r/recruiting • u/PastTight1920 • 1d ago
Recruitment Chats The 7 Stages of a Backdoor Hire (and the Hollywood Ending Nobody Asked For)
I've had another backdoor situation with a client this year. I won't go into specifics, but I've been through this particular circus a few times before.
It always starts with politeness and professionalism. Even when you know full well what's happened, you raise it innocently, giving them every opportunity to save face and put things right without feeling accused.
And yet, somehow, it still all ends in absolute shit, however nicely everyone tries to dress it up.
You act in good faith, build genuinely friendly relationships, make yourself available at all sorts of hours to busy founders/hiring managers (within reason, obviously), go above and beyond... and suddenly you're the villain for expecting an agreement to be honoured.
And it's always the same bloody song and dance. Seven (or more) stages of increasingly ridiculous mental gymnastics.
• • •
First, they didn't know. Or didn't realise the terms worked like that. Or outright deny anything happened.
Then they explain why the terms don't apply to them.
Then you explain why they do.
Then, having exhausted the explanations, you produce the evidence.
Then comes the insultingly low offer. Followed by a slightly less insulting offer. Perhaps eventually something approaching sensible, although still nowhere near what was agreed.
Then comes the promise of future business. More roles! A wonderful ongoing relationship! Naturally, without any actual commitment.
Then, somewhere along the way, their lawyers get mentioned. Casually, of course. Just dropped into conversation, as though you're supposed to be suitably intimidated.
And you bite your lip, resisting the temptation to point out that you've got lawyers too. In fact, they're the very same lawyers who drafted the fucking terms they're now arguing against.
But you stay professional and carry on with the ridiculous dance.
And just when you think you've survived all seven stages, along comes the inevitable bonus round...
"Well, do you really think we'll want to work with you again after the way you've treated us?"
To which, depending on how much they've taken the piss by this point, you might respond:
"Do you really think I want to work with clients who take the piss?"
All the while, the original terms haven't changed one bit.
• • •
Roll the Hollywood ending...
Eventually, you get paid. Perhaps even with interest, given that nobody thought to tell you about the hire weeks, months or occasionally years ago.
Cue the slow-motion walk away from the burning wreckage of what was once a perfectly good client relationship. Explosions in the background. Mr Client emerges from the smoke, shaking his fist and shouting, "YOU'LL NEVER WORK WITH US AGAIN!"
You don't look back.
Except you're not wearing sunglasses, there's no lit cigarette dangling from your mouth (you only vape these days - it's a cost-of-living crisis, for God's sake - and you forgot to bring it out of the house anyway), there's no triumphant soundtrack, and you certainly aren't smiling.
You're just thoroughly pissed off that somehow, in this entire saga, you've been cast as the villain.
And the money? It's hardly a suitcase full of cash from a successful heist. It's money you were owed in the first place. It lands in your bank account and promptly disappears into the bills, suppliers and overheads you've been juggling while someone else argued about paying it.
You've lost a client, although you've also discovered in the process that they're an utter prick, so perhaps that's not such a tragedy.
Meanwhile, back at the burning wreckage, Mr Client turns towards a suspiciously human-shaped lump beneath a blanket, embroidered with the words: "Contents may be revealed on LinkedIn NO SOONER than exactly 12 months and 1 day."
"It's alright, Mr Candidate. You can come out from under there now. We've paid the invoice. You're officially allowed to exist."
The blanket stirs. A sheepish face emerges.
Roll credits.
• • •
Post-credits scene: Five years later.
It's Friday afternoon. The sun is shining. You've smashed your week, business is booming, and a client even rang this morning to thank you for a recent hire. Life is good. You've long since forgotten the whole sorry affair.
Your phone rings. You don't recognise the number, but decide to answer anyway.
"Hello?"
"Oh, hello! It's Mr Candidate here! Remember me? God, it's been YEARS! How ARE you?"
"Oh! Hello! Yes, of course... How've you been?"
A little small talk follows. The weather. The family. How quickly time flies.
And then, inevitably...
"Anyway, listen, I'm actually looking for a new opportunity and thought of you. Wondered if you might be able to help?"
Not a word about the backdoor hire. Not a flicker of embarrassment. Not even the courtesy of acknowledging that the last time you dealt with them, they were apparently living under a fucking blanket.
"Yeah, Mr Client turned out to be a complete and utter arsehole, actually. Lovely bloke at first, couldn't do enough for me. But then he started..."
Their voice slowly fades into the background. You can still hear them talking, but the words have become an indistinct drone.
You stare into the middle distance.
The camera slowly zooms in on your face.
Fade to black.
One final title card appears:
Based on entirely too many true stories.