2004-08-03 - 9:36 a.m.
Slipping on the Corporate Rungs
Had an informal job interview yesterday. I won’t get the job, as no college degree equals a life on the bottom rungs of the corporate ladder. It didn't matter that I have a lot of experience—they'd rather hire someone with a degree and little or no experience than someone with much experience and no degree. “That’s just the way it is,” I’m told. It reminds me of those movies about the Vietnam War where the army puts some recent college grad, who doesn't know what he’s doing, in charge of a platoon where the uneducated masses know what’s going on. The college boy usually gets everyone blown to bits within minutes. This is how corporate America operates.
When you look at the fall of corporations, it usually isn’t the people cleaning the toilets who’re to blame. Usually it’s the CEOs, EVPs, and other two- and three-letter-titled people that are responsible for the companies’ failure. A secretary putting some company office supplies in her purse to take home to her kids doesn’t seem like that big a deal when you compare it to a CEO putting millions of company dollars into his bank account.
One of my bosses once tried to get me a couple dollars more an hour. He was told there was no money in the budget. Later we learned that a person in upper-management was getting high-priced prostitutes sent to his room when he was away on business meetings.
The words upper-management smack of pretense. They sound much like a caste system. “We’ll have to run that by upper-management.” “Upper-management won’t allow it.” “This won’t sit well with upper-management.” There’s something very mythological about those words. Whenever I hear the words “upper-management” or even “the Board,” I think about the Greek Gods sitting on Mt. Olympus, discussing in booming voices, the future of man. Of course, in the case of “upper-management” their booming voices discuss the future of the peons who have to kiss ass to get their rent paid. What makes things worse is that the people in upper management are not God-like at all. The men are usually unhappy eunuchs in the midst of a mid-life crisis. The women are ice queens trying to convince themselves that they ARE just as good as their male upper-management counterparts, but never really believing it. Yet, these are the people you get nearer to as you climb the corporate ladder. IF you climb the corporate ladder.
So anyway, I submit my résumé to the HR guy who asks why I want this particular job. I tell him that I want to use my skills and further hone them. He asks if I’ve filled out an application.
“No,” I say.
“Well, fill out the application and send it to me,” he says, smiling.
“Great!” I say, and I envision myself climbing up a ladder that leads to the sky, the top of the ladder engulfed in clouds.
HR guy tells me my résumé is impressive and that he knows that I’m a people person and well liked. Things are looking good—until he sees that I don’t have a degree. “How close are you?” he asks. I tell him and his face changes. Reflected in his eyes, I see myself slipping and quickly sliding down the ladder, grabbing desperately at the rungs on my way down.
“Well, it would be a different story if you only had a few more weeks or even a couple of months. Then we could say, ‘Let’s hold it for him. He’s almost done.’”
“Yeah, I guessed as much,” I say.
“It would also be different if no one else applied. Then we wouldn’t have to look outside the company. But, unfortunately, this is not the case.”
“I see,” I say. “So should I even fill out the application?”
“No,” he says. “You won’t even be considered. Once you’re done with school, come and talk to me. I’d love to introduce you to some of the Vice Presidents,” he says, in an attempt, I guess, to make me feel better.
“Sounds great,” I say, and imagine being introduced to the nameless, faceless Greek-God VPs. I can’t imagine why he’d want to introduce me to them. “This guy would make a great caddy at your next golf outing,” I imagine him telling them, as he introduces us. “He’d also make a great house boy.” “I bet he’d be a great gardener,” he’d say. “He is Hispanic, after all.” Every one laughs the fake laugh reserved for politeness, including me.
I get laid off from my job at the end of September. Maybe one of them needs an Au Pair.
