For the last five months I have searched for employment almost every day. On a Monday in May, I received three job offers within four hours, two came within five minutes of each other. It was difficult to make a final decision, but I did ... or so I thought.
About two months ago, I applied to a research job with CBS in San Francisco. I interviewed and never heard back. A few weeks passed and I emailed CBS to follow-up. "While we were impressed with your skills, we've chosen another candidate whose qualifications more closely match our needs at this time," was CBS's response. I was upset and discouraged, and so I gave a simple reply, "Your loss."
Two more weeks passed, during which I received the three job offers and accepted one. Then CBS emailed me, "We would like to continue our search because our final candidate decided to take another position within our organization. Are you still interested in the position?"
Strange, I thought. I have since been interviewing with CBS while preparing to move to Phoenix for the job I have already accepted. CBS now wants me to travel to SF for an in-person interview.
More, this morning I received a phone call from a number with a 212 area code, New York, my old stomping ground. I was hesitant to answer, but I did. According to the man on the phone, my soon-to-be employer in Phoenix and its background-check service is unable to verify my past employment, Primetime Golf. Of course.
Stay tuned.
May 27, 2010
May 10, 2010
Light Tennis
A few days past, two friends in their mid-twenties played tennis on Skyline High School courts in Idaho Falls, ID. School, of course, is still in session. The strange, sonar bell rang around 12:20 indicating lunchtime for the students. A student parking lot expands the entire length of the south side of the four tennis courts. For 45 minutes cars buzzed in and out, leaving and then returning from lunch. A small truck returned from lunch and parked near the two friends around 12:45.
The door opened a few inches, a few more, and finally a girl appeared. Then, the friend serving on the south baseline stopped. He caught the tennis ball on his serve toss instead of striking the ball. He inhaled and caught an aroma too strong to be natural, and then perfume flooded his olfactory.
"Can you smell that?" he said to his tennis partner. "Somebody is using way too much perfume." He tossed the ball, served, and eventually lost the game. The two friends switched sides.
"You're right. It does smell over here. Somebody must have went home and smoked their lunch," he said.
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The door opened a few inches, a few more, and finally a girl appeared. Then, the friend serving on the south baseline stopped. He caught the tennis ball on his serve toss instead of striking the ball. He inhaled and caught an aroma too strong to be natural, and then perfume flooded his olfactory.
"Can you smell that?" he said to his tennis partner. "Somebody is using way too much perfume." He tossed the ball, served, and eventually lost the game. The two friends switched sides.
"You're right. It does smell over here. Somebody must have went home and smoked their lunch," he said.
View Larger Map
May 4, 2010
May 3, 2010
Calling All Cabs
Recently, I was flown to Arizona for a job interview. The short trip and interview went well. I was impressed with the organization of the company, its employees, and Arizona on the whole. Although, travel is somewhat humdrum to me, with one exception. Meeting new, strange people is an experience like none other, and airplane travel nearly forces a person to do so.
The Beatnik: I found my aisle seat upon boarding the SkyWest Delta connection flight from Salt Lake City to Phoenix. To my wondrous surprise, I was greeted by a beatnik. Surely, he was born a few generations after the Beat Generation, but a beatnik he was indeed. His hair was rowdy and dirty and found its way onto my shoulder and arm on several occasions. His voice was soft enough to save every whale on the planet. His knowledge, a little outdated, he openly shared. He displayed his mp3 player with pride, a Microsoft Zune.
"I am a supporter of non-iPod mp3 players, and the Zune may be the best on the market," I said. He started spitting numbers, prices, and comparative data in my direction. Patiently, I awaited my turn, then, explained I had worked for a large media research company and had conducted a professional comparison of the two devices. For the first time, his mouth was visible through his curly, peanut-filled beard, he smiled. I listened to him tout the Zune the entire duration of the flight. We landed and he wished me a sincere good-bye.
Alim: The company for which I was interviewing was kind enough to pay for a rental car or taxi service. I chose the taxi. After the interview, I had several hours at my expense. I called a cab to drive me to Tempe in order to meet up with a friend. I waited on the curb and Alim picked me up. "Take me to this address, please," I said as I showed him a text message on my phone. He agreed. We discussed basketball, children, immigration, politics, employment, and life. Alim, an African-American from Los Angeles, is a father to an eighteen-year-old military man. He played collegiate basketball, drives a cab part-time, and was recently divorced. On the way to my destination, Alim found himself lost. He made me aware, knowing that I was a complete stranger to the area, and deliberately stopped the meter.
Finally, we arrived and Alim agreed to pick me up two hours later in order to drive me to the airport. He trusted me with his personal cell number, and sure enough, he picked me up promptly after the call. On this ride, he shared with me the following story:
I learned my lesson of honesty years back. Getting ahead in life isn't about money or prestige, it's integrity. I was driving a cab one day and the guy in the back left his wallet. I took the wallet to the police, but I took the $150 and told them I had found it on the street. Three months later, I was on a bus on my way to workout. It was hot. I took off my hat and put my keys and wallet in it. I stepped off the bus without my hat, keys, and wallet. So, of course, I tried stop the bus. It didn't work, so I jumped in a cab and said, "I'll give you twenty bucks to drive and stop in front of that bus when it makes the next stop." Long story short, I waited for the passengers of the bus to step off before I stepped on. I found my hat, keys, and wallet ... less my $500 in rent money. I wasn't mad, I didn't curse. God taught me a lesson, and I learned it.
Which is greater: the man in a taxi on his way to an important board meeting or the taxi driver? It is difficult to appreciate in a world so full of depreciation, but it is possible. In fact, it is necessary. Flannery O'Connor was right, A Good Man Is Hard to Find, but I found two in the most unlikely of places.
The Beatnik: I found my aisle seat upon boarding the SkyWest Delta connection flight from Salt Lake City to Phoenix. To my wondrous surprise, I was greeted by a beatnik. Surely, he was born a few generations after the Beat Generation, but a beatnik he was indeed. His hair was rowdy and dirty and found its way onto my shoulder and arm on several occasions. His voice was soft enough to save every whale on the planet. His knowledge, a little outdated, he openly shared. He displayed his mp3 player with pride, a Microsoft Zune.
"I am a supporter of non-iPod mp3 players, and the Zune may be the best on the market," I said. He started spitting numbers, prices, and comparative data in my direction. Patiently, I awaited my turn, then, explained I had worked for a large media research company and had conducted a professional comparison of the two devices. For the first time, his mouth was visible through his curly, peanut-filled beard, he smiled. I listened to him tout the Zune the entire duration of the flight. We landed and he wished me a sincere good-bye.
Alim: The company for which I was interviewing was kind enough to pay for a rental car or taxi service. I chose the taxi. After the interview, I had several hours at my expense. I called a cab to drive me to Tempe in order to meet up with a friend. I waited on the curb and Alim picked me up. "Take me to this address, please," I said as I showed him a text message on my phone. He agreed. We discussed basketball, children, immigration, politics, employment, and life. Alim, an African-American from Los Angeles, is a father to an eighteen-year-old military man. He played collegiate basketball, drives a cab part-time, and was recently divorced. On the way to my destination, Alim found himself lost. He made me aware, knowing that I was a complete stranger to the area, and deliberately stopped the meter.
Finally, we arrived and Alim agreed to pick me up two hours later in order to drive me to the airport. He trusted me with his personal cell number, and sure enough, he picked me up promptly after the call. On this ride, he shared with me the following story:
I learned my lesson of honesty years back. Getting ahead in life isn't about money or prestige, it's integrity. I was driving a cab one day and the guy in the back left his wallet. I took the wallet to the police, but I took the $150 and told them I had found it on the street. Three months later, I was on a bus on my way to workout. It was hot. I took off my hat and put my keys and wallet in it. I stepped off the bus without my hat, keys, and wallet. So, of course, I tried stop the bus. It didn't work, so I jumped in a cab and said, "I'll give you twenty bucks to drive and stop in front of that bus when it makes the next stop." Long story short, I waited for the passengers of the bus to step off before I stepped on. I found my hat, keys, and wallet ... less my $500 in rent money. I wasn't mad, I didn't curse. God taught me a lesson, and I learned it.
Which is greater: the man in a taxi on his way to an important board meeting or the taxi driver? It is difficult to appreciate in a world so full of depreciation, but it is possible. In fact, it is necessary. Flannery O'Connor was right, A Good Man Is Hard to Find, but I found two in the most unlikely of places.
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