FYBRI (For Your Blog Reading Information): I'm coming to you from Atlanta. I live here now. I don't think this should affect our relationship.
_____________________________________________________________________
When our college graduation was upon us some eight years ago, most of us were sending out resumes (we faxed them back then, sometimes even mailed) and going on interviews (we wore skirt suits with panty hose, shameful).
But one of Frank's friends announced, "Well, I'm about to graduate. I gotta go pick up some applications."
Applications? You don't "pick up applications" after spending four years in college. You don't randomly walk into Taco Cabana and ask, "Y'all hirin'?" When you fill out applications you have to list your high school, even your elementary school. And there's like a whole page for listing your felonies. They ask that you write down how much money you want to make per hour and what shifts you're available to work.
No, the rest of us were above that. We even printed our resumes on speckled-sturdy-stock paper. Mine was a shade of blue. I thought it gave me an extra edge.
Well, today, I lost my edge.
I wanted to see about teaching spin at a gym here. As most of you know, up until two days ago, I taught spin in Dallas. They don't have 24 Hour Fitness here so I had to venture into L.A. Fitness. I felt like a 16-year-old. It was just like when I used to drive around at the beginning of the summer, wandering into restaurants, retail stores and the mall, asking, "Are y'all takin' applications?" That's how I ended up at Sonic.
So I walked in and I'm like, "Hi! I was an instructor in Dallas and I wanted to see about teaching here. Is there someone I can talk to about that?"
The girl behind the front desk made me fill out an application. I did it: the elementary school, high school, random references, the pay per hour, the felony charges, the works.
I did feel somewhat proud when I wrote down my college degree: Bachelor of Science from the University of Texas. Pretty impressive. Surely I'm qualified to teach spin. I confidently handed the girl my application.
She said, "Um...I think you messed up on your address. You wrote that you live in Roswell, Texas."
Oops. I wonder if Sonic is hiring.
4 comments:
Can't take "Texas" out of the girl!
That's right. I'm going to have to get Georgia plates soon. That'll be weird. Maybe I can get a personalized one that says "TX Gal" or "Yee Haw" or something.
I have walked out of many offices in my younger years after becoming frustrated with their inane applications. Sometimes you spend 45 minutes on one, wait another hour to see someone, only to be told by someone who pokes his head out that you're "over qualified" and wouldn't be interested.
Been there, done that Papa
It's as bad as the doctor. But as least there you get drugs.
Post a Comment