Lost in the job hunting jungle…

It’s a jungle out there. Honestly, it’s nasty and it has left me with a rather bitter taste.

Whatever happened to good, old fashioned honesty and a frank, yet friendly chat with a prospective employer?

Those days are gone. In their place, it’s all about how best you can perform, and I say that tongue in cheek. For it seems that in today’s job hunting jungle you have to bare your teeth, be prepared for a cold and vicious kill (of your opponents) and create a persona that defies who you really are.

As a freelance journalist who has an interest in what’s going on in the world, I decided to put it to the test. So I applied for a position, wrote a resume that highlighted my experience and landed an interview.

Off I went feeling quite good as the position on offer was something I could confidently perform and one in which I had experience.

I arrived 15 minutes early, donned in professional attire and waited patiently to be collected. As I waited, a number of other candidates of various ages joined me. What I noticed was that some of the candidates had chosen to dress somewhat differently to what I deemed appropriate. Forgive me, but I’m of the opinion that when attending an interview, clean hair, unscuffed shoes, and ladder free stockings are the order of the day, not to mention any visible piercings relating to the nose and or face, should be removed.

Not so.

As I surveyed my ‘competition’ I felt I would at least stand a chance considering my experience, (did I mention that already?) and my well presented appearance.

How wrong I was, for after three hours of being subjected to video footage of booze infested party’s and over zealous employees giving endless and dare I say, boring anecdotes of their ‘experiences’, I and and a few other well presented hopefuls were politely told that we did not make the cut. For a moment I thought it might have been another of their little jokes, simply adding to the others they had shared throughout the morning. No, we had definitely been given our marching orders.

So as I sat and watched the ‘successfuls’ stroll past in their scuffed shoes, pierced noses and bare legs, something occurred to me. I had not shared a single word, hello, how ya’ doin’ or even a little ‘tell me about yourself’ with a single member of the selection panel. Instead I had played a survivor in a plane accident, been asked to sell my wares (or the company in question’s wares) and filled out a form saying what city I was in, if standing next to the Louvre.

Yep, it’s a jungle out there: well it would be if I could only get the opportunity to let somebody here my roar. Or at least a little rant.

Ah c’est la vie. Onto the next chapter…