At some point in junior high or high school, a Sonic opened just a couple blocks from our house. In high school, especially my senior year, my mom used to take me to Sonic for onion rings and/or a lime cream slush. (Cue Homer Simpson gurglings.) This became ritual after certain events, both good and bad. We would go there often after my violin lessons, which are classed under the good events. But we would also go there after the bad, especially after the frustrating, the disappointing, the aggravating. And so, I have come to think of trips to Sonic as a treat and a comfort.
About a year ago or so, a Sonic opened up by one of the malls here. It's just far enough from our place that it requires thought or planning, and as such, we have never made it. Until today.
I got my onion rings and lime cream slush. I threw in a burger for the protein, but it was just a red herring. Today was indeed a Sonic day. And because my hubby was at school and I didn't have my mom to sit with me, I showed up unannounced at a friend's just five minutes from Sonic. She was good enough to share her ketchup and kitchen table with me. Of course, the real attraction was her listening and no-nonsense encouragement, but the ketchup helped with the onion ring consumption.
At the end of the day, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. It didn't kill me to stand in a line with hundreds of other hopefuls for almost three hours at an ill-advertised, ill-managed, so-called job fair today. It also didn't kill me to have that five minute screening interview at the end of the three hours. It didn't kill me to watch the HR monkey take one look at my resume and make her decision before I even had a chance to answer her questions. I did not drop dead when each creative, confident and articulate answer to her loaded questions made that wonderful whooshing sound only I could hear as they zoomed over her head and sometimes between her ears. My demise was not found in her implication that graduate school is laid back and not as fast-paced as a day job in her company. Neither did my spirit leave my body when she clearly implied that someone with my background isn't qualified to perform the tasks of the job (a job advertised as one requiring no prior experience in the field and any college degree preferred but not necessary).
And so, at the end of the day, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Strong enough to have the desire to conduct a social experiment in which at the next such interview I hand in a resume that leaves off the subject of my major and the entire master's degree. Maybe then the HR monkeys of this woman's illustrious quality will see something different in the chair in front of them. Since when did a thirst for knowledge become a hindrance to one's hirability? Oh, right, that must have left around the same time as the very idea of education. Hm.
So, thank you, Beth-friend for the ketchup and the open door. And thank you, mom, for establishing the Sonic tradition. Thank you, Linus, for smoothing ruffled feathers for five years running. And to all you HR monkeys out there...(Excluding my Becky. I would never call you a monkey, and I'm sure you were great at your job. Probably the best in the country, no joke. But I wish you well in your new-found profession. I'll gladly curse your old one with you.)
To all you HR monkeys out there, thanks for making me stronger and giving me a very hungry stomach to take to Sonic. I really appreciate it. That lime cream slush was tasty, and those onion rings were fried to crispy yet meaty perfection. You missed out, you really did.
About a year ago or so, a Sonic opened up by one of the malls here. It's just far enough from our place that it requires thought or planning, and as such, we have never made it. Until today.
I got my onion rings and lime cream slush. I threw in a burger for the protein, but it was just a red herring. Today was indeed a Sonic day. And because my hubby was at school and I didn't have my mom to sit with me, I showed up unannounced at a friend's just five minutes from Sonic. She was good enough to share her ketchup and kitchen table with me. Of course, the real attraction was her listening and no-nonsense encouragement, but the ketchup helped with the onion ring consumption.
At the end of the day, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. It didn't kill me to stand in a line with hundreds of other hopefuls for almost three hours at an ill-advertised, ill-managed, so-called job fair today. It also didn't kill me to have that five minute screening interview at the end of the three hours. It didn't kill me to watch the HR monkey take one look at my resume and make her decision before I even had a chance to answer her questions. I did not drop dead when each creative, confident and articulate answer to her loaded questions made that wonderful whooshing sound only I could hear as they zoomed over her head and sometimes between her ears. My demise was not found in her implication that graduate school is laid back and not as fast-paced as a day job in her company. Neither did my spirit leave my body when she clearly implied that someone with my background isn't qualified to perform the tasks of the job (a job advertised as one requiring no prior experience in the field and any college degree preferred but not necessary).
And so, at the end of the day, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Strong enough to have the desire to conduct a social experiment in which at the next such interview I hand in a resume that leaves off the subject of my major and the entire master's degree. Maybe then the HR monkeys of this woman's illustrious quality will see something different in the chair in front of them. Since when did a thirst for knowledge become a hindrance to one's hirability? Oh, right, that must have left around the same time as the very idea of education. Hm.
So, thank you, Beth-friend for the ketchup and the open door. And thank you, mom, for establishing the Sonic tradition. Thank you, Linus, for smoothing ruffled feathers for five years running. And to all you HR monkeys out there...(Excluding my Becky. I would never call you a monkey, and I'm sure you were great at your job. Probably the best in the country, no joke. But I wish you well in your new-found profession. I'll gladly curse your old one with you.)
To all you HR monkeys out there, thanks for making me stronger and giving me a very hungry stomach to take to Sonic. I really appreciate it. That lime cream slush was tasty, and those onion rings were fried to crispy yet meaty perfection. You missed out, you really did.
6 comments:
One of the clearest problems with HR is the irony of the term. Here are people who have no skills as a Human or in Relationships. Many are also hanging on to their jobs by their fingernails and enjoy the time they have putting down another whose level of accomplishment clearly exceeds their own. Remember the family motto. Mutti
Only someone who has never been in grad school could call it "laid back."
In one of my interviews they asked how they could know that I was a self-motivated and hard working. I said you don't complete a master's thesis or be a teacher without either one of those.
Well said and I'm glad the experience didn't kill you. My ketchup is here for you anytime.
As someone who was in HR for 3 years of her life, I will only say that there are dingbats in every profession.
Hang in there. You will find the right place that will appreciate your talents.
Becky
Hear hear to you and all previous comments. And here I go, joining with you in the battle to go conquer some HR folks.
All I can say is, after a year of a battle that eventually became a dance and having survived (as did all fine kids involved), I know I am in the right profession. This was unmistakably revealed to me (actually, more like a hit with a hammer where it counted) during a screening interview last week when the woman in front of me asked me "one last question: Why did you go in to the teaching profession?" and I got so choked up I almost couldn't answer. We do it for love, after all.
Bring on the monkeys.
Reminds of Dilbert's evil HR monkey, Ratbert. Remember the family motto:
"Illegitimatum non carborundum". Papa
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