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job interview in Times Square
Thursday, June 20 2002I was riding the Q Train from Park Slope to Times Square (Manhattan) for my first job interview in two years when I noticed something ordinary had been subtly subverted by anonymous asymmetrical agents of rebellion, agents that throughout the land hopefully nip at the heels of our freshly post-constitutional police state. Instead of reading "Do Not Lean Against Doors" the little black sticker read instead "Do Not Be Governed." The font, style and even the silver streak of the original MTA sticker had all been replicated so flawlessly that the alteration had been completely overlooked by the people paid to show graffiti "zero tolerance." Unfortunately, this sticker appeared to be made of inferior-grade materials, as it had begun to fade.
My interview was in a 50-some story office tower right in the thick of the most crowded, touristy section of Broadway as it passes through Times Square. Here, the vast bulk of pedestrians reveal their non-Manhattan origins by wandering around in awe like Luke Skywalkers in Mos Eisley snapping pictures and consulting with their companions as to where exactly the ball drops on New Years. Times Square might be a great place to be awed by Future on Earth, but it seems like a lousy place to work nine to five. Nonetheless, here I was, interviewing for a job at ground zero of the corporate-controlled media universe. I'm also unnerved to think that it may one day serve as an entirely different sort of ground zero when the Bush administration needs renewed momentum for its domestic agenda.
Suffering suddenly from a full bladder and low blood sugar, I went over to Eighth Avenue and got some french fries and cappuccino from the McDonalds on the corner of 44th Street. Interestingly, the cappuccino came in a brownish-grey cup from which the thonglike McDonalds logo was conspicuously absent. Someone must have had a focus group and decided that cappuccino just isn't as appealing when served in a container featuring a big yellow M. Imagine going to the office and having to explain that you got your cappuccino at McDonalds. They know enough to spare their customers that conversation.
I drank my overly-sweet (but otherwise acceptable) cappuccino in front of the big media tower into which I was about to venture. Meanwhile a couple of men on the sidewalk were hocking collections of pickup lines for $1 each. Tourists streaming past craned their necks to look for celebrities taking cigarette breaks, as though such a thing might actually happen here.
Up the escalator and past two layers of security, one of which included a phone call to see if I was really expected on the 30th floor, I found myself filling out a form for HR at the front desk of the media giant that had deigned to interview me. It had the sort of questions tailor-made to induce discomfort in someone with a tendency to fib on his resumé. Sure, I graduated from Oberlin College, "double degree in Biology and Computer Science," I wrote as nervousness tied knots in my intestines.
Next came an interview with a woman from HR. It went very well, with me putting on the charm and doing my best impression of a brilliant and funny computer programmer who relates well to non-technical types.
Then she sent me off to be interviewed by a technical VP on the 42nd Floor, and this required using a totally different system of extremely high-speed elevators. The 42nd floor was colorful and filled with toys and big oversized Dr. Seuss chairs. On the walls were retro-futuristic television screens displaying classic examples of our collective multimedia heritage.
The technical VP's office had a commanding view of the city, all shrouded in the ethereal blue-grey atmospherics one normally only sees from airplanes. The VP himself seemed to be a rather extreme example of the antisocial technical type, talking too quickly and lacking in certain important social subtleties. Most egregious of these, I realized later, was that he had absolutely no sense of humor. I'd make some little joke, and there'd be this complete absence of response. I'd think "alright then..." and I'd adjust my humor setting and try a slightly different brand of comedy, but still there'd be no response. Every failing left me feeling slightly injured, and by the time the interview ended, it felt like a disaster. Though the technical VP had clearly been impressed by the things I've built, I felt no connection to the guy, and had no real idea what he thought of me as a person.
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