I was getting off the train the other day, minding my own sweet business, and then I looked up and – BAM! ALLIGATOR!!
Ok, I didn’t actually cross paths with an alligator. But I did run into an ex co-worker. Usually this sort of event is a pleasant surprise, but no such luck. I greeted him and asked how things were going, and he proceeded to ignore my greeting and ask me inane questions about the stock market. Not at all disturbed by my silence, he launched right into a monologue on the economy. It was sort of uncomfortable because he was intellectually masturbating in front of me… but he appeared unable to finish the job.
To shut him up, I made some random comment about the impending government shutdown. Then I excused myself – “I’m actually heading this way” – and made a quick turn down the street. Was I actually going the opposite direction? Yes. But in my book, a couple of extra blocks to avoid public intellectual masturbation is totally worth it.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
The Hacker
I have both good news and bad news.
First, the good news: the seasons are changing. Thank God because the Chicago winter has truly worn out its welcome. (Wait no, it was never welcome to begin with.) At least on the coasts, you can do something productive with the winter weather. Snow equals great skiing! In Chicago, snow means that your commute will take twice as long, and you are inevitably going to ruin a cute pair of shoes.
Now the bad news: apparently overcome by sheer elation, everyone is getting sick. At work, I am surrounded by a symphony of coughing, sneezing, and grunting. Now, the sniffles are one thing, but the horrid hacking is quite another. I am tempted to head over to the other side of the office, and put that pour soul out of his/her misery. Then again, I don’t even want to get close to the source of that noise. Think a high decibel hacking cough, every minute on the minute. Please, just stay at home. On behalf of all the still-healthy people in the office, I am begging you.
I’ve never been one to put much stock in Purell, but I’m not taking any chances with a hacker on the loose in the office. I’m going to stock up on anti-bacterial gel – and Airborne for good measure.
First, the good news: the seasons are changing. Thank God because the Chicago winter has truly worn out its welcome. (Wait no, it was never welcome to begin with.) At least on the coasts, you can do something productive with the winter weather. Snow equals great skiing! In Chicago, snow means that your commute will take twice as long, and you are inevitably going to ruin a cute pair of shoes.
Now the bad news: apparently overcome by sheer elation, everyone is getting sick. At work, I am surrounded by a symphony of coughing, sneezing, and grunting. Now, the sniffles are one thing, but the horrid hacking is quite another. I am tempted to head over to the other side of the office, and put that pour soul out of his/her misery. Then again, I don’t even want to get close to the source of that noise. Think a high decibel hacking cough, every minute on the minute. Please, just stay at home. On behalf of all the still-healthy people in the office, I am begging you.
I’ve never been one to put much stock in Purell, but I’m not taking any chances with a hacker on the loose in the office. I’m going to stock up on anti-bacterial gel – and Airborne for good measure.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Most Obnoxious Recruiter Catchphrase of 2010
I would like to present the first annual Tales of an MBA Nothing award for the Most Obnoxious Recruiter Catchphrase of 2010. And the winner is... drumroll please... PEDIGREE. If one more recruiter had told me that I had an "impressive pedigree" this year, then that person would have gotten an impressive kick in the ass.
Breaking news: dogs have pedigrees, and people earn degrees. The two are not interchangeable. Unlike a pedigree, which one is born with, a degree requires effort. In order to get my MBA, I had to study countless HBS cases, complete about 1,000 different group projects, take a bunch of "open note" tests, and put in some significant hours on the pong table. Recruiters, please recognize our hard work as such.
Breaking news: dogs have pedigrees, and people earn degrees. The two are not interchangeable. Unlike a pedigree, which one is born with, a degree requires effort. In order to get my MBA, I had to study countless HBS cases, complete about 1,000 different group projects, take a bunch of "open note" tests, and put in some significant hours on the pong table. Recruiters, please recognize our hard work as such.
Monday, November 8, 2010
The Five Month Itch
I was at work today, cleaning up a Power Point deck when the urge hit me: I really wanted to go online and see who was hiring.
But, you ask, didn't you just start working? Don't you like your job? Well, yes and yes. But it wouldn't hurt to look, right? Just to see what's out there - you know, keep my options open. (Ahem, just for a minute, just to see how it feels).
I'm a big fan of scapegoats, so I'm going to blame my sudden case of "grass is greener at other companies" on daylight savings time. The sun is just rising when I wake up, and the sky pitch black by the time that I leave work. Is it any wonder that my job seemed to lose a bit of its luster overnight?
Surely, there must be a magical company out there.
A place where I can work on fun and challenging projects while effortlessly maintaining work-life balance.
A place where my commute would be under 20 minutes by car. No traffic = no morning road rage = a better way to start the day. (Seriously, suburban traffic is the WORST. I now realize that the opening scene from Office Space was filmed during my morning commute.)
A place that caters lunch every day.
A place that gives me tons of vacation time.
A place that pays me like Bill Gates.
A place where the work is rewarding.
Surely, my list of job qualifications must be realistic. And also highly attainable. Unfortunately, I have the feeling that even if I switched roles, about five months into the next gig, I'd be wondering what else is out there.
Oh. My. God. It never ends, does it?
But, you ask, didn't you just start working? Don't you like your job? Well, yes and yes. But it wouldn't hurt to look, right? Just to see what's out there - you know, keep my options open. (Ahem, just for a minute, just to see how it feels).
I'm a big fan of scapegoats, so I'm going to blame my sudden case of "grass is greener at other companies" on daylight savings time. The sun is just rising when I wake up, and the sky pitch black by the time that I leave work. Is it any wonder that my job seemed to lose a bit of its luster overnight?
Surely, there must be a magical company out there.
A place where I can work on fun and challenging projects while effortlessly maintaining work-life balance.
A place where my commute would be under 20 minutes by car. No traffic = no morning road rage = a better way to start the day. (Seriously, suburban traffic is the WORST. I now realize that the opening scene from Office Space was filmed during my morning commute.)
A place that caters lunch every day.
A place that gives me tons of vacation time.
A place that pays me like Bill Gates.
A place where the work is rewarding.
Surely, my list of job qualifications must be realistic. And also highly attainable. Unfortunately, I have the feeling that even if I switched roles, about five months into the next gig, I'd be wondering what else is out there.
Oh. My. God. It never ends, does it?
Monday, November 1, 2010
Now Hiring Mid-Tier Talent
I recently attended a career fair on behalf of my employer and while I was there I did a bit of research.
Finding #1: Trading companies still have the best swag. (Thanks for the Camelbak, poker chip set, and branded ping pong balls!)
Finding #2: Most companies are not switching up their recruiting tactics, even though the dismal economy makes top talent much cheaper than usual. Ivy League grads can be hired today for the same wages that a few years back were barely high enough to draw students from state schools better known for their parties than their academics. And companies are not taking advantage of this. Why?
I posed this question to several recruiters at the fair and they all came back to me with more or less the same explanation: they had higher turnover among the graduates from top-ranked schools. Those employees would work for a year or two, and then move on to opportunities elsewhere. Students from Party U, on the other hand, would stick around for longer. And turnover, of course, is a bad thing so the recruiters primarily stuck with the less well known schools.
Allow me to summarize their argument: it's better to keep mediocre talent around for a longer period of time than to recruit top talent that sticks around for a shorter period of time.
There are certainly costs associated with turnover, but sometimes the higher level of performance will make up for those turnover costs. After all, is it better to get two really good years out of an employee or 10 mediocre years?
Finding #1: Trading companies still have the best swag. (Thanks for the Camelbak, poker chip set, and branded ping pong balls!)
Finding #2: Most companies are not switching up their recruiting tactics, even though the dismal economy makes top talent much cheaper than usual. Ivy League grads can be hired today for the same wages that a few years back were barely high enough to draw students from state schools better known for their parties than their academics. And companies are not taking advantage of this. Why?
I posed this question to several recruiters at the fair and they all came back to me with more or less the same explanation: they had higher turnover among the graduates from top-ranked schools. Those employees would work for a year or two, and then move on to opportunities elsewhere. Students from Party U, on the other hand, would stick around for longer. And turnover, of course, is a bad thing so the recruiters primarily stuck with the less well known schools.
Allow me to summarize their argument: it's better to keep mediocre talent around for a longer period of time than to recruit top talent that sticks around for a shorter period of time.
There are certainly costs associated with turnover, but sometimes the higher level of performance will make up for those turnover costs. After all, is it better to get two really good years out of an employee or 10 mediocre years?
Monday, September 6, 2010
Take Me Out to the Ballgame
Trading on the overnight shift made for a brutal schedule. By the time that Friday rolled around, I was often so exhausted that absolutely nothing could get me out of bed and out of the house. (Well, nothing except for my roommate, an energetic force of nature who simply refused to take no for an answer. She would march into my room, flip on the lights, and jump on my bed until I agreed to go out. Having fooled her a couple of times, saying that I was changing into my party clothes, and then promptly going back to sleep, she wouldn’t leave me unsupervised until we were safely out for the evening. “Nonsense,” she would respond when I complained that I was tired. “All you need is a Red Bull vodka or a tequila shot.” And you know what? She was usually right.)
Despite its incompatibility with normal social interaction, working vampire hours did have a few advantages, the most important being that you could do things during the day without having to take any time off work. This facet of the overnight shift was never more valuable than on opening day at Wrigley Field.
I was very excited about my first opening day experience. The plan was to meet at one of my co-worker’s apartments, and then, depending on the weather, get tickets and go to the game, or just watch from a local bar. We all left work together around 7:30am, the guys heading straight to Wrigley while I made a quick stop at my place to change. “Don’t worry,” my co-worker told me. “My place is easy to find. It’s right across the street from the ballpark and I’ll be out on the balcony wearing a felt cheeseburger hat.” His parting comment left me concerned that my intended costume change wouldn’t be nearly sufficient; a Cubs T-shirt definitely was not in the same league as a cheeseburger hat. I was clearly not going to be hanging out with amateurs.
Just as he had promised, I had no trouble locating my friend’s apartment. He was indeed holding court on the balcony, wearing said cheeseburger hat. The weather was cold and crappy, typical for early April in Chicago, so we decided to have a couple of beers at the apartment, and then hit one of the neighborhood bars. Around the end of the fourth inning, my co-worker announced that it was time to share our presence with the general public. Wearing his enormous cheeseburger hat, he shotgunned a beer “for the road” and led us down the street to the Cubby Bear.
The cheeseburger-hat-wearing leader of our entourage was an immediate hit with the drunken masses. Everyone wanted to buy him shots, and being unfailingly polite, he obliged every time. I was truly enjoying my crappy beer, in the way that is only possible when you are watching sports, when I turned around and did a double take: there was Mr. Cheeseburger, a beer in each hand, his fly unzipped, and his nuts hanging out. I assumed that this was the result of an unfortunate oversight in the men’s room so I discreetly mentioned it to him. “I know,” he said, and then promptly collapsed into giggles. Finally collecting himself, he continued to work the room while I just watched in amazement. He took photo after photo (because everyone wanted a picture with the cheeseburger guy), and no one noticed that his junk was hanging out. Not one single person.
The game had long since ended when we finally decided to call it a day. As we walked out of the bar, my friend leaned in and said “please don’t tell anyone at work that you saw my nuts.”
Despite its incompatibility with normal social interaction, working vampire hours did have a few advantages, the most important being that you could do things during the day without having to take any time off work. This facet of the overnight shift was never more valuable than on opening day at Wrigley Field.
I was very excited about my first opening day experience. The plan was to meet at one of my co-worker’s apartments, and then, depending on the weather, get tickets and go to the game, or just watch from a local bar. We all left work together around 7:30am, the guys heading straight to Wrigley while I made a quick stop at my place to change. “Don’t worry,” my co-worker told me. “My place is easy to find. It’s right across the street from the ballpark and I’ll be out on the balcony wearing a felt cheeseburger hat.” His parting comment left me concerned that my intended costume change wouldn’t be nearly sufficient; a Cubs T-shirt definitely was not in the same league as a cheeseburger hat. I was clearly not going to be hanging out with amateurs.
Just as he had promised, I had no trouble locating my friend’s apartment. He was indeed holding court on the balcony, wearing said cheeseburger hat. The weather was cold and crappy, typical for early April in Chicago, so we decided to have a couple of beers at the apartment, and then hit one of the neighborhood bars. Around the end of the fourth inning, my co-worker announced that it was time to share our presence with the general public. Wearing his enormous cheeseburger hat, he shotgunned a beer “for the road” and led us down the street to the Cubby Bear.
The cheeseburger-hat-wearing leader of our entourage was an immediate hit with the drunken masses. Everyone wanted to buy him shots, and being unfailingly polite, he obliged every time. I was truly enjoying my crappy beer, in the way that is only possible when you are watching sports, when I turned around and did a double take: there was Mr. Cheeseburger, a beer in each hand, his fly unzipped, and his nuts hanging out. I assumed that this was the result of an unfortunate oversight in the men’s room so I discreetly mentioned it to him. “I know,” he said, and then promptly collapsed into giggles. Finally collecting himself, he continued to work the room while I just watched in amazement. He took photo after photo (because everyone wanted a picture with the cheeseburger guy), and no one noticed that his junk was hanging out. Not one single person.
The game had long since ended when we finally decided to call it a day. As we walked out of the bar, my friend leaned in and said “please don’t tell anyone at work that you saw my nuts.”
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
My Cup Runneth Over
Now that I’m finally sitting on the other side of the recruiting table, I’ve picked up on a couple of things. For instance, employment requires a lot of paperwork. I’m talking mountains and mountains of paperwork. Tax forms, HR documents, benefit forms, employee profiles – the list goes on and on. And sometimes employment requires a drug test. Such was the case for me. Welcome to life in corporate America.
I have to admit that I was somewhat annoyed that I had to take a drug test at all. Not that the test would uncover any substances (besides trace amounts of wine and chocolate), but it was inconvenient and seemed just a touch Big Brother. However, the drug screen wasn’t bothersome enough for me to make a big deal about it, so I just swallowed my pride and resigned myself to peeing in a cup at the nearest lab.
I arranged to take my pre-employment drug screen shortly after I received my offer letter. I had my morning all planned out: 8am wakeup, 9am drug screen, and 10am yoga. Look at me being all healthy and productive!
I arrived at the lab and signed yet more paperwork to authorize the drug screen. The lab assistant patted down my pockets, locked up my purse, and then escorted me to the bathroom. I sat down and… nothing. I tried to think about flowing rivers and gentle ocean waves. Still nothing… and then at last something! Unfortunately, I’m an unpracticed hand at this whole “peeing in a cup” thing, so I generally missed. As it turns out, that was a HUGE executional error. I nervously walked out of the bathroom, desperately hoping that my cup runneth enough-eth even if it didn’t runneth over. No such luck: the lab assistant took one look at my cup and shook her head.
“Sweetie, that’s not enough. You have two options. One, you could stay here and retake the test. As long as you take it within three hours of when you checked in, it will count. You can’t go anywhere though. You have to stay here in the waiting area. You also have the option to not retake the screen; in that case, this attempt will be recorded as a refusal.”
This was a DISASTER. I had recruited for all of my second year and nearly a full year post-graduation; after that excruciating effort, I had finally landed an interesting job at a good company. And I was in danger of losing my offer because I couldn’t pee in a cup. I thought about all the boring and painful interviews that I thought were safely behind me; if I could not perform this basic bodily task, I could look forward to a future of yet more awkward and tiresome interviews. Absolutely not. I hadn’t come this far to get sent back to square one.
I consented to retake the test and then I did what any logical person would do: I immediately pounded five cups of water. Then I sat down and began to play the waiting game. After about 30 minutes, the lab assistant motioned to me to follow her back to the testing area. I had a bit of performance anxiety, though, so I requested to wait another 30 minutes. I felt that I had only one more shot, and I didn’t want to take any chances. She rolled her eyes, but agreed to let me wait another 30 minutes. I went back to reading, and the lab assistant went back to talking on the phone. In between paragraphs, I caught snippets of her conversation.
“Honey, it would be great if we could reschedule. Today is just jammed for me…”
“How’s your brother? He seemed really beat last week...”
“Nah, slow here right now. Just waiting on a shy guy...”
Hey, I wasn’t a shy guy! I was just a not-quite-adequately-hydrated guy.
After another 30 minutes, the lab assistant came to get me once more. I literally didn’t know if I had it in me, but I had no choice. It was now or never. Once again, the lab assistant patted down my clothing, locked up my purse, and escorted me to the bathroom. I would have found all the security precautions hilarious if I weren’t so worried about the very real possibility of not being able to provide an adequate urine sample. Seriously, anyone who believes me capable of tampering with a lab specimen has clearly never seen my chemistry grades. There is a reason why I bid chemistry an abrupt but joyous farewell halfway through my senior year in high school.
This was the moment. I tried to psych myself up and think positive thoughts. A Chicago team had actually managed to win a championship; surely, I could pee in a cup.
And you know what? I peed in a freaking cup. Give me a gold star. Grinning victoriously, I walked out of the bathroom and handed my cup to the lab assistant. I was clearly quite pleased with myself. However, the lab assistant didn’t seem sufficiently impressed by my achievement. I guess that’s what happens when you administer drug tests every day: you become too jaded to appreciate the human ability to pee on command, a skill that most of us mastered around the age of three.
I have to admit that I was somewhat annoyed that I had to take a drug test at all. Not that the test would uncover any substances (besides trace amounts of wine and chocolate), but it was inconvenient and seemed just a touch Big Brother. However, the drug screen wasn’t bothersome enough for me to make a big deal about it, so I just swallowed my pride and resigned myself to peeing in a cup at the nearest lab.
I arranged to take my pre-employment drug screen shortly after I received my offer letter. I had my morning all planned out: 8am wakeup, 9am drug screen, and 10am yoga. Look at me being all healthy and productive!
I arrived at the lab and signed yet more paperwork to authorize the drug screen. The lab assistant patted down my pockets, locked up my purse, and then escorted me to the bathroom. I sat down and… nothing. I tried to think about flowing rivers and gentle ocean waves. Still nothing… and then at last something! Unfortunately, I’m an unpracticed hand at this whole “peeing in a cup” thing, so I generally missed. As it turns out, that was a HUGE executional error. I nervously walked out of the bathroom, desperately hoping that my cup runneth enough-eth even if it didn’t runneth over. No such luck: the lab assistant took one look at my cup and shook her head.
“Sweetie, that’s not enough. You have two options. One, you could stay here and retake the test. As long as you take it within three hours of when you checked in, it will count. You can’t go anywhere though. You have to stay here in the waiting area. You also have the option to not retake the screen; in that case, this attempt will be recorded as a refusal.”
This was a DISASTER. I had recruited for all of my second year and nearly a full year post-graduation; after that excruciating effort, I had finally landed an interesting job at a good company. And I was in danger of losing my offer because I couldn’t pee in a cup. I thought about all the boring and painful interviews that I thought were safely behind me; if I could not perform this basic bodily task, I could look forward to a future of yet more awkward and tiresome interviews. Absolutely not. I hadn’t come this far to get sent back to square one.
I consented to retake the test and then I did what any logical person would do: I immediately pounded five cups of water. Then I sat down and began to play the waiting game. After about 30 minutes, the lab assistant motioned to me to follow her back to the testing area. I had a bit of performance anxiety, though, so I requested to wait another 30 minutes. I felt that I had only one more shot, and I didn’t want to take any chances. She rolled her eyes, but agreed to let me wait another 30 minutes. I went back to reading, and the lab assistant went back to talking on the phone. In between paragraphs, I caught snippets of her conversation.
“Honey, it would be great if we could reschedule. Today is just jammed for me…”
“How’s your brother? He seemed really beat last week...”
“Nah, slow here right now. Just waiting on a shy guy...”
Hey, I wasn’t a shy guy! I was just a not-quite-adequately-hydrated guy.
After another 30 minutes, the lab assistant came to get me once more. I literally didn’t know if I had it in me, but I had no choice. It was now or never. Once again, the lab assistant patted down my clothing, locked up my purse, and escorted me to the bathroom. I would have found all the security precautions hilarious if I weren’t so worried about the very real possibility of not being able to provide an adequate urine sample. Seriously, anyone who believes me capable of tampering with a lab specimen has clearly never seen my chemistry grades. There is a reason why I bid chemistry an abrupt but joyous farewell halfway through my senior year in high school.
This was the moment. I tried to psych myself up and think positive thoughts. A Chicago team had actually managed to win a championship; surely, I could pee in a cup.
And you know what? I peed in a freaking cup. Give me a gold star. Grinning victoriously, I walked out of the bathroom and handed my cup to the lab assistant. I was clearly quite pleased with myself. However, the lab assistant didn’t seem sufficiently impressed by my achievement. I guess that’s what happens when you administer drug tests every day: you become too jaded to appreciate the human ability to pee on command, a skill that most of us mastered around the age of three.
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