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?
Monday, November 8, 2010
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.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Interview Hell Hall of Fame
Now that I’ve been off the interview circuit for nearly two full months, I thought it was time to look back and make my selections for the Interview Hell Hall of Fame.
The first nod goes to an advertising agency that I interviewed with in December of 2009. I arrived at the office about 15 minutes early for my 9AM interview, and got busy filling out the paperwork that the receptionist gave me. (Hooray – an employment application! That must mean that there’s actually a job!) A few minutes later, my HR contact came to get me. As we strolled from the elevator, she informed me that I was going to take a brief test – an assessment if you will. Nothing to worry about she assured me. This was the same test that they had undergraduate analysts take. She was sure that I would do quite well. (If you’re so sure, then why do I still have to take this stupid test?) She got me settled into the test room (an empty office), and explained the logistics. I would have three hours (what happened to brief?!) to take the three part test. The first section was an Excel test, the second was a very short marketing case question, and the third section was composed of a couple of brainteasers. I immediately realized that I had not consumed enough coffee to prepare me for the morning that I was going to have.
I quickly read through all three parts, and determined that the Excel section would require the lion’s share of my efforts. I had seen both of the brainteasers before in trading interviews (ha!) and I was going to be able to easily answer the shit out of the marketing case question thanks to my good friends, the 4 P’s and the 3 C’s.
Resigning myself to the unpleasant task at hand, I opened the Excel assessment to find an unformatted spreadsheet with sales data for a theoretical retailer. My job was to summarize the retailer’s business performance over the past year, noting high points and low points, as well as make recommendations for the upcoming holiday season. Please note that said performance summaries and recommendations were to be put into a short Power Point deck. And the company was still running Office 2003, not 2007 (aka the version that I am better versed in). Ugh.
I scrolled through the sales data, and sat in momentary panic for a moment. I briefly entertained the idea of walking out, but I soon thought better of it. I told myself to man up, and I began my analysis in earnest. I pivot tabled away, and soon a clear picture of the retailer’s performance began to emerge. I sketched out a short deck on paper, and then began to put together the actual deck in Power Point. Unfortunately, I soon found myself in the middle of a no-holds-barred brawl with the Chart Wizard. What was wrong with the charting functionality in 2003? Why wouldn’t it behave nicely like the 2007 version? One thing was for sure: I wanted to kick that machine.
After wringing my hands for a few moments, I realized that I didn’t have enough time to turn in a deck with both quality content and stylish formatting. I made the game time decision to focus on content. Thus decided on the “basic” approach, I quickly pounded out a deck and turned my attention to the next section.
The marketing case was really a very simple product launch question. It was clearly no match for an MBA who had mastered the 4 P’s and 3 C’s. I got to work and in no time, I had concisely answered the question and made it my bitch.
Last section. First brainteaser: how many cats are there in the United States? The actual number isn’t what’s important; what they want to see is the logic I use to come to a solution. There are approximately 115 million households in the United States. I decided to assume that a certain percentage of households had cats, and out of that percentage, some had a single cat while others had multiple cats. In addition, I had to account for strays; I did so by assuming that the stray cat population actually outnumbered the adopted cat population. In layman's terms, I multiplied the adopted cat population by two to reach my final answer. (If I wanted to get cute, I could have noted the correlation between the number of single women and cats, but I decided not to go that route.) My assumptions were laid out so I just did a couple of quick calculations and presto, I had the cat population. Suffice it to say, some of my assumptions were off, but I thought my approach was valid. (Approximately 32% of households own cat(s)? Dang, I thought the number would be a lot lower.)
Second brainteaser: You have a balance scale and nine balls. All of the balls are identical, but one of the balls is heavier than the others. What is the minimum number of times that you would have to use the scale to find the heavier ball?
Thank you trading. You are about to save me a lot of time and brainpower. Two. Final answer. (Place 3 balls on each side of the scale and put 3 aside. If the scale balances, you know that the heavier ball is in the set sitting off to the side. If the scale doesn’t balance, you know that the heavier ball is in the set that is heavier on the scale. One you’ve narrowed it down to 3 balls, then place one on each side of the scale, and put one aside. The logic is the same as above.)
Incredibly happy to be done, I turned my test in. I had more interviews in the afternoon, but first it was lunch time. Unfortunately for me, it was a working lunch. To be clear, every time that you interact with someone from the company during the application process, it is an interview; that being said, was it really that crazy of me to assume that I’d actually get to eat during lunch? An analyst took me out for lunch at a nearby restaurant, but she couldn’t stop asking questions. She did not relent for the entire time that we were out, so I wound up trying to cram food into my mouth during the 5 second pause between questions. I was in famished super bitch mode at this point so I really did not appreciate the speed eating game. And I forgot to mention: I was the only one attempting to eat at lunch. We were running short on time (meaning 45 minutes instead of a full hour for lunch) so the analyst ordered her food to go after I ordered my food. Awesome. Thanks for making me eat by myself.
More or less sufficiently nourished, I returned to the office. I made the rounds and met with four different managers. I told them all about times when I had exhibited leadership and handled conflict on a team. At the end of my day, I debriefed with the HR manager who assured me that they would make a decision soon, but probably not until after the holidays. Fair enough. What was the outcome you ask? I heard nothing from this company for a full month, and then in mid-January, they had me come in for another round of interviews. After round two, I heard nothing. I called and emailed the recruiter but received no response. Finally at the end of February, I got a call from the recruiter thanking me for my time but telling me that they had decided the hire an undergrad instead. Cheaper labor, you know.
More Hall of Fame selections to come...
The first nod goes to an advertising agency that I interviewed with in December of 2009. I arrived at the office about 15 minutes early for my 9AM interview, and got busy filling out the paperwork that the receptionist gave me. (Hooray – an employment application! That must mean that there’s actually a job!) A few minutes later, my HR contact came to get me. As we strolled from the elevator, she informed me that I was going to take a brief test – an assessment if you will. Nothing to worry about she assured me. This was the same test that they had undergraduate analysts take. She was sure that I would do quite well. (If you’re so sure, then why do I still have to take this stupid test?) She got me settled into the test room (an empty office), and explained the logistics. I would have three hours (what happened to brief?!) to take the three part test. The first section was an Excel test, the second was a very short marketing case question, and the third section was composed of a couple of brainteasers. I immediately realized that I had not consumed enough coffee to prepare me for the morning that I was going to have.
I quickly read through all three parts, and determined that the Excel section would require the lion’s share of my efforts. I had seen both of the brainteasers before in trading interviews (ha!) and I was going to be able to easily answer the shit out of the marketing case question thanks to my good friends, the 4 P’s and the 3 C’s.
Resigning myself to the unpleasant task at hand, I opened the Excel assessment to find an unformatted spreadsheet with sales data for a theoretical retailer. My job was to summarize the retailer’s business performance over the past year, noting high points and low points, as well as make recommendations for the upcoming holiday season. Please note that said performance summaries and recommendations were to be put into a short Power Point deck. And the company was still running Office 2003, not 2007 (aka the version that I am better versed in). Ugh.
I scrolled through the sales data, and sat in momentary panic for a moment. I briefly entertained the idea of walking out, but I soon thought better of it. I told myself to man up, and I began my analysis in earnest. I pivot tabled away, and soon a clear picture of the retailer’s performance began to emerge. I sketched out a short deck on paper, and then began to put together the actual deck in Power Point. Unfortunately, I soon found myself in the middle of a no-holds-barred brawl with the Chart Wizard. What was wrong with the charting functionality in 2003? Why wouldn’t it behave nicely like the 2007 version? One thing was for sure: I wanted to kick that machine.
After wringing my hands for a few moments, I realized that I didn’t have enough time to turn in a deck with both quality content and stylish formatting. I made the game time decision to focus on content. Thus decided on the “basic” approach, I quickly pounded out a deck and turned my attention to the next section.
The marketing case was really a very simple product launch question. It was clearly no match for an MBA who had mastered the 4 P’s and 3 C’s. I got to work and in no time, I had concisely answered the question and made it my bitch.
Last section. First brainteaser: how many cats are there in the United States? The actual number isn’t what’s important; what they want to see is the logic I use to come to a solution. There are approximately 115 million households in the United States. I decided to assume that a certain percentage of households had cats, and out of that percentage, some had a single cat while others had multiple cats. In addition, I had to account for strays; I did so by assuming that the stray cat population actually outnumbered the adopted cat population. In layman's terms, I multiplied the adopted cat population by two to reach my final answer. (If I wanted to get cute, I could have noted the correlation between the number of single women and cats, but I decided not to go that route.) My assumptions were laid out so I just did a couple of quick calculations and presto, I had the cat population. Suffice it to say, some of my assumptions were off, but I thought my approach was valid. (Approximately 32% of households own cat(s)? Dang, I thought the number would be a lot lower.)
Second brainteaser: You have a balance scale and nine balls. All of the balls are identical, but one of the balls is heavier than the others. What is the minimum number of times that you would have to use the scale to find the heavier ball?
Thank you trading. You are about to save me a lot of time and brainpower. Two. Final answer. (Place 3 balls on each side of the scale and put 3 aside. If the scale balances, you know that the heavier ball is in the set sitting off to the side. If the scale doesn’t balance, you know that the heavier ball is in the set that is heavier on the scale. One you’ve narrowed it down to 3 balls, then place one on each side of the scale, and put one aside. The logic is the same as above.)
Incredibly happy to be done, I turned my test in. I had more interviews in the afternoon, but first it was lunch time. Unfortunately for me, it was a working lunch. To be clear, every time that you interact with someone from the company during the application process, it is an interview; that being said, was it really that crazy of me to assume that I’d actually get to eat during lunch? An analyst took me out for lunch at a nearby restaurant, but she couldn’t stop asking questions. She did not relent for the entire time that we were out, so I wound up trying to cram food into my mouth during the 5 second pause between questions. I was in famished super bitch mode at this point so I really did not appreciate the speed eating game. And I forgot to mention: I was the only one attempting to eat at lunch. We were running short on time (meaning 45 minutes instead of a full hour for lunch) so the analyst ordered her food to go after I ordered my food. Awesome. Thanks for making me eat by myself.
More or less sufficiently nourished, I returned to the office. I made the rounds and met with four different managers. I told them all about times when I had exhibited leadership and handled conflict on a team. At the end of my day, I debriefed with the HR manager who assured me that they would make a decision soon, but probably not until after the holidays. Fair enough. What was the outcome you ask? I heard nothing from this company for a full month, and then in mid-January, they had me come in for another round of interviews. After round two, I heard nothing. I called and emailed the recruiter but received no response. Finally at the end of February, I got a call from the recruiter thanking me for my time but telling me that they had decided the hire an undergrad instead. Cheaper labor, you know.
More Hall of Fame selections to come...
Saturday, July 17, 2010
I Challenge... Myself
I learned all sorts of charming phrases such as BYL (verb: to blow your load) and woodshed (verb: to discipline someone) when I worked on the trading floor. I also witnessed firsthand the male affinity for any and all types of eating contests: Big Macs, hot sauce, raw onions, milk, etc. Disturbing yet fascinating.
Time and time again, I was shocked at what men would do in the name of a bet.
Example #1: Munchkin contest
The setting: trading desk
The food: Dunkin Donuts Munchkins
The challenger: a clerk looking for a little extra spending money
The motivation: sheer morbid curiosity
The outcome: 84 Munchkins consumed and approximately 82 Munchkins vomited back up
Example #2: McDonald’s ice cream cone contest
The setting: McDonald’s restaurant in Barcelona
The food: vanilla ice cream cones
The challengers: University of Chicago students studying abroad in Spain
The motivation: only 50 centavos per cono!
The outcome: contest called on account of group brain freeze
Apparently traders are not the only professionals who are enticed to enter eating contests. A friend of mine, a lawyer at a prestigious Chicago law firm, fondly recalls the Taco Bell challenge phase of law school:
The signature Taco Bell Challenge lineup included 20 item, ranging from cheesy bean and rice burritos to chicken quesadillas. Several pounds of food were to be consumed, with $100 on the line. The first competitor began the event confident and cheerful, even chasing his fare with Knob Creek bourbon. By the end of that fateful night, three people had pitched in attempting to conquer the Taco Bell Challenge, and all three ended on the ground in both failure and gastrointestinal distress.
I cringed at hearing the details of the Taco Bell challenge. I also laughed myself stupid. And then I had a sobering thought: what would have happened had the participants attempted the challenge after Taco Bell added seafood items to its menu? Can you imagine the outcome of the Pacific Shrimp Taco challenge?
Of course, as soon as this brilliant idea occurred to me, I tried to figure out who I could goad into attempting said Pacific Shrimp Taco challenge. My natural instinct was to approach either my business school friends or lawyer friends, as I have noticed a high positive correlation between advanced degrees and stupid decisions (aka eating contests). It begs the question: could that correlation exist because getting an advanced degree IS a stupid decision?
Time and time again, I was shocked at what men would do in the name of a bet.
Example #1: Munchkin contest
The setting: trading desk
The food: Dunkin Donuts Munchkins
The challenger: a clerk looking for a little extra spending money
The motivation: sheer morbid curiosity
The outcome: 84 Munchkins consumed and approximately 82 Munchkins vomited back up
Example #2: McDonald’s ice cream cone contest
The setting: McDonald’s restaurant in Barcelona
The food: vanilla ice cream cones
The challengers: University of Chicago students studying abroad in Spain
The motivation: only 50 centavos per cono!
The outcome: contest called on account of group brain freeze
Apparently traders are not the only professionals who are enticed to enter eating contests. A friend of mine, a lawyer at a prestigious Chicago law firm, fondly recalls the Taco Bell challenge phase of law school:
The signature Taco Bell Challenge lineup included 20 item, ranging from cheesy bean and rice burritos to chicken quesadillas. Several pounds of food were to be consumed, with $100 on the line. The first competitor began the event confident and cheerful, even chasing his fare with Knob Creek bourbon. By the end of that fateful night, three people had pitched in attempting to conquer the Taco Bell Challenge, and all three ended on the ground in both failure and gastrointestinal distress.
I cringed at hearing the details of the Taco Bell challenge. I also laughed myself stupid. And then I had a sobering thought: what would have happened had the participants attempted the challenge after Taco Bell added seafood items to its menu? Can you imagine the outcome of the Pacific Shrimp Taco challenge?
Of course, as soon as this brilliant idea occurred to me, I tried to figure out who I could goad into attempting said Pacific Shrimp Taco challenge. My natural instinct was to approach either my business school friends or lawyer friends, as I have noticed a high positive correlation between advanced degrees and stupid decisions (aka eating contests). It begs the question: could that correlation exist because getting an advanced degree IS a stupid decision?
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Bidness Casual
I recently rejoined the ranks of the employed, and one of my first discoveries was that I had virtually nothing in the way of a professional wardrobe. You might think that this issue would occur to me sooner than the night before I was scheduled to start work. You would be wrong.
Trading was useless both in terms of developing transferrable job skills and building a professional wardrobe. My typical trading ensemble consisted of a hoodie, jeans, and flips flops, but apparently Corporate America doesn’t view that as business casual. Well, that is certainly news to me.
Let’s examine the contents of my wardrobe in greater detail:
20% Party dresses
18% Clothing showing inappropriate cleavage
7% Bridesmaid dresses
10% Winter coats
3% Suiting
15% Hoodies
10% Dresses
10% Jeans
2% Button downs
5% Sweaters
Even the numbers are misleading: my suits are all wool and hence entirely inappropriate for sweltering 90 degree summer days. (Plus I’d then be that douchebag wearing a suit in a business casual environment.) The vast majority of my dresses and sweaters are also not warm weather friendly. Come winter, I’ll be looking (professionally) cute, but for the time being I appear to be SOL. I shake my fist at you, summer!
The obvious solution to my wardrobe dilemma? Shopping! Normally I would celebrate the opportunity to shop, but normally I would be shopping for yet more party dresses. Shopping for professional clothing isn’t nearly as fun because most options are of the plain vanilla variety. I’m not a man so I refuse to dress like one. Therefore the slacks and button down uniform is out. Same for the khakis and polo shirt combo.
I am also forced to exclude many fabulous dresses. Mid-thigh hem? Out. Just a bit too clingy? Out. Back zip? Out. (I could write an entire book on how irate I get when I find an amazing dress that zips in the back. Breaking news fashion designers: you render me incapable of dressing myself when you design a dress that zips in the back! While it still works out just fine for the population that is partnered or has roommates, it does not work for me. Either I have to forego your magnificent creations entirely, or I have to sneak into work with my dress halfway zipped and pray that I can get one of my co-workers to zip me the rest of the way up before I run into my boss. I know that Liz Lemon figured out a solution to this vexing problem, but I don’t want my morning routine to include weird contortions on a treadmill. Seriously, I would consider marriage just so I would be guaranteed dressing assistance every morning, infinitely expanding my wardrobe possibilities.)
I was saying? Oh yes, this whole professional wardrobe business is really quite tricky. I can tell you exactly where my first paycheck is going: straight to my good friends J.Crew and Ann Taylor. All of my subsequent paychecks will be routed directly to Sallie Mae.
Trading was useless both in terms of developing transferrable job skills and building a professional wardrobe. My typical trading ensemble consisted of a hoodie, jeans, and flips flops, but apparently Corporate America doesn’t view that as business casual. Well, that is certainly news to me.
Let’s examine the contents of my wardrobe in greater detail:
20% Party dresses
18% Clothing showing inappropriate cleavage
7% Bridesmaid dresses
10% Winter coats
3% Suiting
15% Hoodies
10% Dresses
10% Jeans
2% Button downs
5% Sweaters
Even the numbers are misleading: my suits are all wool and hence entirely inappropriate for sweltering 90 degree summer days. (Plus I’d then be that douchebag wearing a suit in a business casual environment.) The vast majority of my dresses and sweaters are also not warm weather friendly. Come winter, I’ll be looking (professionally) cute, but for the time being I appear to be SOL. I shake my fist at you, summer!
The obvious solution to my wardrobe dilemma? Shopping! Normally I would celebrate the opportunity to shop, but normally I would be shopping for yet more party dresses. Shopping for professional clothing isn’t nearly as fun because most options are of the plain vanilla variety. I’m not a man so I refuse to dress like one. Therefore the slacks and button down uniform is out. Same for the khakis and polo shirt combo.
I am also forced to exclude many fabulous dresses. Mid-thigh hem? Out. Just a bit too clingy? Out. Back zip? Out. (I could write an entire book on how irate I get when I find an amazing dress that zips in the back. Breaking news fashion designers: you render me incapable of dressing myself when you design a dress that zips in the back! While it still works out just fine for the population that is partnered or has roommates, it does not work for me. Either I have to forego your magnificent creations entirely, or I have to sneak into work with my dress halfway zipped and pray that I can get one of my co-workers to zip me the rest of the way up before I run into my boss. I know that Liz Lemon figured out a solution to this vexing problem, but I don’t want my morning routine to include weird contortions on a treadmill. Seriously, I would consider marriage just so I would be guaranteed dressing assistance every morning, infinitely expanding my wardrobe possibilities.)
I was saying? Oh yes, this whole professional wardrobe business is really quite tricky. I can tell you exactly where my first paycheck is going: straight to my good friends J.Crew and Ann Taylor. All of my subsequent paychecks will be routed directly to Sallie Mae.
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