Dog Racing for a Job

During late morning hours I received a call from an unknown number. A young female voice, all cheerful and sweet told me her name and the name of some placement-agency, said she had a job to offer. If it was comfortable for me to talk now, was her question. She spoke so quickly, I never got her name and the agency I could only guess. I wonder if these girls get trained to sound energetic on the phone. I said sure, so she went on to tell me about this particular company, the job they were offering and that they want someone with this experience and those skills, and the person would have to do this and that and all the usual. Then little Ms Cheerful asked me, if I am currently working. I said, that I am self employed and she should have that on my CV. She confirmed, asked if the job was interesting for me and whether to send my CV and if I had a car and if I still lived in the same place and… she kept going on. After I “yesed” everything like a robot, there was a bit of silence, so I asked where the company was located. She didn’t have exact information. I asked what this company produced, but she wasn’t sure either. Then I asked about the approximate size of the company, also without answer. The sweetness in her voice had been fading and was now completely replaced by an impatient I-don’t-give-a-damn-I’m-just-doing-my-job-tone. Finally she wanted to know my salary expectations. The conversation lasted less than three minutes, not even enough for me to get my mind set on the subject. My brain needs some time to load stuff in order to use it efficiently; it’s not the most modern version.

What did I expect? These girls – actually they are probably young women, maybe even mothers already – get paid for placing somebody, not for knowing what they’re doing. Time is critical, not because it really matters, but because of competing agencies, who will snatch their candidates away. Competence is no issue. All that matters is who sends the CV in first. It’s like a gambling game of some sort. A CV is a card in the game with certain criteria turned into symbols that need to match. You’re no person; you’re not even a face or a name. You are merchandise, like a bunch of smelly fish on the fish market before sunrise, still beating your tails against each other while the dealers are throwing a quick glance at you as their eyes roam over the crates to see if you are good enough for them. If you are, they quickly holler a price. And if not, they move on to the next. Reminds me of a slave market, only that each slave had his own price. In this market the price is the same per placement.

Did I get a little carried away here? In any case, I am glad I am not seriously looking for a job. After all, the money I make as a freelancer keeps me going. The reason I agree to have my card played in this game is that I think one should keep the options open. Nobody can promise me, that tomorrow there will still be demand for what I do today.

 

In the late afternoon I get another phone call from an unknown number. A male voice introduces himself and his company. Again, I don’t get his name and can only guess the company name, because he is on speaker and sounds far away and kind of echoy. Then he introduces a second person with a name I do not get and a position I can only hope to guess right. He says they got my CV and would like to ask me a few questions before inviting me to a proper interview and if I had a few minutes, was his question. Well, I actually have my mouth full, because I was tasting the Bolognese that is cooking on the stove. It is my daughters favorite dish and today is one of those rare times she came to have lunch with me.

“Sure, no problem”. I turn off the stove, leave my somewhat perplexed daughter alone in the kitchen and go into my office. What is he going to ask? Flashes through my head. I am not a spontaneous person; information in my brain is not always available to my tongue, especially if it has not been called up for a while. Ask me what year I worked at a certain company and I need to count back year by year. The guy goes on to tell me the company is looking for someone with this experience and those skills, and the person would have to do this and that and all the usual. Then he asks how this sounds to me. If it didn’t sound suiting he wouldn’t be on the phone with me.  My mind has gone into alert mode and is set for something much more challenging.

“Fine, I’ve done all that.” He tells me work hours are from seven to four. They would be a bit flexible with this, but also definitely expect extra hours on a daily basis. In other words, if you come ten minutes after seven, no one will scream at you, but if you expect to leave at half past four, forget it, it’s too early. Actually, it doesn’t matter when you intend to leave, it’s always too early. The thought of having to get up early enough to be in an office at seven, makes me shiver. Rushing out off bed, when it is still dark outside sounds like an impossible mission to me, although I’ve done it for years. I don’t mind working late or at night; at least not from home.

“I have no problems with work hours; I am flexible and can do extra”. He is delighted and wants to know, how far I live and if I have a car. I am starting to feel bored with this conversation and wonder, if they spoke with little Ms Cheerful-but-indifferent from the agency at all.

“Yes and yes”. He is about to finish the conversation, while I am still waiting for some sort of professional inquiry to start. Then the female jumps in and confirms my guess about her being the human resources manager by asking my salary expectation. “Didn’t the agency tell you?” I can’t stop myself this time. The HR-gambler says that she hasn’t had time to check or something like that. I find that strange and unprofessional. But I guess since the symbols on my playing card match she expects me to take what I can get. Or maybe she wants to check if the amount I tell her equals the amount I told the agency-girl (sorry! “-woman”).

I do. She rattles on about wanting me to start immediately and needing me for an interview tomorrow, but since I was self-employed that surely would not be a problem, or would it? I have no appointments scheduled for tomorrow, meaning there are no binding time limitations. There is, however, a lot of work on my desk. I have deadlines to meet and customers to please. My time needs to be planned carefully with the different assignments and then combined with the house- and family demands.

“I have no time limitations tomorrow, whenever you want”.

Again I say what they want to hear, because I’m afraid if I don’t abide by the rules of their game they may not invite me at all. But to be honest, I am in no mood to change around my plans for some instant job-cooking adventure. What are the chances? Even if they offered it me the job, would I consider taking it? I would have stability. I would know exactly how much money I make each month. No more bad months and good months and no more living in constant fear of there not being enough income in the next month. I would have set work hours and home hours. No more sleeping in and juggling with time and tasks. I would do my shopping when everybody else does, cook regularly, clean regularly and spend the time that is left with my family. All this would be part of a routine. No more shopping when the supermarket is empty. No more dropping everything and putting it off to later, because my daughter needs to talk. No more switching off for a while until I am functional again, when the migraine hits or spontaneously taking off a few hours to cook something special and then work at night. With the job they may or may not offer me, I would lose the ability to decide how much work I want to and can do - or how much I need to do, in order to make enough money. My time would no longer be my time.

 

The next morning I wake up with the anticipation for the call from the gambler-woman, whose name I didn’t catch, to tell me when she wants me. I will need to prepare myself, go over my CV, over possible questions and eloquent answers, remember dates, responsibilities, tasks I have done, revive concepts, tactics and strategies in my head and formulate all kinds of intelligent ideas, that make a professional impression on players like her. I need to choose suiting clothes that make me look serious, not homely and simple, but also not extravagant or flashy. I need to appear assertive and self-confident, on the other hand not overconfident but definitely also not insecure. What a project! Why did I agree to meet them today and jettison everything that is important to me professionally at the moment?

When the call finally comes around noon I am deep into one of my assignments. I apologize right away and explain that I will not be able to make it today, because someone is relying on me. She insists that I try. I insist that it’s not the kind of person I can let down - I mean myself. Her voice sounds like that of an overconfident woman who, after flirting with who she thought was her biggest romantic admirer, is told that he would rather just be friends. And she reacts the same way as well. “Ahhh, yes. I understand” Her voice is doing its best not to reveal that she is in a pique” Well, we can’t wait, by Monday the job may well be taken.”  How dare I turn her down?! How dare I waste her time?!

 

She says she will let me know, but by the time I hang up it’s obvious that I will never hear from her again. I have moved from being a fish in the fish-market to a dog in a dog-race, being tempted into wanting to win. It’s irrelevant how professional I am, how qualified, how experienced, how suiting I may be for this job. It’s just about being first, or about pleasing the potential employer. I don’t blame her, there are more than enough dogs to choose from.  All she needs to do is put them all under pressure and make them try to sell themselves as best as they can. They will come racing for the job, as if their lives depended on it. They will run and jump and kick and bark, because their livelihood does depend on it. They will be assertive and serious and determined and impress and pretend and bluff and fake just to please, because they have no choice. It’s the only way to win the race for a job.

It’s not going to happen for me. I don’t want it enough. It is not even the freedom I have as a freelancer, because that is limited. I work all the time, no holidays, no closing hours, no going home and leaving the job at the office. My home is my office and my office is my home. I do what I need to close deals or to get the job done or I do what I am told. I have deadlines and never know if the money flow is going to last and for how long. But there is a price to my work and this price actually has a value. Each hour has a value. My time has value. Whatever I do pays, and I can decide for myself whether I need it or not. I can decide for myself what is worth my time and what isn’t.

I feel human.