In this harsh economic climate we’re frequently told that we need to get better at selling ourselves. The jobs market is highly competitive and we need to get smarter at showcasing the qualities that give us the edge over our fellow applicants.
What we don’t hear enough of, though, is how companies can improve their side of things. Because in truth, the real responsibility for change lies not with prospective employees, but with the employers. They need to get better. At rejection.
Rejection is an important and frequent part of life, and a process that can be easily streamlined with the right approach. So let’s begin at the beginning.
The application form is a daunting start to the long journey to rejection. There are questions, and some of them are frankly ridiculous.
Why do you want this position?
I don’t. It sounds awful. I’m just not in a position to acquire basic necessities at the moment – and earning some money, hopefully through the incredibly dull and possibly humiliating way detailed in the job description, is the best plan I have at the moment.
What qualities can you bring to the role?
I can show up, for all the time that you have expressed an interest in me being there. I can refrain from spitting, screaming loudly about the oncoming apocalypse, and exposing myself in the workplace. I won’t set anything on fire. You can see from my answers that I am rather overqualified for this position, but I think that demonstrates just how committed I am to the goal of feeding myself, and not getting evicted.
The people who ask such questions seem to be lacking a basic understanding of the concept of employment. The situation is as follows: I have no food/nowhere to live etc. I do, however, have some time on my hands. In fact, I have it in abundance and could willingly part with a chunk of it daily. A simple system of bartering allows me to swap some of my time with the people who have all the food and places to live. One step up in sophistication brings us to our current system, which is a little more complicated. In the interest of flexibility, I can offer my time not simply in return for goods and services, but also for money – a sort of symbolic placeholder for actual things, which I can later exchange for the bare necessities of existence.
It is frustrating (if not a little insulting) to be rejected from a position you never wanted in the first place by someone who has little or no knowledge of the nature of the building blocks of economics. So just to clarify, the transaction being proposed is: I am in need of sustenance and shelter. You have tasks that you wish to have completed. You wish to exchange currency in return for labour – currency that I will use to purchase food and pay rent, and maybe go to the zoo once in a while.
This position does not require the successful applicant to negotiate with terrorists, perform neurosurgery or be the Ambassador to France. At the most, you want some of your things to be in a slightly different place than they currently are. Or maybe you just want them a little tidier. Perhaps you have some buttons for me to press. Or you wish me to be on the front line in the mediation process – accepting currency (in larger amounts than my hourly wage) in return for items you have on display. None of these activities seem particularly attractive to me. I don’t want to do them. I am, however, willing to do them in exchange for money, as outlined in the transaction we discussed before.
So by all means, continue to ask people to fulfill the tasks you need fulfilled in order to make money yourself. Continue to select only a small percentage of the people who are offering their time and ability to not collapse full on the floor whilst performing repetitive tasks. But let’s drop the pretense that anyone actually enjoys them. We enjoy not starving or freezing, and this job is just a preliminary step in the process of preventing any significant starving or freezing from occurring.
Academic institutions have their own particular approach to rejection that makes the defeat all the more soul crushing:
Why are you applying to this institution in particular?
I’m not. That’s a stupid idea. I’m not applying to anywhere “in particular” – I’m applying everywhere. I am applying to the maximum number of places they will let me. UCAS allows applicants to select 6 courses they wish to be considered for. I’m going to choose 6 because that is the limit UCAS have set. If they upped it to 30, I would apply to 30. This is the only sensible approach, anything less would be reckless in comparison.
In fact, if I was working in admissions (a job that forces an awareness of the vast number of people applying for a small number of places upon you) and I discovered that one of the applicants had applied to the course in question “in particular” then I would be disinclined to accept them, because I would have to question their grip on reality and their outright rejection of the widely accepted belief that it makes sense to have a back-up.
The rational person performs a simple calculation of compromise between the most desirable institutions and courses (determined by factoring in personal interest in the specifics of the teaching, prestige, location etc.) and the likelihood of achieving a place (generally by checking the entry requirements against one’s own capacity for academic achievement) and selects the 6 places they really want/wouldn’t mind going. Of these, most people have a favourite, and can exploit this honest enthusiasm when asked why they wish to study there. It would, however, be a downright lie to suggest that this is an all or nothing situation – while I may have a preference for one place over another, all the places I am applying to are viable options. I would, of course, be foolish to suggest to any interviewer that their particular institution was anything below my number 1 choice. All this means, is that the average UCAS applicant is forced to lie at least 16.6% of the time.
The traditional approach of desperately searching the history of the institution and the biographies of the teaching staff for an interesting and obscure fact that could plausibly be a reason I wish to be accepted by them, but also sets me apart from the competition, is insulting to everyone’s intelligence. It assumes not only that the institution offering a programme I see as a good way to spend 3 years, and it being generally regarded as “good” by the world at large, is not a satisfactory reason to wish to attend – but also that university staff, who are presumably educated to a pretty high standard, fail to grasp this simple and valid reasoning. Assuming they have been through the process themselves, and are not intellectually impaired, I can only assume that they understand and respect my reasoning and are merely forced into forcing me to comply with their ridiculous process because of larger faults in the wider system.
Actually coming out of the application process with a completed application form, rather than a prescription for anti-depressants, is thus to be applauded. It should at least be acknowledged politely. The rejection letter is a dying art, and it is time to stem the tide that is turning in a worrying direction. The usual offences are mainly email-related. My advice to anyone who chooses not to employ me, is to also refrain from adding my name to their mailing list, and never, ever write to me to solicit even a small donation. You have ruined my life – show the required amount of respectful shame and avoid even my online presence, don’t get over your embarrassment and include me in an e-blast.
Less commonplace, and somehow more infuriating because of its physical nature, is a badly done postal brush-off. A few months ago I received a rejection postcard, which, had I not already accepted another position I had applied for, may have been the inspiration for a new song by The Boomtown Rats. If you’re going to deformalise rejection, then at least put in a bit of effort. Get creative and make the whole rejection experience a little less demoralising. I suggest merchandise such as this rejection t-shirt:
You see? Pretty soon they’ll all want one, and a whole line of RejectionWear(TM) including baseball caps, mugs and key rings can be rolled out. Prominently featuring the company/institution logo, such items will soon become hot property, and we’ll soon be sporting a wide range of self-deprecating declarations.
The direct “Barclays appreciate my interest in the position” will become a perennial favourite, the upbeat “not clever enough for Cambridge” is a great memento from that first, treasured rejection of one’s professional life. The novelty value of “not even McDonalds want me” will make it a collector’s item, and the informative and worrying “I failed my CRB check” will cause a stir at any family occasion.
Constructive criticism is always welcome, and items tackling specific shortcomings are a cute and inventive way of letting people down. Personalising promotional materials is a great solution, with possibilities such as:
- My attempt at complimenting the interviewer was construed as sexual harassment.
- I perspire disconcertingly in high-pressure situations.
- I cannot recall or expand on the finer details of my fabricated CV.
All are hard-won trophies of surviving the terrible professional failures we all endure.
And it won’t be long before we celebrate our personal failures in the same way. Soon we’ll all be wearing t-shirts bearing the legends:
- Rebecca was just really drunk that night – it meant nothing.
- Matt is over me – I should move on, too.
- Suzy really did just ask me over to fix her laptop – she is way out of my league.
The possibilities are endless, and each one wrestles back a tiny portion of the self-respect we have lost along the way. Any fool can celebrate a triumph, but the real winners are proudest of the sickening failures they have shuffled dejectedly away from, to commiserate themselves into an alcoholic haze
No comments:
Post a Comment