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Monday, January 26. 2009
Will Work for Money
“They say a man should always dress for the job he wants. Then why am I dressed up like a pirate in this restaurant?” So goes the jingle for an online credit monitoring company. That didn’t come to mind because of any credit questions, mine is in the dumper. No, it got me to thinking about that “dressing for success” advice so commonly heard and so rarely followed.Count me in the category of one of those who has rarely followed that advice. I’ve been known to show up to a job interview wearing khaki Dockers and a Hawaiian shirt. Got that job too! With a multinational telecommunications conglomerate!
On the flipside, when applying for a job with a major aerospace conglomerate with hundreds of millions in government/military contracts, I went out and bought a suit — a conservative suit — had it tailored (a little), drove to the interview in Los Angeles, changed clothes in my car so as not to mess up the suit too badly, got three interviews (in the same suit) but ended up not getting the job.
My first thought on that one was that my affiliation, back in my college days, with an organization some might consider subversive had torpedoed that job, but, a couple of my friends who had jobs that required government security clearances assured me that was not the case because they, in fact, had affiliations with the very same subversive organization.Okay, you may be wondering, “which subversive organization?” Okay, I’ll tell you! The Communists! Yes indeed, the Union of Severely Socialist Students Dependent Entirely on Their Parents for Support. I kid you not!
I was the outcast of course, in fact they kicked me out, but more on that later. I was the outcast, in my rarely humble opinion, because my parents weren’t funding my education or living expenses — I had a job and the G.I. Bill.
“Well why the Hell would you hang with them, Tim!” You may be asking? Well, I’ll tell you. When we’d get together in the beer joint in the bowels of the student union, we would all pool our money together and buy as many pitchers of beer as the money would allow, and bear in mind, this was Milwaukee, Wisconsin when a pitcher of beer was two bucks! And these weren’t pitchers made for pussies either! 
So, everyone would put their money into the kittie, be it 30 cents or five bucks, and we would commence to buy pitchers until the change ran out. Everyone could drink equally, or at least as much as they wanted, and I of course, having a penchant for anything mind-altering, would drink as much as I could handle. Ah yes, Socialism at its finest! This didn’t go unnoticed, considering that when it came to contributing to the kittie, my two cents worth was usually about two cents.
One day while all were lamenting the poor excuse of a presidency that was Ronald Reagan, I made what I thought was a valid suggestion. They all stopped talking and went ashen, so off I went to the restroom to alleviate the suffering of my bladder. Upon my return, the leader of this rag-tag group, someone I would consider to be a friend, met me before I got to the table — with my backpack in hand — turned me around, walked me out of the beer joint deep in the bowels of the student union, saying, “We all took a vote and decided we don’t want you coming around anymore.” And so ended my affiliation with the subversive organization. Good thing too, because they always bought the Miller — not even the Miller Genuine Draft — and I was firmly a Pabst Blue Ribbon man.
Well, not too firmly. I did drink their Miller for an entire semester.
There were other issues where we parted company; like they believe in a leveling of the wealth where everyone share equally in the financial pie generated by our — my — collective incomes. Mansions, luxury automobiles, multi-million dollar salaries, all of those were a proletarian sin. I, on the other hand, wanted the biggest house on the block with the fastest Ferrari in the garage.
And a multi-million dollar per year salary. So, we had our differences, but what the Hell, I loved the way they drank!
But it was enough of a connection for me to be concerned when it came time to apply for a job that would require a government security clearance. My fears were unfounded, so I’ve been told.It’s of interest again as I set about searching for another employer, this “dress for success” idea. Up until Friday, January 23, I was (nearly) gainfully employed by an online catalogue company not Amazon or Overstock.
This is interesting. Times are bad economically and it’s been apparent for some time that getting laid off was a real possibility. Every day, after at least a 90-minute commute, I would walk into the J.O.B. expecting to have the H.R. person pull me aside, explain the lousy economy and inform me the company could no longer afford my services. I’m cool with that. It’s tough all over.
But, on Friday when the end of the workday rolled up and walked out the door, I figured I was saved one more week. Even though I was scheduled to work Saturday and Sunday, the powers-that-be wouldn’t bother laying someone off on the weekend.
While homebound on the Westbound Green Line Trolley, I got a call. My ringer was still off (from work) so I didn’t hear it. When I did finally listen, just as I was sitting down to dinner with two friends, I got the news: They were letting me go. I GOT FIRED BY VOICE MAIL! You gotta be kidding! They couldn’t tell me in person? Who lays people off by voice mail? It seems so … unprofessional.
At any rate, it saved me the arduous task of having to pedal up that 11% grade to get to the bus stop. So now, as I look for another J.O.B., my mind wanders into the commercial jingle. I’ll need to go buy another suit, I’m guessing Hawaiian shirts are no longer job friendly.
Dressing for success though has a lot more to with it than just wearing a nice suit. Attitude is as much a part in the task of finding a job and confidence is the best item you can wear to an interview. After all these years, I’m convinced the reason I didn’t get the job at the major aerospace conglomerate with hundreds of millions in government/military contracts was my attitude, specifically my confidence. The experience of applying for a high level corporate job was new to me so I had no idea what to expect and more importantly, what to demand. When it came time to apply at the multinational telecommunications conglomerate, my attitude was all about confidence — I could do the job and do it well. So that’s what I’ll be wearing most prominently when the next job interview rolls around.
But the Hawaiian shirts just won’t cut it. Not these days.
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