About a month ago, after taking the two months after the end of school off to sleep late, watch TV, and be generally unproductive, I started looking for a job. Now, I sleep late, watch TV, and spend a couple of hours or so each day doing “job search related activities,” whatever that means, which by definition is productive.
The job hunt is a slow process and I am an impatient person; needless to say, we don’t get along very well. However, my patience is on par with a special ed teacher compared to my mother’s, who was incredulous that I didn’t have a corner office and cushy salary after a week of scattering my resume around town. To say that my mom has a vested interest in my job search is an understatement. She is, by nature, a worrier. She worries about everything, and her latest worry is that I won’t find a job. Ever. And that I’ll have to move back home like some Italian mama’s boy and live with her. And she’ll have to support me while I wear track suits and fall in with some local toughs.
All of these worries come despite the fact that I now am a proud owner of a Juris Doctorate to go along with my undergrad degree in finance, an actual useful major that is desired by employers; that I have good interpersonal and communication skills and do great in interviews; and most importantly, that I really do want to find a job.
It should come as no surprise then, that several weeks ago when I had a job interview, she called to wish me luck, we had the following exchange.
“Did you wear a suit?”
“No, flip flops and shorts, and a polo shirt.”
“You better be joking.” Her tone was ominous and devoid of humor. Naturally, I further prodded her.
“Well my polo is tucked in…” She was about to go off, but I stopped her before she could start. “Of course I wore a suit, lighten up.”
“Good. I never know with you. What color shirt?”
“It’s like a dark blue with white stripes, and a solid tie.”
“WHAT?!?!?! YOU CAN’T WEAR A STRIPED SHIRT TO AN INTERVIEW! IT HAS TO BE WHITE OR LIGHT BLUE.!!!” You would have thought I told her that I had knocked up my girlfriend or decided to become a Hare Krishna.
“Relax, it looks fine.”
“I don’t care if it looks fine. They will judge you on what you wear. It’s just not interview attire, go home and change.”
“No. Let them judge me. If they don’t want me to work there based on what shirt I wore to an interview, fuck them.”
“I think it’s a huge mistake. Everyone else they are interviewing will be wearing a solid shirt.”
“That’s to my advantage. In a world of white shirt followers, I’ll be a striped shirt visionary.”
Postscript: The interview went fine, and they invited me back for a second interview. However, I decided not to take them up on the offer because I wasn’t overly impressed with the company, and they wanted me to start a lot sooner than I could. So the search went on.
