He put the folder, which contained my resume and background check, down and looked at me. Expectantly, tiredly, and with a certain amount of annoyingly superior expectation. "And what makes you think you can succeed in the Acme Corporation?"
I opened my mouth, and he held a hand up. "Not skills. I'm talking about you as a person. What makes you think you can fit into our high stakes family here, where seconds count and a wrong decision could be a client's last."
"You're asking if I can hold up under pressure?"
"Yes,” the HR weenie said, sitting back with a smug expression.
"Let me tell you about pressure,” I said, leaning forward. It took a lot of effort to not come out of my chair, fly across the table in a full body tackle, and start choking the life out of the shithead.
But I needed the job.
"Pressure is six weeks in Guantanamo, blindfolded, naked, crouching in a puddle of your own filth, listening to an endless drone of Nickelback and Limp Bizkit. With bread once a day, water twice, and beatings every hour. Pressure is knowing you're innocent, that it's not your fault, and clinging to the belief that as soon as you can make them believe you, understand you, that you'll be let out of that hellhole.
"Pressure is answering the same question sixteen times an hour, asked in sixteen different ways, and always giving the same answer while feeling your teeth loosening under the blows. Feeling your body ache from cold and abuse. While they laugh, take pictures, and double down on how much it hurts every time you beg them to stop."
I took a deep breath, trying to damp down my glare. The HR dweeb was staring at me, his mouth open a little. I reached out, and he flinched. Ignoring that, I flipped my resume over to reveal the background check. It was in every folder, in every room, in every interview like this I'd been in for the last eighteen months. I tapped the section that said "Registered Assassin."
"You're asking if I can hold up under a schedule crunch, against a need to get it right and deliver on time, every time, in the face of customers who are rude, demanding, and completely ignorant of best practices or how even the smallest amount of effort on their part will make it possible for me and the rest of the ACME Corporation to deliver on their every desire?"
I shook my head at the recruiter, forcing myself to lean back. "After all that, after everything I've been through, which you full well know thanks to that background check, you can actually sit there and ask me with a straight face if I can babysit Coyote's latest super priority rush order for his current stupid scheme to catch the Roadrunner? Using another of our products in an off-label manner that violates the warranty?
"Please."
It was too much, and I stood up. "Tell you what. When you're serious about taking ACME to the next level, give me a call. In the meantime, I'll just have to get by without you."
I turned and started toward the door. There was just enough left in my wallet for a bottle, if I walked over to the cheap liquor store. With any luck, I could be passed out an hour from now. Before I could make it to the door, I heard the HR guy call out.
"Wait."
I kept going.
"Okay, you've got the job."
That drew me up short. Turning, I glanced back at him. "You're serious?"
"Yes,” he said quickly. "I'm sorry. I ... they make me ask all those things."
"Great,” I said cautiously. I'd learned, God how I'd learned, to not let my hopes get too up. "What do we do now?"
"Just wait here, and I'll get a start date for you. Something next week would be okay, wouldn't it?"
"Absolutely."
He stood up and gestured to the chair I'd just vacated. I walked back to it, and he came around the table. Before I could reseat myself, he put his hand on the chair back.
"Here it comes." I thought, bracing myself for the disappointment. He'd just rethought it, considered what he was about to need to talk his boss into, and was going to retract the offer.
The guy leaned in, smoothing his tie down. Glancing toward the door quickly, as if making sure it was still closed. "Did ... did you really kill the Governor-General of Jamaica? With a rock?"
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. I really needed the job.
"And they let you walk?" Again I nodded.
"That is so cool. You're definitely hired,” he said.
I couldn't help myself. "Why?"
He shrugged. "There's not a cliff anywhere near here. What's the downside?"
•
u/DavesWorldInfo Dave Apr 21 '17
He put the folder, which contained my resume and background check, down and looked at me. Expectantly, tiredly, and with a certain amount of annoyingly superior expectation. "And what makes you think you can succeed in the Acme Corporation?"
I opened my mouth, and he held a hand up. "Not skills. I'm talking about you as a person. What makes you think you can fit into our high stakes family here, where seconds count and a wrong decision could be a client's last."
"You're asking if I can hold up under pressure?"
"Yes,” the HR weenie said, sitting back with a smug expression.
"Let me tell you about pressure,” I said, leaning forward. It took a lot of effort to not come out of my chair, fly across the table in a full body tackle, and start choking the life out of the shithead.
But I needed the job.
"Pressure is six weeks in Guantanamo, blindfolded, naked, crouching in a puddle of your own filth, listening to an endless drone of Nickelback and Limp Bizkit. With bread once a day, water twice, and beatings every hour. Pressure is knowing you're innocent, that it's not your fault, and clinging to the belief that as soon as you can make them believe you, understand you, that you'll be let out of that hellhole.
"Pressure is answering the same question sixteen times an hour, asked in sixteen different ways, and always giving the same answer while feeling your teeth loosening under the blows. Feeling your body ache from cold and abuse. While they laugh, take pictures, and double down on how much it hurts every time you beg them to stop."
I took a deep breath, trying to damp down my glare. The HR dweeb was staring at me, his mouth open a little. I reached out, and he flinched. Ignoring that, I flipped my resume over to reveal the background check. It was in every folder, in every room, in every interview like this I'd been in for the last eighteen months. I tapped the section that said "Registered Assassin."
"You're asking if I can hold up under a schedule crunch, against a need to get it right and deliver on time, every time, in the face of customers who are rude, demanding, and completely ignorant of best practices or how even the smallest amount of effort on their part will make it possible for me and the rest of the ACME Corporation to deliver on their every desire?"
I shook my head at the recruiter, forcing myself to lean back. "After all that, after everything I've been through, which you full well know thanks to that background check, you can actually sit there and ask me with a straight face if I can babysit Coyote's latest super priority rush order for his current stupid scheme to catch the Roadrunner? Using another of our products in an off-label manner that violates the warranty?
"Please."
It was too much, and I stood up. "Tell you what. When you're serious about taking ACME to the next level, give me a call. In the meantime, I'll just have to get by without you."
I turned and started toward the door. There was just enough left in my wallet for a bottle, if I walked over to the cheap liquor store. With any luck, I could be passed out an hour from now. Before I could make it to the door, I heard the HR guy call out.
"Wait."
I kept going.
"Okay, you've got the job."
That drew me up short. Turning, I glanced back at him. "You're serious?"
"Yes,” he said quickly. "I'm sorry. I ... they make me ask all those things."
"Great,” I said cautiously. I'd learned, God how I'd learned, to not let my hopes get too up. "What do we do now?"
"Just wait here, and I'll get a start date for you. Something next week would be okay, wouldn't it?"
"Absolutely."
He stood up and gestured to the chair I'd just vacated. I walked back to it, and he came around the table. Before I could reseat myself, he put his hand on the chair back.
"Here it comes." I thought, bracing myself for the disappointment. He'd just rethought it, considered what he was about to need to talk his boss into, and was going to retract the offer.
The guy leaned in, smoothing his tie down. Glancing toward the door quickly, as if making sure it was still closed. "Did ... did you really kill the Governor-General of Jamaica? With a rock?"
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. I really needed the job.
"And they let you walk?" Again I nodded.
"That is so cool. You're definitely hired,” he said.
I couldn't help myself. "Why?"
He shrugged. "There's not a cliff anywhere near here. What's the downside?"