The phone, and other forms of torture

My favorite television series (and I watch very little television) in recent memory is "Downton Abbey." I live to hear the next quip from the Dowager Countess Violet Grantham (Maggie Smith, who can toss off a one-liner better than anyone currently breathing). In one scene, Lady Grantham is using the phone. Apparently, even in the early 1900s, customer service on the phone was not what it could have been and, exasperated, she exclaims, "Is this an instruments of communication or torture?"

I feel like that about phones. I have a cell phone. I am loathe to call it a "smart phone," although it does seem to be smart enough to extract a hefty fee from me every month. It is a necessary evil but, I'd just as soon use it as sparingly as possible. I really dislike talking on the phone.

However, these days, I find myself starting at the darned thing and thinking, "Ring, damn you. RING!"

It must be them

In 1967, Vikki Carr had a hit song called, "It must be him." (Click here for this golden oldie) It was rather about a woman so totally infatuated with a guy that every time the phone rang, she started praying, "Let it please be him, my dear God. It must be him. It must be him!" It never seemed that "he" (whoever he was) ever actually called.

I feel rather like that woman every time my phone rings. After 70+ applications, I think "It must be them, my dear God. It must be them." It rarely is. Recent, it was, though.

The Inquisition

I remain ever convinced that the telephone is a relic invented by the Grand Inquisitor and is part of an ongoing Inquisitio Haereticae Pravitati.

Last week I had a phone interview for one of the jobs I was totally excited about. The thing about phone interviews is that they are largely without context. Except for the interroga...I mean, interview questions, the candidate is left up to doing all the talking and trying to keep the conversation, what little of it there is, going. He/she is rewarded with the occasional "okay," "I see," or guttural emission from the party on the other side of the phone. One imagines the cringes, eye rolling, or head shaking at every answer.

In fact, I don't have to imagine those things. I've been on enough search committees and even chaired quite a few to know what goes on in the room with the interviewer/s. I know they are looking for specific answers, key words and phrases, and a certain lilt to the voice.

My interview started off with the interviewer answering her own questions: "Well, my first question is generally about why you've applied for this job. In your case, I know you just lost yours and you applied trying to replace the one you lost," in so many words. Nothing like finding out that the interviewer assumed you've applied out of sheer desperation. In fact, I would have applied for this job regardless. It was a great job doing good work and supported the community-at-large. It was a great job. Period.

Through the next 30 minutes -- which were likely comprised the quickest half-hour of my life -- I proceeded to answer seven or eight questions to the best of my ability. I was happy with my answers, many of which were met with, "Hmmm." Hanging up, I could tell that the interviewer was not impressed. I felt dejected and depressed. Had I let myself down on the interview, my preparation, throughout my career?

My instincts -- and many articles on job searching -- tell me that an experience like this tells me that we just aren't a good fit for each other. It's like a coffee date where two parties size each other up to see if ingesting solids together is in their future or if it is better to order a single espresso shot and get the hell out of the coffeehouse. Still, even those two Starbucks-crossed lovers upon finding nothing attractive about the other will feel some sense of disappointment, as did I after hanging up from the phone interview.

The online application (a.k.a., "The Rack")

Another form of employment torture I find is the online employment application form. Forward thinking organizations make this a breeze. Upload the resume and cover letter, and receive your email confirmation. Other organizations, however, must have so many CYA folks that their organization must look like a wallpaper store from the waist down. Several application processes have gone like this:

1. Set up an account
2. Upload the resume
3. Proceed to copy and paste everything from the resume into an online form filling in individual  bits of information one piece at a time (e.g. beginning date, ending date, beginning salary, ending salary, etc.)
4. Upload cover letter
5. Answer extensive questionnaire about your qualifications for the job (all covered in the cover letter)
6. Answer the affirmative action form.

Thirty to 45 minutes later, you finally get to hit the submit button and see what happens. About a third of the time, the application goes through. About a third of a time, you find that you've missed a little red asterisk indicating a required field somewhere along the way and you have to go back to find it, and about a third of the time, you get an error message saying, basically, our antiquated system just lost your application, you're screwed, please begin again.

Employment application tracking systems sponsored by Taleo are interesting. You have an opportunity to set up a universal profile with Taleo, which I've done. When you go to a Taleo site, you are frequently (but not universally as a "universal profile" would indicate) invited to sign on using your universal profile. It works about a quarter of the time. I guess that is at least a little progress.

It just seems like to me that really great candidates aren't going to jump through all these hoops. Of course, as it was pointed out to me recently, "beggars cannot be choosers," so I jump through them like a trick pony.