Career Game

In my hand I reviewed two resumes. I had been interviewing for weeks and one position had finally been narrowed down to two applicants. As I reviewed the information of each and recalled their individual interviews, I remembered Grandma.

Grandma, has been giving me advice, old school, since my birth. Early in my teen years I had stopped listening, or at least acting on her proper solutions in my improper world. Until, at least, the November of 94. She had walked into my apartment, unannounced as she always did, to find me on the floor in front of my couch. News papers, copies of my resume, and my lap top scattered and disheveled lying around me. The clear scene of a women gone mad, and that women, puffy and red, still out of control and crying. The confident lioness had been cornered in her own den, defeated and caught there was no room for anything but the truth.

That truth consisted of a fifty-two thousand dollar degree, then six months old, 25 resumes securing 5 interviews, and still no career. Grandma was not the type to solve problems with a batch of warm cookies and a tight hug. No, for two hours she battered me with a barrage of questions. Did I research the companies, the interviewer, what did I wear, how did I do my hair, what color were my nails, jewelry, ...on and on. She went so far as to actually have me put on my suit. I had just one. At $460.00, one was all I could afford. A simple dark blue jacket and coordinating skirt, two fingers above the knee, and worn with a simple high heeled closed toe shoe. Adorned with a strand of small pearls, matching stud ear rings and wearing my hair loose, I felt, gave me a competent, professional, but feminine look. From her facial expression, further supported by her shaking head, I was also confident that she did not agree with my assessment. Though I asked her numerous times, what was wrong with my presentation, she said nothing, only mumbling to herself as she shuffled through my closet. Finally handing me twenty bucks, she instructed me to head downtown and relax a bit with a coffee and pastry. Grabbing a copy of my resume, she left. Just like that, she left, with no great advice or explanation.

Three days after her mysterious exit, she returned bearing gifts. Two suits, two sets of shoes, jewelry for each, and oddly a resume for each. The two groups were tagged, "Fun and Flirty" and "Competent Conservative".

"There was no reason to attempt to fill your stubborn head with my, "old school", advice." she said "Instead of sending you on a mission, that I knew you would not complete, I did it for you.".

The "Fun and Flirty" suit was a longer, form fitting dark blue jacket with a red kerchief peaking out of the pocket,  that was to be worn over an attractive white and blue striped pleated skirt. The skirt was shorter than two fingers above the knee but still acceptable. With the dress was a pair of complimentary red heels, thin and high to give my legs that long alluring look, so grandma said, and a set of slightly large gold anchor ear rings. This dress along with my hair worn down, and a copy of my resume that consisted of minor changes in wording - not dumbed down, but expressing fewer power words, was to be the interview outfit that I wore when my interviewer, was a male.

The "Competent Conservative" suit was quite comparable to the suit I already had but the skirt was longer, just past the knees. To be worn under the jacket, was a collared white silk top. Accompanying this dress were a pair of short think healed wide toed pumps, ugly, with a simple set of gold ball ear rings and a matching necklace consisting of three small gold balls. This, with my original resume and my hair worn up close to my head was to be the outfit for interviews with female employers.

This was not the 1950s, I had attempted to argue, but it was pointless as I had known from the start.

"You will do good, to say thank you to this old woman, and follow the path that I have laid out for you. If nothing else, prove me wrong." and that was it, she was once again out the door with a exasperated huff.

After much grumbling to friends about my grandmother's old school beliefs, I did as she requested. Six more interviews, two females, four males. The very first was a female interviewer, who I have to admit put the fear of god into me during most of our discussion. Rigid and to the point she battered me, much like my grandmother, with questions concerning intricacies of the job and abstract solutions to non-existent problems, all the time expressing no emotion. At the end however, a smile transformed her face and instantly gave new dimensions to this powerful woman. I knew our interview had been successful. I also, though still not admitting it, knew my grandma was right. Though I did not get the job, I did get my first "personal" denial letter in which she explained that another applicant with more direct experience had been hired, but she had been pleased with our interview and encouraged me to continue as she was sure I would find success.

I was offered three positions from those six interviews. No exaggeration, three! All three were from male interviewers, and at all three I wore the sailor suit. Though I did accept a position and began my career, I was not willing, or able yet, to admit my Grandma's world was the one we still lived in. I sent out more resumes, reversing the strategy. Over the following year, I completed four more interviews, picking two females and two males. No one called back.

Holding these two qualified resumes in my hand, I decided to deviate from my initial instinct, after 20 years, to finally prove my grandma wrong. I sent my choice to the H.R. department and looked forward to meeting my new account assistant. Even though she was younger, at least two cup sizes my senior, and her perfectly emphasized figure would demand a great deal of attention around the office, I would break the rules of this game and perhaps inspire a new one.