Punt!

I could write a book on job interviewing. The last two years has found me sitting across from recruiters, hiring managers, HR specialists and business owners. Shoulda been my therapist.

In financial desperation, I even offered myself to a fat chef in a greasy kitchen only to be insulted about my age. All bets are off in the culinary world. Despite my 40 years of experience and talent in that arena.

Recently, I’ve experienced a strange phenomenon. When the person you are interviewing with, instead of playing “hard to get” as you would expect, starts pitching you. This is never good.

Lift your feet, because it’s gonna start coming in heavy.

When this happens, you can be assured that they can’t keep their help, they pay shitty, and they have a “fly by the seat of your pants” sales process. There is no base salary. None.

Then comes the anecdotal on how much money the schlump out on the broker’s floor made last year. “I mean, if he can do it. C’mon.”

Now your host starts getting animated. In an unhealthy sort of way.

You notice the pitcher has some white stuff around his mouth as he removes his jacket. Shit, he’s digging in.

For a moment, I think if I look at my watch, Chris Farley will flip and come straight for me.

I have been asked to take a drug test…that day, asked if I can start tomorrow, asked for a list of friends and neighbors I can start pitching annuities to, and sometimes, even for upfront money. All in good faith, mind you.

I am so leery now, I usually ask my friends to text me mid-meeting to provide me an emergency out. In case.

Insurance companies, especially running up to enrollment periods, will casually mention how attractive your new co-workers are. Huzza huzza!

They will offer to train you to get your agent license, pay for your test, buy you an elevating desk and even pick you up at your house.

It is, in a word, icky. Your benefactor is now furiously rolling those two steel balls in his left hand as he scribbles furiously on the white board to bring this incredible opportunity to a crescendo. Climax?

His AA starts to clap.

You are almost expecting one of James Brown’s  “Famous Flames” to enter the room and throw a cape on him as he screams “Please, Please, Please.”

Keep your wits about you, but feign a bit of interest so you can at least get out of the building.

No good will come from this hasty muster.

Trust me.

Punt.

 

Please note: I welcome comments that are offensive, illogical or off-topic from readers in all states of consciousness.

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