Everyday Psychopaths Page 12
***
The first interviewee is Matthew, a young New Yorker with quite an impressive CV. This sadly seems to be the only impressive thing about him and his appearance is the first warning sign. Matthew has a curly patch of dark red hair on his head and freckles all over his baby-ish face. In his over-sized blue suit he looks a bit like a schoolboy in a uniform, which is pretty much exactly what I'm not looking for. I instantly get the feeling Matthew isn't the kind of person who catches the shit before it hits the fan - he scrapes it off afterwards - and during the short interview I have with him, I never really lose that feeling. Matthew's voice is not unsteady, but annoyingly light and his handshake is sweaty and cold. According to the paper in front of me he’s 25. I remember when I was 25, I had hair on my handsome face, a stride in my walk and believed the world was to be laid under my feet (I did some of it of course, but mostly ended up laying women). This guy, this half-nerd with unpolished shoes and a nervous laugh, could very well still be a virgin. What that has to do with his job application? Nothing on paper, but plenty in real life. I want to employ tough people, people who know what they want and how to get it. Virgins must have a pretty poor track record of that.
I'd of course love to hire a younger version of myself, as I thought I did the employer a favor by looking for work there. I was cocky, but at least I brought results, passion and hard work to the table. And in the end that's the only thing every employer wants.
Matthew answers my questions in the way I expected him to - I could probably have written his answers down beforehand. There's nothing original or interesting about him, which is strange for a guy who's looking for a job as a writer. Some of his work is competent his portfolio tells me, but I'm looking for a future star, someone who can unleash award-, and most importantly, account-winning ideas, not a person who's decent and happy to get a job, any job in the industry. And although he might have a slice of talent hidden under his red hair, he’ll need to be talented somewhere else. Matthew’s in the middle of a sentence when I thank him for his time and tell him I'll be in touch. He looks surprised by the rudeness of this, but if he’s done his research properly, he shouldn’t be, and if he didn't, well...fuck him. I'm not known for silky hands and Matthew's lack of balls makes me angry. I know it takes a while to find a good writer, but I've got no patience for these things anymore - I just want to get it over with. I drink another scotch before Angela calls in the next candidate, but it doesn't really help to dissipate my anger.
As I could’ve predicted, the following two interviews are even more depressing than the first one. What's wrong with people these days? Either creative director Jim has been smoking some strong herbs or the applicants must have sugared their résumés like donuts. I can feel my mood darkening and I shout out to Angela over the intercom to get me a second Americano to balance out the alcohol heating up my blood. I haven't had any food today and I need to get both lunch and some fresh air to function properly, but I have one more interview to get through before I can head out.
I look down at the next CV in the pile in front of me and I actually remember liking this one when I skimmed through these papers last week. Mindy Wallace wrote the best and most creative cover letter I've seen in a while and her portfolio isn't bad. And I have a feeling that if she can win me over in written form, she could also do it in the interview.
After a while Angela comes in with another cup of coffee, accompanied by a skinny dark-haired girl with a Mediterranean looking face, an olive skin tone (she looks to hail more from Italy than Kansas) and a nice light-grey business dress. She's definitely attractive and my mood lifts immediately. A promising start. I stand up, say hi, and greet her with my biggest smile and point to the chair in front of my desk. She has a confident air about her - she knows she has a good chance at this job and I like that. Optimism, no matter if it's misguided or just, is far more flattering than nerves.
It doesn’t take me long to realize Mindy is the one. That's how it usually happens, after a while you just know. So I offer her the job on the spot, but I also try to save a little money by aiming for a salary lower than we really should pay her, considering the market value of the position, her previous experience, and so on. I study her face for a reaction. She has nice features, slim and angular, a bit like a matinee movie star. While I watch her, part of me expects her to burst into a smile and reach over and shake my hand. This is what I want to happen here, what ought to happen. I've had enough of a bad day already and prefer to get this over and done with so I can have lunch. But Mindy surprises me. Her eyes turn slightly downward in disappointment and she says she’ll think about it.
Something snaps inside of me.
“Think about it?” I scream in her face. “What is there to think about? You come to one of the best agencies in New York (not really sure about this anymore), get an offer only an idiot would refuse and you tell me you’ll think about it?” I inadvertently spit at her when I say this. Mindy looks at me big-eyed now, terrified like a deer in the headlights of a car. Who wouldn't be? Who’d expect this kind of tirade? But she composes herself, lifts her eyes from the ground, looks straight into mine and says with an impressive calm:
“I'd kind of thought you'd offer me more money.”
I know I shouldn't take offense, but this is a rejection to me and I can't take rejections. It means Mindy knows her own value, she might have other interviews lined up, possibly even other offers to consider. I'm caught in the act of the cheapskate and I’ve got no way out but to bluff, to attack when she least expects it. Sometimes it's good to drink during office hours.
“Money? You think this is about money? I give you a bright future on a silver plate and you start talking about money? This agency is about passion, about pushing your own limits and the true art of advertising. It's the best fucking place to work in the industry and you know that. And we can pay you well - after you show you're worth it.”
I give out a chuckle and look away, like I can't stand to look at her right now.
“I...”, she stumbles.
“You know what?” I say in my tough guy negotiation voice, “I could tell you right now to get the fuck out of my office, it would be as easy as one-two-three. But for some reason I'm going to give you one more chance to say yes. Say yes or leave now.” I give her a look telling her I mean business and I'm the one holding the cards. This is not true, because I'm tired of interviews and I really hope she takes the job, but I need to stick to my gambit.
“I guess I take the job,” Mindy says, sounding more confused than happy.
I turn on my brightest smile (I know I'm acting like a complete lunatic here), stretch out my hand and say, “Welcome! I promise you you’ll love it here. You can sort out the details with Ellen over at HR, I’ll drop her an e-mail. Now please get out of my office.” When Mindy leaves, she's probably as confused as I am after what just took place. I take a long look at her ass and reach for the bottle of scotch in my desk drawer and take a healthy sip, straight from the bottle.
I'm losing it. Seriously.