Tell Us Something About Yourself, Part Two

Friends,


Job number two is what I consider a rent-payer. It's not a career job. It is in no way something I'm interested in doing for the two years we'll be in Madison. It is a job that I have been qualified to do for the past 11 years. None of my education matters with this job. It is a job to pay the rent and keep the lights on.

The job is essentially a call center job where I will be paid 9.50 an hour to be a telephone. That's no exaggeration. If I get the job, I will be Communication Assistant working relay between deaf people and hearing people. See, deaf people call this 800 number to get the relay person via one of those keyboard phones (called a TTY). The relay person then calls the number of who the deaf person wants to talk to. The deaf person types what they want to say, the relay then gets the message and reads it to the deaf person, with inflection, as if the relay person is the one making the call. The hearing person responds and the relay person types it back to the deaf person.

When I approached the building there is a small vestibule area where I had to press a buzzer on an intercom to state my business and be let in. I pressed. I stated. The woman on the intercom said I would be let in shortly. Two people walked up the the reception area, which was two chairs and an unmanned reception desk that I could see through the locked glass door. They looked right at me, and walked away without opening the door. A fine welcome.

I waited for a couple minutes, until a person exited, when I grabbed the door before it closed and slunk inside. Right here I should note that I am wearing my thesis reading clothes still, the fancy dark red shirt, nice tie, nice fitting slacks, and dress shoes. I waited for a few more minutes in the reception area until a chunky woman wearing a two-sizes too small Brewers t-shirt and blue jeans lollipopped up to the reception desk, pushed a clipboard at me with an application on it and told me to fill it out.

I did. One of the points in all applications like this is where they ask whether or not you are a felon. And right under that, it says that being a felon won't disqualify you for this job. I've been in college pretty much continously since 1997, save for a few odd semesters here and there. I have two degrees. I would like to think that this qualifies me for a job where being a felon is a decidedly bad thing, and would disqualify you from employment. Not that I want a high ranking government job, or anything. It's just that there should be a level of education you can obtain that says your workplace will be felon free, if so desired.

I should also say I hate these kind of applications for two reasons. First, my job history is embarassing. I'm not ashamed of the teaching parts, just the customer service parts, and that I am not too far removed from those days, and that I never did anything about that. Second, this is a kind of job where I'm embarassed for the recommenders I have to list. I don't like the idea of Diana, Rick or Anne needing to vouch for me to get a job doing this kind of work. It embarasses me to no end. I feel like I should be better than this.

After the app was filled out, the chunky lady in the Brewers shirt (which was also a Robin Yount shirt) led me to the testing room. I had to pass a typing test and a spelling test for this job. The computer they sit me at for this testing is running on Windows 95. Next to the computer is a tape player with headphones, and a handy foot pedal to press to make the tape play. One of the casettes was labeled "Typing Test, 1999."

The spelling test was a breeze, and included words like read, deceive and attendance. The typing test was a conversation read by a guy who sounded vaguely like Roger Sheffer, only 20 years younger. I had to just type what he said and was timed doing so. I had to get at least 50 WPM. The person in the Brewers shirt stopped me before I had finished the whole conversation, and it immediately worried me that I was, in fact, somehow underqualified for this job.

Next, I had to watch a video while my tests were graded. It was an amateur company propoganda video clearly done with a first-generation camcorder and early home editing technology. The actors were obviously whoever was on shift at the time of filming because one person was this trollish lady wearing a shirt three sizes too small for her gut. (Yes, this place is overrun with ladies who are overweight and wear clothes at accentuate that...I got no room to talk about weight issues, but I at least know what size shirt I wear).

The video told me one interesting fact. To help make these conversations seem more realistic, they have fake ambient background noises for the hearing people. TV sounds. Dogs barking. Horns honking.

When the interview portion began, after some more waiting in the room alone, I learned that I had passed the spelling test (30 out of 30) and my typing test was fine (66WPM, 98% accuracy). The interview was conducted by a professional looking woman, and I finally didn't feel so grossly out of place. However, while I was as charming, polite and funny as I can be during the interview, the woman was not amused. Not even so much as getting the corners of her mouth to tilt upward.

She asked me if I would be okay with saying dirty words and speaking of illegal activity for deaf people. I said sure. She told me that they get prank called a lot, and I said I didn't mind. She asked me if I would be okay with expressing suicidal words for deaf people. I had a much bigger problem with that. But, with this job, I would be a telephone. Not even a person. Therefore I must be a stoic as a telephone, and because they have such an intense confidentiality shield, I can say nothing to anyone about these kind of calls, except a supervisor. To the suicidal thing, I said I could do it...and I'm still bothered that I did.

After that, the interview was over. I shook hands with the manager lady, and that was it. I feel that I got this job. I honestly don't see how I couldn't get this job. It has to be a lock.

This is a job that, well, I should be better than. And I will be working with people that I will feel superior to. Then, later, I will feel like an ass for feeling so high and mighty because, after all, we are working the same job. If I was truly so much better, then I would get a better job now wouldn't I? And then I'll feel like even more assy about being smug in the first place.

It is a job where I will undoubtedly feel depressed doing. And under used. And not challenged. And feel like my talents are wasted. But, I will take solace in the fact that I'm paying the rent. That is what I need to do, and I will be providing, so there should be pride in that, right? Right?

This afternoon Emily called to tell me that this job checked my employment history for when I worked with at the company she currently toils at, keeping the lights on, paying the rent. Why is that when she told me they called, that I didn't feel an ounce a pride, and only regret for applying to this job? Why isn't making sure the rent is paid and the lights are on isn't much of a motivator for me? How could anything else be more important than that?

viva el mustache