess it's a way to weed out the inexperienced.

And the ultimate test? The criminal record check that came at the end of the interview. I guess it's a positive that I was given that test, and because I have yet to be arrested, I think this is one test I will pass with flying colours.

That, and the fact that I am not a numpty, I hope the whole interview will go in my favour. Fingers crossed.

Late night television can be edumacational

I’m a night hawk, and because of this, I see some pretty bad television.

I’m not sure what keeps me up at night – my internal clock, my internal wiring, my incessant worrying over everything that isn’t nailed down – you name it and it’s probably true, or at least makes up a portion of the reason my head doesn’t hit the pillow until at least 2 a.m. every night.

But last night was a windfall. I watched a program, while worrying about my new budget and cutbacks and light at the end of the tunnel. It’s not something I’d likely ever tune into – Tim Gunn’s Style Guide. It was pretty, frou-frou and surprisingly enlightening.

Sure, it dealt with a revamp of a wardrobe but unlike most “makeover” shows it delved deeper than the penchant for sequins and bad holiday sweaters and actually showcased a “Life Stylist.” What’s this humbo-jumbo you ask? Yeah, me too. But I kept watching.

The Life Stylist (code name for social worker, psychiatrist, therapist?) had this woman do an exercise where she labeled a bunch of volleyballs with her worries, some everyday worries, others life altering. He then had her put all of the balls into two prospective buckets, one of all the things she can control and the other things beyond her control.

After worrying about money and looking high and low for cutbacks and potential income increasers and expense decreasers, I needed some perspective. What can I control? My attitude. What can’t I control? You’d be surprised. You thought I was Wonder Woman didn’t you? I may have the same name but that’s all we share, if you don’t count the invisible plane and the gold lasso, but they’re presently locked up in my bedroom so I can scratch that worry off of the list. Phew!

So, at 2:30 in the goddamn fecking AM, I created two lists (I couldn’t find my volleyballs or a Sharpie marker… or buckets for that matter). I grabbed the first paper-like substance I could find – napkins – and wrote in point form my lists, a separate napkin for each ‘cause even though I’m skint, I’m not that cheap.

Things I can control:

• My attitude
• My weight
• My health
• My exercise regime
• My time
• My expenses (cutting back where I can)
• My job search

 

Things I can not control: 

• My family
• Other people’s reactions
• Work and the numpties I work for and with
• My past (I’m learning to forgive and let go, but not forget)
• My Man and his insecurities (I can’t make them mine or take responsibility for them)
• Other people and their issues

This morning, I’m invigorated. I may not have thrown all of the items I can’t control into the bucket, but I’m in the process one issue at a time. And that’s a start. (I also applied for about 10 jobs online last night, one of them in PEI, so I’m hoping that my career horizon is on its expansion route.)

Until then, I’m in control. Damn it.

 

Workin' the net

I used to subscribe to the notion that if you were good at your job and worked at improving those areas needing improvement promotions, better pay and more respect would naturally follow. Call me naïve. I know I am. I also believe in fair play, holding the door open for people and treating others the way you would want to be treated. It’s a little Little House on the Prairie, or so I’ve been told, and I’ve often been left wanting and confused when a good deed of mine not only goes unnoticed but my toes are stepped on in the process. It’s a man-eat-man, eye-for-an-eye world and I guess I’m the local vegetarian, save the planet, PETA supporter who wonders why we can’t all get along. It’s because, Scribe, the world – even the animal world – doesn’t work that way. It’s survival of the fittest and if you’re not up to par, you’re snuffed out. Eradicated. Forgotten.

And so it is with a little unease that I’ve recently stepped into the arena – the networking arena – where it’s who you know and what they can do for you. I’m still uncomfortable with it. Each email and each phone call I make, I cringe upon hearing the hesitation still in my throat. “I’m wondering if I can pick your brain. If you know of anyone or any company that would fall in love with my communications and writing abilities, please, don’t pass me by – pass my name on.” At first, I approached it like I was going in for root canal. I put it off. I didn’t want to bother anyone. But then I thought if I don’t ask, then I’ll never know and I’ll still be here (in this crummy job and head space) wondering if there ever was a chance.

There is. I’ll be happy to report I’m meeting up with my friend Bij (we went out when I was even more naïve and he was still in the closet) to exchange ideas, names and numbers, and basically brainstorm my next few steps. He’s great at networking. He always has been, and he’s always had this “look at how great I am” attitude that I found annoying when we were dating. Later, I realized if he didn’t toot his own horn no one else would, and that is exactly what his attitude was all about. It got him noticed, it got him jobs and it got him promoted. I should have taken lessons from him way back then.

I’m hoping my other feelers will bring in some new fish… I mean… contacts. New opportunities. New ideas. New horizons. I’m excited and nervous at the same time just like I get when riding the roller coasters, a few seconds before the first big drop.

I’ve updated my resume and my cover letter, only to update it again and again. And, I’ve sent them out to over 15 companies to-date. Something’s gotta bite. If not, I’ll put more bait on the line.

Until then, it’s more networking – around every corner. God, I feel so tarnished, but more a part of the 21st-century than I have in a long time. Goodbye Half-Pint. Hello Donald Trump.