Have I ever told you about my first job interview?
I’ve been doing this for long enough (or perhaps I’ve just gotten old enough) that I can’t remember every seemingly mundane (to you) but actually wildly important (to me!) story of my life.
But, kind of like my Dad telling the same jokes to the waitress at the diner for the past 40 years…
Joke 1:
Waitress: “Would you like anything else?”
Dad: “I’ll take a pound of 100 dollar bills.”
Joke 2:
Waitress: “Would you like the check?”
Dad: “I prefer cash.”
…I’m not sure if I don’t remember what stories I’ve already told or if I’ve just got old enough that I don’t care about repeating myself.
And there are enough new people around here that if I have told this one before it will still be new to most of you.
OK, back to the story of my first real job interview.
I feel like it’s important I qualify with “real” here because this wasn’t technically my first job interview.
I had “interviewed” to be a camp counselor and a food runner and a fry cook making chicken and ribs at a local spot called “Pudgy’s” but this was my first post-college interview where I would be joining the actual honest-to-goodness workforce, showing up from 9-to-5 and making a salary all in the hopes of gaining independence and some self-worth.
Today most people aspire to shake the 9-to-5 corporate culture, desk job grind but I was all about it. It was, as far as I knew, the only path forward. It was either trade my hours for money and healthcare coverage or be doomed watching late night television in my childhood bedroom in suburban Long Island for the rest of my life.
Luckily enough, I managed to land an interview at one of the biggest advertising agencies in NYC through a connection right after graduation.
And by “right after” I mean right after.
The timing forced me to leave school before all my friends. But as I pulled out of the driveway of my rented college apartment in my Datsun Sentra with tears in my eyes, I had immense hope that, as painful as closing this chapter of my life felt, I was on the verge of something new and big.
The next day I found myself in a discount suit waiting on the benches outside of Grey Advertising on 3rd Avenue in New York City. I didn’t really know my way around the City and I was so paranoid about figuring out how to get from Penn Station, where my Long Island Railroad train dropped me off, to the agency, that I ended up in front of the building about two hours early.
I grabbed a knish from a hot dog cart that used to paper every city corner, sat on that bench and looked at the office and apartment buildings that surrounded me. Wondering which one I would rent so I wouldn’t have a long commute to work.
I was not in the advertising program at Syracuse but I knew I wanted to be a writer in the ad game since I was in high school.
With very little understanding or support from the school, I did my best to put a portfolio together. Graphic design on computers was just starting to become a reality and I had invested time and money into trying to figure out and utilize those programs.
I collaborated with friends who were also trying to get into advertising and entered a few ad contests.
What I lacked in talent I tried to make up for in effort. A lifelong theme.
I entered the building, found my way through security and up to the creative recruiting floor. After a short wait and about 12 seconds of pleasantries, the recruiter asked for my portfolio.
I’d love to give you the details here but I think I just went dark. The sheer terror of showing an actual recruiter in an actual agency my work was overwhelming. But as best as I can remember, she flipped through the pages for anywhere between 90 seconds and 12 hours.
But this I do remember. When she was done, she handed the book back to me.
“Dave, this is pretty rough,” she said, getting my name wrong.
“You’re going to need a lot of work to get a job as a writer in advertising.”
She probably said something else. Probably something even worse. But my ears were so filled with blood and panic that I don’t think I heard another word. And about 6 minutes after my big break job interview started I was walking back out the doors of her office and the agency. Past the hot dog cart and back on the LIRR to my parent's house.
I’d love to tell you this is the kick in the ass I needed. That her harsh criticism acted as a catalyst for me to kick it into gear and get better at the programs and find a mentor and sharpen my skills as a writer and go back and, ultimately, not only be a writer at that agency but become the head Creative Director.
But that’s not what happened.
I was just crushed. Dejected. I lost hope.
I was paralyzed not only to show my portfolio to anyone else but to even make calls and try to set up interviews at agencies.
And this lasted for longer than it should have. What I declared was going to be a defining moment of my life as I drove home from upstate New York after my college career was over certainly was. But in the worst way possible.
The story has a reasonably happy ending. I ended up getting jobs as a writer in advertising. I had an okay career, managing to work on television and print and radio ads before making the leap and getting into fitness.
But that’s not the point. This isn’t a Rocky Balboa story about how your favorite Monday morning blog writer overcame the criticism and made a life for himself.
It’s not even an allegory about what voices you should listen to. Because, honestly, the recruiter was right. My portfolio sucked.
This is a cautionary tale about how to choose your words. Particularly when you have status or influence or expertise over someone.
Because while her criticism was warranted, her dismissive and mean-spirited delivery were not.
I fancy myself a straight shooter. Someone who doesn’t sugar coat and tells it like it is. And I think the world needs that.
But being honest doesn’t give me the right to be an asshole.
And that’s something that I’ve had to work on.
Because whether it’s someone’s writing or business plan or performance on the training floor, truthful feedback is really important.
But no one should have to feel like that hopeful kid in a cheap suit walking out of that ad agency on a beautiful mid-May day wondering how it all went so wrong.